sions of joy at seeing again the familiar fields and villas. At every shrine, we passed on the wayside, she prayed silently but fervently, her heart overflowing with gratitude for the gift of life, for her own sake and that of her dear ones at home. At these same places the priest went through the motions of raising his skull-cap and crossing himself hurriedly; and, as for the driver, be raised his whip-hand to cross himself, and brought it down always with a whack of the rough whip on the backs of his poor beasts, which cursed, I fear, when he prayed. As evening came on it grew chilly, and Rosa had no cloak or shawl. My good Glasgow plaid was with me, and I forced her to accept it. But it was not long before I saw by her face that we were nearing her home. How the fond mother's eyes lit up with joy, as the roof which covered her world came in sight. Then came the children, the elder running, and the younger toddling, to the carriage to greet her; and at the gate stood her husband, holding out il bambino in his arms, to whom she flew as a mother-bird to her birdling.

Soon after this the old priest left. "Good riddance, old humbug!" said I to him in plain English, with a low bow.

"Stia bene, Signore," was his much more polite reply.

Left alone now with il vetturino, I determined to have a talk with him. Catching his eye, I made a sign which he would have been none the wiser for if he had not recognized it, but which he responded to immediately. It was a sign which Minuti had taught me--one by which "I Republicani" recognize each other all over Italy. As soon as I had told him that I was an Americanun vero republicano-we became firm friends. We discussed politics for awhile, but soon arrived at Pelago, the end of our ride. Here I was to stay over night, starting to go on foot up the mountains in the morning.

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Come and stay at my house tonight, signore," said my friend; "there are less fleas with me than at the inn."

Indeed, the old albergo was an uninviting place, but had it been as attractive as the St. Nicholas, I should have accepted the invitation; for I was glad of an opportunity to enjoy the hospitality of this republican, and, at the same time, to see how country people lived.

But I am allowing myself, after all, to write out my memories too lengthily. We shall be too long getting to Vallombrosa, at this rate.

After supper we sat up late together, talking mostly of America, of which my friend could not hear enough. On his part, he told me all about the Madiai family, with which he was nearly connected. After drinking to " L'America," "La republica d'Italia," and, with a final bumper, to " La Libertà," in his acidulous mountain wine, I rested well in a clean bed, senza le pulce, and was up and away early in the morning. A stout boy carried my little but heavy trunk, and, with hearty "addios" on either side, I left Pelago and my patriotic friend, and started up the winding mountain-path.

There is a good paved road all the way to the monastery. It has been paved, so that the lumbermen may drag down easily the huge fir-trees, the sale of which adds to the revenues of the fraternity. It is not passable for wheeled carriages, but I met a vehicle coming down, which, with its contents, amused me "above a bit." Imagine a crockerycrate shaped concern, well padded and cushioned within, resting on a rough sled similar to those on which our farmers haul stone. It was drawn by a yoke of the dove-colored oxen for which Tuscany is noted, as vide Rogers' "Italy." Within sat, face to face, two fat, lazy, old monks, who were taking this jolly conveyance to Pelago and back. As their ship lurched, they rolled from side to side, or jolted down rough places, with a vast pinguidity, an unctuous and easy corpulence, that was intensely droll to me. They took it solemnly, and as a matter of course; yet it seemed such "a hard road to trabble," in such a carriage, for such fat folk, that I was, and remain, in doubt, whether they were really too fat and lazy to walk, or whether this was a penance given them-for gluttony, perhaps.

After a few hours' walk along the easy path, through groves of beech and chestnut trees, we came in sight of the convent. As we came nearer, I was much less interested in looking at the building-which was not architecturally attractive-than I was in a funny group of the brethren, who were bowling on a smooth hard alley (of earth) just outside of the gate. The monks dress

very much like the ordinary priests one meets in Catholic cities, that is, in a plain black robe, coming down in a scant skirt, to the feet. The petticoat part of the dress seemed to have been in the way. to the bowlers, for they had gathered it up and tied it in a knot on their backs, thereby displaying their white drawers, which came down to their knees, and their black stockings. The figure of a brother, as he stooped over to hurl his heavy stone along the alley, was more comical than ecclesiastical. I was curious to watch the game, and sat down near them. They looked upon me, I suppose, as un Inglese," come to take a traveler's look at the convent -they have such visitors often; and they paid no attention to me, but kept on in their game. I was rather surprised at the exclamations of some of them, when an unusually good or bad stroke was made. 66 Corpo di Dio !" and Corpo di Christo" (Body of God, and Body of Christ), were the by-words of some, while others swore

By the blood and bones" of their Saviour and Judge. Swearing is the most common of vices in Italy, but I was astonished to hear these monks using such oaths. One of the elder brethren sat looking on and frequently put in his "Adagio, frati! Adagio! Piano! Piano (Softly! Softly!) Finally, fearing, I suppose, that I might understand Italian, he came up and saluted me. I replied in my best Italian, and offered a few remarks on the weather, just to show that I knew the language. He soon left me and passed the word, quietly, to the brethren, that the stranger could understand them. There was no more swearing after that; but one fat little fellow, when he had made a great blunder in the game, exclaimed, Corpo di "Dio," he would have said, but changed it to "Bacco." "By the body of Bacchus" is quite a common exclamation among priests and students.

Profanity is so common in Italy, among all classes, and with both sexes, that a man, who becomes even a little more than ordinarily excited, is obliged to resort to the most horrid oaths, in order to express himself." I have heard profanity in England and America, shocking enough to make one's blood run cold but I think that the most ingenious fiend would find it difficult to invent more horribly blasphemous

oaths than I have often heard in Italy. The women and children swear; mildly, indeed, as they esteem it, but very disagreeably, to say the least, to the ears of decent, not to say Christian, travelers. To illustrate a way in which children are taught this practice, other than by example, I quote the beginning of a "Dialogue between a mother and her little_son," from "The Abcdario," a popular primer, written by a priest, who is, or was, a teacher in one of the Florence public schools :

"Mother: Come, my darling, it is time to get up.

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Child: Oh, mother! It is too cold! "Mother: Come! Come! Breakfast is ready!

"The child washes himself.

"Child: Dio mio! How cold the water is! There is ice in the pitcher! Dio! How cold!"

Is it strange that, with such instructions, from such authority, the Italians are a nation of swearers?

On asking and receiving information from one of the bowlers, as to the manner of getting entrance into the building, I stepped up boldly and pulled the handle of the front-door bell, which gave answer in an alarmingly sonorous peal. A servant, dressed in the same style as that of the monks, but in coarser materials, answered my summons, and led me into the strangers' room. By him I sent my letter of introduction to the abbot, who soon came in and received me most courteously. I was made welcome to the whole monastery, installed in the best bed-room, and Fra Angiolo, who admitted me, was appointed to serve me. This courtesy, I knew, was more or less hollow, as all Italian courtesy is, but I was unprepared for such "distinguished consideration," so entire an abandonment of the convent and contents to my disposal and enjoyment. The good abbot hoped I could make myself comfortable, and after sending Angiolo to bring dinner for me, pleaded business, would call in soon to see me, and, with a "par vobiscum" bowed himself out. I began to suspect that Minuti had spoken of me to the friend who wrote the letter of introduction as some American dignitary. a republican nobleman, or the president's son; indeed, I almost concluded to assume some rank and title, but as I feared I might not happen to hit upon a character in keeping

with the (supposed) description of me in the letter, I determined to remain "incognito."

Dinner came in, and when I sat down at the table, I was somewhat surprised at the variety and excellence of convent fare. Soup à la Julienne, boiled meat with cauliflower, salad, to be dressed with the purest of Lucca oil, mutton chops with fried potatoes, very nice bread and butter, and, for dessert, a plate of honey with crispy crackers, grapes, apples and, finally, a cup of rich, pure coffee; these, in courses, were served nicely, with the concomitant of better wine than I had yet tasted in Tuscany. On questioning Angiolo, I learned that I was served from the table of the monks, fared just as they had done that day; and, while enjoying the excellent dinner, I indulged in very pleasing reflections on this kind of hermit-life, and determined to stay and make quite a visit with the hospitable and sensible monks of Vallombrosa.

I was dubious, after dinner, about attempting to smoke, and mentioned my doubts to Angiolo.

"Oh," said he, "there'll be other tobacco besides yours burning, after dinner."

So I lighted my pipe, unbuttoned my waistband, and sitting within reach of the wine, which Angiolo had kindly left on the table, abandoned myself to the luxury of an after-dinner smoke, with pure Turkish tobacco (which I had bought on board a Bosphoric brig at Leghorn), consumed in a bowl of meerschaum.

Oh, lovers of the ambrosia of tobacco, and ye who are unfortunately ignorant of the luxury-pardon the episode-learn from the Turks and Germans, how best to enjoy the beatitude of smoking. No longer mumble the end of a cigar-an end which has been twisted by sticky fingers into a blunt, indelicate point-no longer puff the smoke of Connecticut cabbages, under the name of "imported Havanas ;" but, with an amber mouth-piece kissing your lips, inhale the pungent, yet delicate aroma of tobacco itself, whose baser qualities are purged away in the refining bowl of veritable meerschaum. Then shall the smoke-wreaths hide care and trouble, and wrap you in Elysian calm and bliss; then shall lotus-eaters and hasheesh votaries seem unenviable, and the little-too-much of your din

ner prove. no burden to your pacified digestive organs.

When Angiolo had removed the remains of the dinner, he offered to make a fire for me, and I willingly consented; for the cold October mountain-winds were moaning among the fir-trees and roaring in the chimney. The ancient room, of which I had possession, was of grand proportions, high-arched and airy, and had it not been for the wide fire-place, and the pile of dry wood and fagots, which Angiolo brought in, I should have passed a cheerless and chilly evening. Somewhat fatigued by the ascent of the mountain in the morning, and in a far niente mood after my dinner and pipe, I lazily lounged by the fireside, while evening came on, thinking of distant scenes and friends, with an occasional spell of wonderment, as I contrasted my present surroundings with the previous notions I had entertained, concerning the severities, asperities, and acerbities of monachism.

When the iron-grated door, at the end of the passage from which my room opened, had closed with a clang behind Fra Angiolo, and I was left alone for the night, a sudden sense of loneliness came over me. I had learned that I was in that part of the convent devoted to strangers, and that there was no communication between my corridor and the other parts of the building, except through that grated door. Moreover, I knew that I was the only visitor there, and that a long suite of supposably unoccupied rooms extended beyond mine. Half ashamed of myself, for having any symptoms of what shall I call the feeling? not fear, certainly, but of nervous curiosity, I took up my lamp and started on a voyage of exploration. I found the grated door fastened on the outer side! I was locked in! I could not get out, but others might get in. I proceeded to examine the other rooms. I found them unoccupied and dreary.

At the end of the passage, there was a large wood-room. I took up a few bundles of fagots and returned to my room. Having piled these on the fire, and set the room aglow with the blaze, I turned to fasten my door: not a bolt or lock of any kind was there! Well, thought I. I may as well resign myself quietly into the hands of the inquisition; I only hope that they will not adopt the pendulum plan, for the

remembrance of which I had to thank Mr. Poe. So I lighted my pipe once more, took another sip of the vino, and thus cogitated:

"Here I am in a monastery. Secret trap-doors, pits and pendulums, racks, thumb-screws and pincers may be around me; but good dinners, good wine, and a good fire are veritable existences. I am in rather more danger of being seduced by kindness from my Puritanic beliefs, than driven from them by cruelty. I cannot really get up much romantical alarm, and I think I shall take another sip from that generous flask, finish my pipe, toast my toes, and go to bed."

My bedroom was nicely furnished; the mattress, of fine wool, was soft and somnorific, and soon I slept as soundly as if the chapel bell, which at that time called the monks to prayers, had been the bell of a New-England meetinghouse.

I was aroused in the morning by the bustling of Angiolo, who was making the fire. On meeting him, he greeted me with some Latin salutation which I could not understand; but I made myself square with him, by saying, in plain English:

"Good morning, old fellow! How are you?" at which he smiled, rather indefinitely.

"What will the signore have for breakfast?"

"Whatever is convenient. Don't give yourself too much trouble."

“It is no trouble to serve il signore. May I offer coffee and toast, eggs, cold meat?"

"That is enough! With these I can make a superb breakfast. And give my compliments to your excellent cook, and say that I have faith to believe that he can make an omelette fit for the grand duke."

While dressing, I had noticed the absence of a mirror in my bedroom; fortunately I had brought with me a handglass, and by this I had but just finished the ultimate curls of my moustache, when a tray came through the door, followed by Angiolo. Very soon the table was spread with coffee, toast, a few slices of cold meat, and my omelette. The coffee was served from a beautiful set of French porcelain, and was as delicious as any ever made in a Parisian cafe. And the omelette!-oh, bravissimo cuoco, how did you guess so well

that these cutlings of ham, which flavored and gave substance to the dish, were, of all titillating tit-bits, most savory to my taste?

While lingering over my third cup of caffe e latte, I most innocently remarked to Angiolo that there was no mirror in my bedroom.

"There are none in the monastery,” replied he. "There are two in the Forestina,' (a building outside the walls, for lady-visitors); but it is against the rule for a brother ever to look in

one."

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Ah! why is this?"

They say that the devil lurks behind them, signore."

Not a bad conceit, thought I for pride and vanity, those daughters of the devil, may well be thought to make ambuscade behind our looking-glasses.

I learned, besides, from Angiolo, that the rules forbid a brother to sit for his portrait: whereupon I seized my pencil, and, with my note-book in my lap, caught sly glimpses of my kind but superstitious attendant, and, before he had cleared away the dishes, succeeded in getting a very fair representation of his jolly phiz, his round head surmounted by the inevitable skull-cap.

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Look here!" said I.

"Oh! Dio mio! (crossing himself,) it is I myself!"

"How do you recognize it, you rascal, if you never see a mirror?"

"Oh! signore! I never do commit that sin; but I can feel that my nose turns up a little, just like that."

After considerable coaxing, and a promise that I would keep the picture from the sight of the abbot, I induced him to sign his name to this sketch; and, as I am writing, the portrait is before me, pinned to the wall, bearing the autograph, "Fra Angiolo, Vallombrosa," in coarse but legible chirography.

The very next day, I am sorry to say, the abbot discovered the illegal representation, with the signature of the poor fellow whom I had persuaded to sin. The abbot came upon it while examining my sketch-book, and quietly complimented me on my skill.

"The name is unnecessary," said he. I began to explain the manner in which I had stolen the likeness, blaming myself all the time for having left the book on the table; but the autograph was not to be explained away, and that evening, at supper, Fra Angio

lo was "down upon" me. He had been summoned to confession, had owned up, and, for penance, was sentenced to sit up all night in the chapel and repeat any quantity of "Pater Nosters." I was immensely sorry and offered to see the abbot and take all the Blame to myself, but, said he,

"It is of no consequence; I haven't had a penance for some time, and it will do me good."

So that meek man, with his up-turned nose, forgave me, and, doubtless, spent the night piously, though chillily repeating,

"Et dimitte nobis debita nostra, sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris."

After breakfast I went out for a walk. Passing through the doorway, which had been closed, the night before, by that inquisition-like iron-grated door, I entered a quadrangular court, from which there was exit, by an arched passage and a lofty door, into the front yard. Opposite this passage, on the other side of the court, was the entrance to the chapel: I heard chanting within, and, pushing aside the thick green curtain, entered. The chapel was small and not remarkable for its decora

tions. To my taste, however, its simplicity was pleasing; for the tawdry gilding and painting of nearly all the Italian churches and chapels seemed to me to be much more appropriate to theatrical than to ecclesiastical architecture. The brethren were out of sight, in the choir, behind the altar; but I was assured of their presence by the drawling, humming music of their chanting. The leader, in a cracked bass voice, hurried through with his recitative, and then came in the chorus, in all kinds of voices, dwelling in inharmonious unison on the "A-men."

11.

THE brethren meet in the chapel for prayers six or seven times a day, but they cut morning prayers in a way which I must recommend to our NewEngland colleges. To save tumbling out of bed too early on cold mornings, they have invented the admirable plan of doing up their matins in the evening, thus anticipating the services of the next morning! In the pious days of Saint John Gualberto, and up to within a century or so, matins were performed just after midnight, in the first

hour of morning; in later times, this turning out of warm beds at such an unseasonable hour was voted too pious and inconvenient, and the time was changed to daylight-in winter, at about seven o'clock; but within the last few years, a brother, of an inventive and slightly indolent turn of mind, has convinced the fraternity that it is quite as well to finish up the matin business over night, and have, by so doing, an undisturbed snooze till break fast.

Reserving a more minute inspection of the chapel for a time when it should be unoccupied, I left the monks to their nasal harmonies, and passed out through the main entrance into the front yard. This is an inclosure extending the whole length of the building, not much less than two hundred feet, and in breadth may be about fifty feet. High walls, like those of a prison, shut in the yard, and the only gate is a high and strong one of iron-work, which is closed at sunset, to both comers and goers. This inclosure is used as a kitchen-gardensome of the brethren cultivate a few flowers here-but the bowling-alley, in one corner-a sunny.nook and sheltered from the mountain winds-affords them all a pleasant place for exercise and profanity. There was another alley, outside the walls, which was used on pleasant days; but in cold weather, and on Sundays, when they were forbidden to go outside, the corner alley was the favorite resort. On Sunday afternoon, the roll of their ponderous stone balls could be heard continuously; but my window was in the other wing of the building, and I could not note the peculiarities of their Sunday blasphemies.

From the outer gate, a paved walk extended, with a slight descent, to a high stone cross, which marked the turning of the path from thence, precipitously and crookedly, down the mountain. This avenue was bordered by thickly-set fir-trees, and afforded a pleasant promenade for monks of a quiet turn. From my window I often saw them, singly or in couples, pacing up and down this shady walk; and I used to wonder what might be the subjects of their musings and conversations. A monk's heart would be a strange subject for dissection.

On the left of this avenue, as one passed from the gate, was a large fishpond, of very solid masonry, supplied, I was told, by an abundant spring. This, in