the season, is stocked with brook-trout, which are fed daily, and kept fat for Fridays. Fishermen are constantly employed to bring in fresh supplies: there must be a score or so of men and boys who are occupied in fishing and in gathering mushrooms. This vegetable is found abundantly in the shady and rocky dells of the surrounding forest, and forms an important part of the resources of the kitchen. I fungi, as the Italians call mushrooms. make capital dishes, or seasonings, in two formsfried plainly in oil, and cut in slices with poached eggs and I became very fond of them.

There were pleasant paths behind the monastery. The mountain rises quite abruptly from the rear of the building, and from several rocky prominences there are views directly down into the very inner court of the sanctuary. At frequent places along these paths were shrines, convenient spots for resting, and to the devout, for praying. Images of the Virgin, rudely frescoed on the walls of these tabernacoli, were protected from the weather by a narrow roofing and side-walls; the whole erection being just large and high enough for a man to stand within. One of these was very picturesquely situated; I made a sketch of it, and of an old stone cross near by, placed over the spot where "Giovanni somebody (the inscription was partly worn away) interfectus est, A.D. 165–."

My walk extended almost to the top of the mountain, and, from one of the resting-places, what a view there was! The day was clear, and the peculiar atmosphere of Italy, seemingly hazy, but never rendering indistinct the remotest distance, gave that delicious hue to the landscape which travelers delight in praising. Far away, at the western horizon, glittered the waves of the Mediterranean; the winding Arno marked, in its long course, the garden of Italy; and nearer were the mountain villas, spots for the eye to rest on, amidst the thick verdure of olive groves. I sat long and delightedly, endeavoring-successfully, I find-to fix the impression in my mind.

On my return, I found lunch ready, and, while attending to my sharpened appetite, the abbot came in with his "Pax vobiscum." Had I slept well? Had Angiolo done everything for me? He had been unusually busy or he would have called before. Would I

like to visit the chapel, the library, the refectory? He would send a brother who would take pleasure in conducting me throughout the building.

I alluded to intrusion; but, before I had time to finish my sentence, he overflowed me with courtesy again. I succeeded, however, in assuring him how much I appreciated his kindness to me, a stranger, from a far country. Upon my word, I am half ashamed at this moment, for-telling some plain truths about the monks who entertained me so kindly at Vallombrosa.

A brother, who announced himself us Fra Giovanni, came in shortly after the departure of the abbot, and, under his guidance, I visited almost every part of the buildings. I will describe only the places and things which seemed most interesting.

The choir of the chapel was, in many respects, unlike the choirs, or singers' galleries, in our churches. The chapel itself was, of course, built in the form of a cross; the altar was at the intersection of the nave and transepts; and the space behind the altar-which might, and might not, be called a chancel-was furnished on three sides, with double rows of high-backed, huge, and well-carved old oak seats. These, during services, are occupied by the brethren, the old monks occupying the back seats. In the centre of the open space stood a kind of reading-desk-a contrivance made to uphold the huge manuscript book of music, from which all read the music and words of the day's lesson. The desk was very beautifully carved, the support consisting of a single pillar, resting on a low, square case. But the huge books of music were the curiosity of the place. They were made before the days of printing; and at a time when it was thought easier to make one book-written in characters large enough for all to read at once--than smaller ones for each member of the chorus. The pages measured about three feet by two; the old square notes were written on a staff of three lines, the spaces of which were about two inches in breadth. The interlined words were in strange, old Italian characters, and the capital letters, painted in brilliant vermilion, were as large as one's hand. Of the dozen or more of these large books, a few only are used now-a-days-such as contain masses and requiems not often sung.

The brethren have supplied themselves with hand-books, and these, also, are not much used, for they become so familiar with the routine of daily prayers that they trust to memory.

The refectory was a long and higharched hall, wainscoted with chestnut wood. A few old paintings hang promiscuously upon the walls. In the days. of Napoleon's conquest of Italy, all the valuable pictures of the monastery-and those were not a few-were carried off to Paris. My guide alluded to this in excuse for the many vacancies, and for the character of the remaining pictures. There was table-room for two hundred, but only forty or fifty then assembled at "the festive board." It is a rule that there shall be no conversation at table. From a little pulpit which juts out from the side-wall, a brother reads to the company same interesting old Latin document at least I found such a book on the desk, but cannot assert that lighter reading is not sometimes enjoyed. The kitchen adjoined the diningroom, and was worthy of the name. Vast fire-places and ranges, long rows of dressers, glittering with bright copper stew-pans, etc., Frenchy-looking cooks, bustling about in paper caps and long white aprons-a mingled fragrance from twenty different bakes and roasts, and stews and broils-ah! that was a kitchen!

The library, on the second floor, was a beautiful room. Its walls were frescoed; its floor paved in colored tiles; the book-cases were of carved chestnut; the windows of stained glass. Napoleon ravished about among the libraries of Italy most dishonorably, Mr. Abbot! he carried away from Vallombrosa many most ancient, beautiful, and valuable manuscripts. But, during this first visit, and often afterwards, I took great pleasure in examining the remaining treasures. The old books, bound richly in vellum, were interesting, but I was particularly delighted in the music manuscripts, bound and unbound. One folio, of the date of 1500, was most beautiful. It was that magnificent hymn, or dirge, commencing,

"Quantus tremor est futurus
Quando judex est venturus."

The characters of the music were square and diamond-shaped; the words were interlined in a plain, neat text; but the capitals, especially the first Q,"

were most exquisitely designed and colored. The principal color was vermilion; this was "picked-out" with black, and the vine-like tracery about the letters was of light blue. The colors were laid on with wax, and preserved their original brilliancy, perfectly. I wish I could give an idea of the music itself. It was a most lugubrious duet for a basso and tenore. The melody wailed up and down in long windings, with many passages in unison, and the return to the key-note, at the end of each verse, was like tumbling down stairs and groaning at the bottom. After receiving permission to take this to my room, I spent several days in making a copy of one of the pages. With considerable imitative skill, and a patient love for the labor, I succeeded in making almost a fac-simile. I brought it home among my curiosities, and may ancient, wheezy and tuneless hurdy-gurdies endlessly haunt the wretch who recently stole it from me!

The monastery of Vallombrosa was, at one time, second only to St. Peter's, in the excellence of its music. Guido Aretini, who was a member of the order about the year of our Lord 1020, was famous as a composer and writer upon music. Two popes in succession invited him to Rome, which place he visited; but he finally settled at Ferrara, at the urgent request of the abbot of the monastery there. He was the first person

to use and recommend the use of lines and spaces" in musical notation; but he is chiefly famous as the inventor of what is technically termed "sol-faing." Haying observed that the music, then in use, to the following hymn to John the Baptist, ascended, upon the first syllable of each half line, in an uninterrupted series of six sounds, he adapted the syllables to represent the sounds:

HYMN.

"Ut-qucant laxis-re-sonare fibris
Mi-ra gestorum-fa-muli tuorum,
Sol ve polluti-la-bii reatum,
Sancte Johannes!"

The syllable Do was substituted for Ut, and Si added, late in the 17th century.

The following day being Friday, I had occasion to praise the skill and ingenuity of the cooks. In addition to a dish of trout, I had eggs cooked in three ways-an omelette aux fines herbes; fried in oil, with mushrooms; and poached, (served on toast)-with a variety of vegetables; the whole pre

ceded by a capital pea-soup, and followed by honey and fruits-good wine, of course, accompanying. After dinner, on mature reflection, I decided that les jours maigres might come as often as the most austere piety should dictate; I am partial to eggs, when well cooked and served, and pea-soup is one of my weaknesses.

On Sunday, I, of course, went to "meetin," in the chapel. There were a dozen peasants kneeling at the sidealtars, of whom most were women. In the chapel only may women come, the rules say, and I do not think it can be proved that a petticoat was ever seen in any other part of the monastery. Some one was playing on the organ as I entered. The organ, in Italian churches, is used mainly to occupy the pauses which occur in the vocal performances, but the organist here seemed to have a cacoethes sonandi; for he was running scales and resolving chords during the solemn chanting of the choir. His music, too, when it fairly came his turn to play, was rather of the "light fantastic," than the "dim religious," kind. I detected familiar arias from Verdi, well executed: "La Donna e mobile" seemed his favorite theme. But he reached the climax of irreverent levity at the raising of the Host, when, with full organ, including a stop of little bells, he struck up the opening ballo in "Il Rigolletto:"--Tink, tink,—tink, tink,-tinki, tinki, tink! (Allegro, vivace!)

After the services (performances?) were over, and the monks had filed off solemnly into the vestry, I remained to listen to that profane but skillful organist. The instrument was one of the best I heard in Italy. One of its excellences, as I afterwards discovered, was its "action," which was as delicate, almost, as that of a piano. For nearly an hour I enjoyed the performance of nearly all the choice bits of opera with which I was familiar. I stood in a recess where I was unobserved: the organist was alone and he suffered his fingers to wander in what, in New England, on Sunday, would certainly be called forbidden paths.

As I came out and stood under the arch of the great front-door, I observed the brethren at their exercise--let us charitably call it. With their togas knotted over their backs, they were bowling on the alley in the corner of the yard. I would not disturb their

"free speech" by approaching them : but returned to my room and wrote to a friend at the Andover "School of the Prophets," describing to him this Italian theological seminary.

Every day, at noon, I was honored by a visit from the abbot. He came in always with a kindly smile and a par vobiscum, and, after having inquired of my health, sat himself down and began a friendly chat. Fortunately I was sufficiently conversant with Italian to be able to understand and make myself understood without difficulty. The good abbot was anxious to learn everything about America-and in truth he had much to learn; for he one day astonished me by referring to the contiguity of Canada and Brazil! We often discussed the question of the probable success of Catholicism in the United States. I freed him from an idea he had, that already the Catholics were the predominant sect there; but he remained confident in the ultimate supremacy of "The Church," not only in our country, but throughout the world. I could not avoid noticing that, in these conversations, the good abbot seemed desirous of learning my opinions about his religion. He did not ask direct questions, but his expressions often ended in such a slily interrogative way that I was sometimes puzzled to avoid making direct replies. I could not conscientiously approve of the policy of Pio Nono, either in church or state; I could not agree with him, that Roman Catholicism was a blessing to any people; but when he asked me how I liked life in a monastery, I could honestly reply, and did, that it was most agreeable, if life at Vallombrosa could be taken as a speci

men.

To my surprise, thereupon, he invited me to stay and spend the winter with them. I confess that I was smitten with a great desire to accept the invitation, and, for a moment, visions of quiet rummagings in the library, quiet evenings by a glowing fire, good dinners, and good wine, came tranquilly over my mind; such a life attracted me strongly-shut in by the mountain snows, I should play hermit most jovially. But when I remembered Florence, the galleries, the opera, the cascine, and thee, O cara Ersilia, and the conviction came upon me, with saddening freshness, that this winter would be my last in that beautiful city, I made decision, and said:

"The world allures me, good father. I am young, and music, and art, and love entice me hence. But when, after a few years have passed, pleasure shall seem to have lost her youthful freshness, I seek a hermitage-a spot where I may spend the remainder of my days, in mild meditation and mellowed memories, in repose, repasts, and repentance, no place can offer me such attractions as Vallombrosa."

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"Ah, well!" said he, "you will but do as I have done;" and the abbot sighed.

"But, speaking of music," he resumed, "one of our members is quite a musician. You must have heard him playing on the organ, in the chapel."

I assented, and praised the organist's skill, and I added that I was very fond of good music.

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Would you be pleased to visit him at his room? He has a good piano there."

A piano in a monastery!-thought I. We went immediately, and found Fra Giuseppe playing upon a Vienna grand piano, which occupied two-thirds of the space in his cell. After salutations, the abbot remarked that he had brought me there to hear good music; whereupon, Giuseppe bowed, and courteously denied his ability to give any one that pleasure. At this point I came in with the confession that I had remained for an hour, to hear him on Sunday, which settled the matter, as far as pleasing me was concerned, and he needed no further urging. His playing was spirited, accurate, and graceful, and I praised him very sincerely when he rose. To show him that I was sufficiently acquainted with the instrument to appreciate his skill, I stood at the keys and struck a few chords.

"Per Bacco! You play! Let me hear you! I have not heard music from other hands than my own, for years."

I had gone and done it. I really knew hardly anything of the piano; I had picked out a few accompaniments to songs on my sister's piano at home, and even these were dim and thin. But play I must, so, after a preface that I could play only accompaniments, I sat down and sang "Jordan;" which was not enough. "Gaudeamus," and "Landlord, fill the flowing bowl," succeeded, and I closed with The Star Spangled Banner." While I was playing, some of the brethren, who were passing the

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It touches my heart!" exclaimed the enthusiastic musician. "The style is new and strong. It would be a glorious war-song Receive my respects, signore. Viva l'America!"

My acquaintance with Fra Giuseppe proved very agreeable. Together, we examined the musical treasures of the library, among which were some curious old MSS. of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. In these there were no staves, and the characters were diamond-shaped notes and wavering, zig-zag lines. One could catch the airs without difficulty; they were very simple, and not very different from the chapel music of these days; indeed, Giuseppe assured me that one, at least, of the chants then in use was precisely the same one which was used in Guido Aretini's time. Among the most pleasing of my memories of Vallombrosa are the hours I spent with Fra Giuseppe in the library, the organ-loft, or in his room.

To my grief I discovered one day that my stock of tobacco was nearly exhausted. I mentioned my deplorable situation to Angiolo, and asked if I could not send down the mountain for some of the village cigars, at Pelago. The sale of tobacco in Tuscany is a government monopoly, and the grand duke deserves praise for the quality of the cigars he vends. Even in villages one may obtain very tolerable cigarri, and in Florence I have bought as good

"Havanas" as I ever smoked.

"Perhaps I can get some for il signore, at a nearer place," said Angiolo, with a sly look.

“Does any one smoke, here?”

"Chi sa?" (who knows?) and out he went, to return soon with a bunch of Havana cigars, labeled on the ribbon, "Colorados."

"With the respects of one who has a regard for American cigars and Ame

I WAS at a loss to account for these frequent acts of kindness to me. From the limited and cool attention showed to an Englishman who paid the sanctuary a flying visit during my stay, I judged that I was more than ordinarily well treated. I felt under obligations to Minuti for the letter of introduction which he had procured for me; for it must be owing to that, I thought, that I was so well received and entertained. I found, too, that there was prejudice among the monks against the English. "These English," said the abbot to me, one day, "are most unbearable. Two or three hundred years ago a certain Signor Meelton was here, and took occasion to remark the quantities of leaves in our valleys and brooks-for it was autumn. The fact was, of course, entered in his note-book, and, on his return, he alluded to this wonderful circumstance in a book of poems which he published. Long after his death, they say, his poems became very popular, and, now-a-days, every Englishman who has read poetry, must come to Vallombrosa, to see the identical brooks-if they are not dry, and to pick up some of the leaves. They come here as if it were an inn, and go stalking around through the building as if they paid their bill, and had their right to the premises. I am often tempted to refuse to admit them, but for six hundred years, Signor, no stranger has been denied the three days' food and lodging. But you, Americans, (with a bow, and a momentary removal of his three-corned cap) are much more agreeable."

After a fortnight's sojourn with the

jolly hermits, I packed up my notes. sketches and memories, and came, reluctantly, away. L'Albertini was about to open the season, at Florence, with "Il Trovatore," and this decided the matter. La Signorina Ersilia would be regularly at her box, in the second tier, and this aided me in deciding.

At parting, the abbot gave me a large and fine rosary, with a prayer for my conversion, I suppose. I ventured to ask, also, for the little crucifix which hung over my bed; and when this was cheerfully granted, and "anything, everything else," was offered, I confessed to having promised a friend in Florence that I would try to bring him a flask of their wine. Angiolo immediately brought a fat one. I wish it were here at this moment. How gently I would remove the wisp of tow from the neck, and carefully pour off the golden-hued olive oil, which would rest on the surface, to keep the wine sweet-corks are almost unknown in the country-and, with a bumper, drink, "Viva la Congregazione di Vallombrosa!" With many and hearty thanks to the good abbot, addios to Giuseppe and others, and a few dollars to Angiolo, "for the poor," I passed out from the grated gateway and took the path down the mountain. When I become misanthropic again-which time may not be far distant-I shall seek no other hermitage than that of Vallombrosa.

The next day I was at home at my rooms in Florence. Minuti sat at the table, sipping glass after glass of the mountain wine, and a mysterious smile played about his fine eyes as I told him of my hermit experiences.

"And you didn't become a Catholic ?"

"No; certainly not. Why?"

"Because that letter informed the abbot that you were a Protestant, who was so much inclined to believe in Pio Nono, that persuasion and kindness might easily bring you over."

Tu birbone!"