tion and conversation of whoever, for the time being, she selected as the sort of background whereon to hang the glittering embroidery of her fulsome and flowery speeches.

There were about a dozen people assembled, who were all to join the party, which promised, from the assemblage, to be very pleasant. Foremost appeared Count M., seated in the centre of the room, his fine bright eyes, pale complexion, and classical features, set off by a profusion of black hair, giving him the look of an inspired poet. He was so abstracted, however, I had to address him twice before he heard me. He sat buried in a book; but, when once roused, "Oh! carissima mia, signora!" exclaimed he, "quanto mai mi rallegro di vederla. Excuse my abstraction, but this inspiring work, which the countess has put into my hands, has riveted my inmost soul. The wrongs of prostrate Italy are so eloquently pleaded.' "Va bene," replied I; "read on, Signor Fanatico, while you can.' And I turned to shake hands with the German baroness, as usual surrounded by gentlemen. Pretty Mrs. too, was there, whose sweet Quaker face, and dear little mouth, seemed formed for kisses, until she opened it, when the broad coarseness of her American accent effectually destroyed the illusion. Still, such a kind, amiable creature must be liked, spite of her "guesses," and her "laws!" and her "difficulties," which were innumerable, as everything, even to a headache, was so denominated by her. Her husband was not present, for, from an unfortunate habit contracted in the New World, of constantly chewing tobacco, of which he consumes many pounds a week, he renders himself quite unfit for society, and, as his pretty wife says, "Josh wants a full week before he is company-rigged." Then there was that incomprehensible but agreeable M'Dermott, who, as soon as our hostess had disappeared, nearly killed me with laughter by his quiet but adroit imitation of her manner; and Mr. B., nonchalant and quiet as ever, looking extremely as if he had not gone to bed at all, in order to avoid what he so much detests, early rising. Dr. C., too, I was glad to see, formed one of the circle, he being one of the few Italians I knew who joins quiet gentlemanlike manners to an excellent heart; his whole life having been passed as court physician to the reigning family, his manners are formed in the most perfect mould of consummate good breeding. Well, dottore mio," said I, as he seated himself by me, "this is quite unexpected, for you are about the last person I should have expected How have you got a holiday from the grand duchess, and forgotten your hospital? and what fresh charms has the signora, your former enemy, acquired in your eyes, that she has influenced you, of all people, to ride to Prato Fiorito ?

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to see.

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Scusi," replied he, "let me answer your questions one at a time, per pietà. Sua altezza has left the Bagni for a few days; the hospital can do without me one morning; then, if the contessa should, in her girlish boldness, tumble down a precipice and break a leg or an arm, I shall at least not refuse my medical aid. So, in somma, I positively am going to the summit of the Prato."

66 Do you really like that black doctor ?" whispered M'Dermott to me. Yes," said I, "I really do like Dr. C. I think him a delightful companion. You are jealous, voilà tout; but you will have enough to do in taking care of the signora in her chair; she has fixed on you to be her companion. How I pity you! Pray be prepared for a fainting fit, and provide yourself with large pockets for butterflies and beetles, and

minerals, and flowers; for you know, when she is on the mountains, the dear creature strays so, when the poetic fury inspires her, that she requires watching, lest the strength of her imagination and the weakness of her legs lead her down some precipice."

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"By the powers, though, she shan't make a fool of me. The old girl may 'stray' if she likes, but I am not going to be her train-holder. How I do detest her Italianised affectations! But one must be civil to her for it; it is the only house this year where one gets a little pleasant society in this deucedly stupid place."

"M'Dermott," said B., "have you breakfasted? By Jove, I have, for I well knew the sort of meals one gets at the countess's-regular Barmecide feasts; plenty of dishes with nothing on them. I have had a good beefsteak at Giacomo's. The mountain air gives one an appetite, and I have brought a couple of capital chicken-pies and some excellent Bologna sausages for my share of the eatables."

"Here is the man who pretends to be a poet!" exclaimed M'Dermott. "Why, my good fellow, take example by Count M. here, who is at this moment no nearer to the earth than Byron when he wrote Childe Harold;' even you ought to nourish yourself with rosy dew, and make salads of flowering hair-bells and hyacinths, and fatten on contemplation and the beauties of Italian scenery. Why, don't you hear we are to have a meal of classical simplicity founded on the Georgics, as translated economically by our hostess herself? Chicken-pies, Giacomo's, and beefsteaks! B., I blush for you!"

"No one ever wrote on an empty stomach yet; and I never heard that Byron stinted his appetite, although he wished the poor ladies to starve. But we shall be very late if we don't soon start. Look at the wretched count; he is making up for his early rising by snoozing on the sofa. What a rage the lady-wife will be in when she sees him! She'll box his ears with Virgil, as sure as fate."

"Had we not better rouse him?" said I; "it is nearly nine o'clock. We are losing time sadly."

"Vill you,

“Oh, vat, vat have I done?" exclaimed the baroness. madame, help me to mend this mistake? Look at this china vase vich I take up to admire, is so ver pretty, when, guter himmel! it fall in two in mine hand. I have no broke it; indeed, not I."

As we were endeavouring to replace the broken pieces, the curtains were withdrawn with a theatrical crash, the small door thrown violently open, a tremendous gong sounded, so near as almost to break the drum of one's ears, and the countess herself appeared, to announce that "the refection was served," followed by two serving-men wearing old livery coats, far too large, trimmed with faded-gold lace, looking extremely like a transfer from the count's courier wardrobe. As we were all collected round the baroness, endeavouring to rectify what she had done, except the poor count, who, happily unconscious, had sunk fast into a corner of the sofa, and was snoring audibly,

"What is the matter?" said the countess, rather tartly. "I thought to have found you all impatience for the sylvan repast awaiting you." "Oh, madame, pray, pardon my gaucherie. I have knocked down half this china-vat you call it? But it was already broken." "Yes," replied our hostess, "sweet friend, allay your annoyance, the Feb.-VOL. CIX. NO. CCCCXXXIV.

L

vase was broken; but the hand of friendship had placed the fragments together. That vase has been cracked ever since the day that our beloved, but now, alas! departed friend, the Duchess Gualtieri, was with us, whose blessed spirit three years ago left its tenement of clay to seek a home among the starry skies. During the time she honoured with her presence my villa near Rome, she accidentally broke it while arranging some flowers culled in the woods, and I have never since, out of a sentimental regard for her memory, parted from the fragments, or allowed them to be repaired. I consecrated her memory, too, in a sonnet, which is bound up in my collected works."

Dr. C. raised his eyebrows significantly at this sentimental explanation of the cracked basin. I actually was obliged to turn aside to hide my laughter; and McDermott fell to violently caressing the little lapdog Tiny.

"Count!" cried the lady, in a voice so shrill that the poor gentleman seemed to recognise the accents in his sleep. "Count! is this the way you take charge of my friends? I am shocked!"

"My dear-my love," replied he, suddenly rousing himself; "you know it was very late last night, and you would not let me go to bed till I had decorated the tables," began the peccant husband. But quickly silenced by a glance of fury, he meekly held his peace.

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Ladies-gentlemen," said the Countess S., "the board is spread; do you not hear the gong?"

Indeed, we did; and every one hastened as speedily as possible through the narrow door. I fell to the share of the count, who looked paler, thinner, and more wo-begone than ever after his recent castigation; his lady seized on B., whose literary talents, made them, as she expressed it, "sympathetic souls;" and the rest brought up the rear. The diningroom was like all the rooms at the villa, small and dreadfully encumbered with furniture; it looked cold and damp, and was much in want of windows. The walls, painted in fresco in a somewhat washy style, displayed pastoral expanses of pea-green scenery, shepherd, and sheep; and, in the centre compartment, the genius of poetry descending in a vision to a sleeping nymph in curls, who certainly was intended to represent that modern Sappho, our hostess; though she modestly denied the fact, with a complacent smirk.

On the present occasion the small room was nearly filled by the table, which literally groaned under the weight of crockery with which it was laden. Mr. B. was right in prognosticating a frugal repast; for at first I imagined that the collation consisted in vases of flowers, so plentifully were they disposed around, in about the proportion of one to each person, with a large central group. But on examination I discovered some small dishes, peeping out here and there among the leaves, singularly unsubstantial in quality. Hard-boiled eggs, apples, salad, small pieces of cheese, custards, grapes, minute sandwiches the promised syllabub, in very slender glasses-the only thing looking substantial being a couple of huge loaves, flanking the large flower-vase in the centre; but what were they among so many? At sight of this particularly pastoral cheer, the countenance of the gentlemen visibly sank, and M'Dermott managed to express his dissatisfaction by a ridiculous grimace; our hostess was, however, all glorious.

The repast over, we all re-entered the saloon, and preparations for the start began in good earnest. The ponies were assembled at the door, and the portantini for our literary hostess was also in waiting. That lady, after a few moments' retirement, emerged from her bower equipped for the mountains. On her head she wore a wide-awake hat, ornamented with vast plumes of black ostrich feathers, reaching to her waist behind, and mixing in strange confusion with her greyish curls-for the countess belonged to that uncertain period when age already disputes with youth for mastery. A close-fitting jacket of crimson velvet displayed her form to the fullest advantage, while below appeared a mass of flounces only to be compared to line after line of breakers in a stormy sea. The petticoat being cut extremely short, displayed feet of immense proportions in black-velvet boots, fringed and tasselled with silver. Following this singular apparition appeared the down-cast figure of her unhappy maid, so loaded with pillows, cushions, parasols, and a large basket, that it was impossible to see more of her than her face.

"You are sure, now, that everything is in the basket, Hagar?" said the lady. "You know how irreparable any forgetfulness would be. Ah, my friends," said she, in a sentimental tone, turning to us, who all stood gazing at her in an astonishment she evidently mistook for admiration, "this is a great undertaking"

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Yes, indeed, for the wretched portantini," whispered M'Dermott. "Poor devils, how I pity them, to have the dragging of that Xantippe and her draperies up the mountains !"

"Gentlemen, will you assist me?" And, supported by the whole array of men, she descended the steps of the portico with a dramatic air. After some little delay she was fairly placed in the chair. "Mr. M'Dermott," said she, " you will, I hope, walk beside my chair, and solace the long hours of the ascent with your Hibernian vivacity. Hagar," to her maid, "of course, you will keep close. Count-carino prezioso-where are you?"

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Here, love," replied that gentleman, emerging from a small sideroom presenting a singular spectacle, being, spite of the heat, clothed in an immense cloak or tabarro, with a white hat and a blue veil.

"Grazie al cielo," said the dottore, "she is off-che donna mensogniera. Now, signora, let me help you on your pony, and try to obliterate all the folly to which we have listened, by a little agreeable conversation. Your society will make amends for all I have endured at the table of that pazza, and I trust I may be of use in explaining and pointing out to you the varied beauties of our route."

NOTES ON NOTE-WORTHIES,

OF DIVERS ORDERS, EITHER SEX, AND EVERY AGE.

BY SIR NATHANIEL.

And make them men of note (do you note, men ?)-Love's Labour's Lost, Act III. Sc. 1.

D. Pedro. Or, if thou wilt hold longer argument,

Balth.

Do it in notes.

Note this before my notes,

There's not a note of mine that's worth the noting.

D. Pedro. Why these are very crotchets that he speaks,
Notes, notes, forsooth, and noting!

Much Ado About Nothing, Act II. Sc. 3.

And these to Notes are frittered quite away.-Dunciad, Book I.

Notes of exception, notes of admiration,

Notes of assent, notes of interrogation.-Amen Corner, c. iii.

EVERY bullet has its billet. So believes that communis sensus of the world which finds its aptest expression in a proverb. So believed, no doubt, the turbulent monk who billeted a bullet against the person of Carlo Borromeo, with intent to do him the most grievous bodily harm a bullet can, or is designed to, effect. But in this instance the Church Reformer-meaning the real one, San Carlo-wore a charmed life; and the opposition Church Reformer-meaning the monk Farina, for he too set up for one in his way, that way being to rid the perturbed Church of its cardinal troubler, and purge it of his presence by an ite, missa est in leaden type-misdirected his billet, albeit he did send his bullet home. The direction put upon the billet by its unscrupulous sender was -to the heart of hearts of Carlo Borromeo, Archbishop, that troubler of the stagnant peace of monkish malcontents. It miscarried. So far at least as that the bullet, though it found a lodgment in the Archbishop's vesture, as he knelt before the altar at evening prayer,* dropped, a harm

"When from the assassin's arm the bullet sped,

He blench'd not, nor his deep devotions stopt; 'Be not dismay'd in heart!' the anthem said,

He rose-the bullet from his vestment dropt!"

Such is one of the supplementary stanzas appended by Mr. Ainsworth to his "free translation" of the Admirable Crichton's Latin "Elegy on the Cardinal Carlo Borromeo." The following note is added to illustrate the incident in question :

"The ecclesiastical reformation effected by Saint Charles met, as was natural, with considerable opposition on the part of the corrupt and disorderly priesthood, and he became the object of their bitterest animosity. Les plus opposés à la réforme,' writes M. Tabauraud, 'suscitèrent un frère Farina, qui se posta à l'entrée de la chapelle archiepiscopale où le Saint Prélat faisait sa prière avec toute sa maison; et, au moment où l'on chantait cette antienne, Non turbetur cor vestrum neque formidet, l'assassin, éloigné seulement de cinq ou six pas, tire un'coup d'arquebuse sur Saint Charles, à genoux devant l'autel. A ce bruit, le chant cessa, le consternation est générale; le Saint, sans s'émouvoir, fait signe de continuer la prière: il se croyait cependant blessé mortellement, et offrait à Dieu le