in one of Wordsworth's sonnets how perfectly he expresses this sort of religious evening calm?"

And A—, taking up a book which lay beside him, turned over the leaves, and read in a clear, impassioned voice, those lovely lines, commencing with

"It is a beauteous evening, calm and free, The holy time is quiet as a nun," &c. When he had finished, he relapsed into a satisfied silence from which we did not disturb him.

Now X had looked hitherto in that uncomfortable condition of wanting to say something and being unable to say it, but the silence which followed this poetic outburst gave him an opening, and he seized it.

"That is beautiful, I grant you; but here, surrounded by the memories of a past struggle for freedom, I like better that sonnet of your poet, where he sings of the influence which the mountains and sea exercise in the cause of liberty:

"Two voices are there-one is of the sea, One of the mountains: each a mighty voice." "

"What is the struggle you mention?" said Awho was in the humour for listening. "Was it one of those endless quarrels between Guelph and Ghibelline, the dreary recital of which wearies the reader to this day?”

"On the contrary," replied X ; "the war between Como and Milan stands out from the mere squabbles between one town and the other, by its great significances; an ancient poet relates how that for ten years this little town at our feet defied the united armies of Lombardy."

"We are to have the narration in the words of a modern poet, I perceive," interrupted D, mischievously; but A interposed, and said heartily, "Let us have it by all means." And X—, delighted, started off at once.

"Its position on the border-land between Italy and Germany determined the fortunes of Como. The gloomy walls which surround it, the deep fosse where the wild gourd flings

itself over the grass, still preserve the memory of the great struggle between the German chivalry of Frederick Barbarossa and the free citizens of the Italian towns, in which democracy won its first and most decisive victory over mediæval feudalism. The struggle itself was a new act, as it were, in the long contest between the Pope and the Empire. Frederick had inherited the tradition of universal rule from Otto and from Charles the First; it was his right as German king to claim the crown of Italy, and to receive the greater crown of the Empire itself in his destined capital of Rome. The one obstacle in the way of imperial ambition had hitherto been the Papacy, and the Papacy seemed little inclined to plunge into a struggle with Frederick. It was

to complete his realm, therefore, that Frederick marched into Italy, but it was the cry of Como which actually called him over the Alps. Unperceived by kings or emperors, a new force was springing up in Italy itself; city after city found freedom and selfgovernment in the choice of its own magistrates, the deliberations of its own citizens, in a rule of reason and equality which replaced the brute force and subordination of feudalism. Had the cities been as united as they were free, Italy would have "made itself" in the twelfth century instead of the nineteenth. But local jealousies followed local independence; and the greater cities had hardly won liberty when they strove to wrest liberty from the lesser towns around them.

"The acquisition of Como, through which the trade of Central Italy passed on its way to the north, was of the highest importance to Milan, and religious as well as political differences fanned the strife between them. For ten years Como defied the arms of its great rival in a struggle which a native poet, whose verses commemorate it, likens to the ten years' struggle around Troy.

"The opening of the conflict had, at any rate, something of the fire and energy of Homeric story. The see of

Como was disputed between Guido, whose cause was espoused by the citizens themselves, and a certain Landolf, whose cause was supported by Milan. Guido took the matter into his own hands one night, and, sallying forth, stormed the Castle of St. George, where Landolf had been installed, took him prisoner, and slew many of his relatives and friends. The rest fled to Milan, where they exposed to view on the public place the bloody garments of the slain; they stood by in silence, whilst the widows and orphans with tears and lamentations implored the passers-by to avenge their wrong. During this scene the church-bells sounded, and the people flocked to worship; but they were prevented from entering the temple by the appearance of the Archbishop at the head of his clergy, who gave orders that the doors should be closed ; he then declared that they should only be opened to those who would take up arms for their country and for their church. Amongst a people so easily excited to war, this spectacle took instant effect. A herald was despatched to defy the town of Como, and the Milanese put themselves in readiness for the fight.

"The Comaschi, quitting their town, stationed themselves at the foot of this mount, and awaited the onslaught of the enemy. They soon perceived the forces of the Milanese advancing along the plain, with banners flying, and dragging in their midst the carroccio, or war-chariot, around whose floating standard their chosen men of valour clustered. The fight was long and fierce, night only separating the combatants, without either party knowing to whom the victory belonged. At morning light the Comaschi observed with wonder that the enemy had disappeared. Hurriedly ascending the mountain, they saw (perhaps from the spot on which we are now seated) the city below covered with a dense volume of smoke, from which the flames escaped in lurid gleams. The enemy had, under cover of the darkness, followed the dry bed of a winter torrent, and reached the town,

which they set on fire. They were absorbed in the pillage when the Comaschi burst upon them, overpowered them completely, and put them to flight. Then, masters again of their city, they raised the ruined walls, quenched the fire, and awaited a new call to duty and to arms."

"Vive la République!" cried A-, as he threw his hat into the air with a half-feigned enthusiasm.

"The two suburbs," continued X——, "Vico and Coloniola, which we see extended along the shores of the lake, sustained next a vigorous attack; but the enemy was repulsed with great loss, and retired, proclaiming (according to the custom of the day) that they would return in the following August and lay siege to the town. They kept their word, and during the eight years that followed the Milanese renewed their attacks every summer, but the conflict was chiefly kept up along the shores of the lakes Como, Lugano, and Maggiore, where a number of small townships which belonged to the Comaschi had revolted against them. The dash and vigour of the warriors of Como was wonderful. They had constructed a fleet upon the Lake Lugano, and reduced its people to submission; but they had no fleet on the Lake Maggiore, and the enemy were there in force. Guess what they did! They transported the whole fleet on wheels from the one lake to the other, the distance being eight miles! To the astonishment of the enemy a new array of vessels sailed up the lake in the bright morning air, encouraging by its presence those allies who were still faithful to the fortunes of the republic.

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The year 1127 found them suffering from all the horrors of a prolonged and harassing struggle. Their harvests were burnt, their subjects revolted, and their bravest warriors dead. The Milanese prepared for a desperate effort: assembling a vast army, gathered from the surrounding republics, they encamped beneath the walls of Como. The towns of Pisa, Lecco, and Genoa had furnished engineers, and with their help they constructed great towers, battering-rams,

and huge machines for hurling stones into the town. When these preparations were completed, they commenced the siege with shouts of joy. In spite of a gallant resistance on the part of the Comaschi, and two desperate sorties, the battering-rams made so large a breach that the enemy only waited the morning to enter with their cavalry and take possession of the town."

Here D broke in, for the prolonged resistance of the Comaschi had exhausted her. "I hope they were beaten at last," she said, "for unless they were, we shall be late for the boat. We lost our dinner at Brunnen owing to X's interminable recital of the rise of the Swiss Confederacy; and if we lose our dinner again for the sake of the freedom of Como, I shall become an Imperialist."

Never while I live," said X-; "the story is worth a hundred dinners, for the Comaschi, sooner than surrender to the enemy, abandoned the town, chose the Castle of Vico from whence to defend their liberty, and sending off the old men and the children, gathered round the breach, and rushed upon the besiegers with such impetuosity as to spread dismay throughout their camp. The Comaschi availed themselves of the confusion, regained their ships, and fled to Vico before morning dawned. Next day the astonished Milanese found the town silent and abandoned, and saw from afar the Castle of Vico furnished with soldiers and war machines, ready to undergo another siege, perhaps longer than that of Como; for the rocks on which the fortress was built were inaccessible. Wearied out, they offered favourable terms to the Comaschi, which were accepted, and the war terminated."

"I rejoice to hear it," said Dglancing at X- -:"it has been a weary business, and now I suppose we may go."

"What!" replied X, "and leave Frederick Barbarossa behind, and how, hearing the cry of the townships of Como, Cremona, and Lodi, as they groaned under the tyranny of Milan,

he swept down upon the Milanese in 1158, besieged and destroyed their town, enfranchised Como, rebuilt her walls, and granted to the city the ruined fortress which crowns this hill, and imperial rights——

“Yes,” said D; "what is Barbarossa to me, or I to Barbarossa?" "You won't say that," said Alaughing, "when he wakes from his long sleep in the rock at Thuringia, shakes his monstrous red beard, and calls for vengeance on the enemies of Germany."

Just then a lovely strain of music came floating down to us from the ruins of the tower. Looking upwards through the green trees, we saw the singer: it was one of the joyous girls whom we had seen at the tower, who had separated herself from her companions, and wandered, singing as she went. The sound rose and fell in lovely cadence as we left our pleasant resting-place, and struck down through the green acacias, aud went rapidly towards the town. In spite of renewed attempts on the part of Aand X to have "just one more look at San Abbondio," and to reknit their discussion-for A-, who had a knack of forgetting defeat, was again sure he was right-we were soon in sight of the shore, and of the little packet, which was fast approaching, its long pennon of smoke flying in the heavenly azure of the air.

The evening was closing in as we embarked, and heavy clouds rose from the north, slowly overshadowing the tender sky, still serene with the remembrance of sunlight. A mist of rain came on, and we saw as through a veil each mountain barrier lifting its head against the darkened heavens; whilst the surface of the lake was all alive with wavelets tossing their foam against the vessel's side. The scene wore a changed aspect since the morning, but one which I enjoyed. I liked this angry mood of Nature: and, seated on the deck, I watched every impulsive burst of rain, and every half-repentant lifting of the veil-shadowy woodland

M. JULES SIMON lately reminded us that there is a chapter of history yet to be written. In his Address to the French Institute in October last, he lamented the vandalism of the Allies of 1814, and "especially of the English," who, as he informed his countrymen, "robbed the Galleries, Museums, and Archives of Paris of invaluable treasures, monuments of French artistic and literary genius." Few things would, perhaps, be more instructive than a correct and minute statement of what there was at that time to be taken away from Paris, and of what was actually taken. Men own and claim property by a variety of titles, and especially by "the old and simple plan, that those should take who have the power, and those should keep who can," a principle which, in Yankee slang, makes everybody's luggage his "plunder." It is desirable, therefore, to know by what chance the French of 1814 had come by what they called their own; for there may be genius in "appropriating" as well as in creating art, and it took all the wisdom of Solomon himself to distinguish real from assumed maternity.

If it is true that all men are liars, it may also be asserted that all nations are, or have been, robber-bands. The life of the conquered is, according to the laws of war, forfeited to the victor. How much more his property! Ancient monarchs carried whole nations away into captivity. Red Indians hang the scalps of slain warriors to their saddlebows. Mere tourists have been known, when they had a chance, to chip off a nose from a bas-relief, or strip the bark from a sacred tree. International robbery, however, on a large or small scale, should have an object. You take booty from your neighbour, or a trophy; a keepsake, or a curiosity. The Romans of old plundered Egypt or Greece to enhance the splendour of a triumphal

entry. Columbus brought gold from Hispaniola as evidence of a new world. The Crusaders shipped cargoes of earth and water, that their children might be christened in Jordan, and themselves buried in the dust of Jehoshaphat. But no one ever burdened himself with other people's property without considering what he was to do with it. The same may be said of destructive instincts. Omar may have burnt a library to give glory to the Koran; the Iconoclasts waged war to Art out of hatred to idolatry; Savonarola made bonfires of the classics by way of a protest against Pagan licentiousness; and Knox fired the nests that the crows might "flee awa.”

But there is something in French nature altogether out of the laws of human gravitation. The fires of the late Commune revealed a new bump in man's skull. One wonders what men like Ferré would have done had time and courage been given to them; if the Louvre had gone with the Tuileries, and Notre Dame with the Theatre of the Porte St. Martin. What if all Paris had really been "in ashes," and what if it had been the Paris of 1814, instead of that of 1871? There have been at all times revolutions in the world, mad passions let loose; the dregs of society wrought up to the surface; Jack Cade in London; Masaniello in Naples but there is no instance of a population cutting off its nose to spite its own face. It must, at all events, be somebody else's nose, an obnoxious nose. The Parisians alone wreaked a mad spite upon what did them no harm, upon what gave them no offence.

It is necessary to bear in mind all these peculiar features in the French character to understand the causes of all the mischief they did in Europe on their first revolutionary outbreak. The