MY

EXPERIENCE IN ROMISH COUNTRIES.

Y exit from Italy was as signal a providential escape as my entrance. From Fenestrelle I marched alone to Cesano, near which town a tall, brigand-looking, dark-visaged fellow overtook, and officiously guided me to the inn, where he called for a 'litre' of wine, pointing to me as the paymaster. I firmly told him that I never drank wine so early, but that he might join me in coffee, which he refused, and sat gazing sternly at me. The inn-keeper having whispered to me Guarda !' (Beware!), I walked on double quick;' but the fellow overtook me near a wood, round which the road skirted, and stopped me with the proverb, of which I often afterwards saw the wisdom,

so like,

'Chi va piano—va sano,

Chi va sano-va lontano :

'Along the cool, sequester'd vale of life,
To keep the noiseless tenor of their way.'

Here he offered to show me a short cut through the wood, and to carry my knapsack, but I refused, saying, 'Take your own road; I am able to manage for myself.' 'I must,' he rejoined, cross Mont Genèvre to-day, and with you, for it would be death to attempt it alone, as bears are more common on it than on Mont Cenis, and a snow-storm seems at hand. We must help each other; woe to the solitary traveller on Genèvre!' I had so often got interesting information from fellow-travellers of his class, and hitherto so safely, that I consented, and we pushed on together to the frontier police station. My passport soon set me free, being garnished by the British Lion, the Pope's Tiara and Cross Keys, the Austrian DoubleHeaded Eagle, the Sardinian Black Eagle, &c., but my comrade was detained for further examination. So I was alone in crossing the fine bridge that spanned the broad foaming torrent at the foot of Mont Genèvre--alone for nearly a league of the steep ascent through a forest of pines, firs, and larches, advancing, not by means of long and beautiful winding galleries, like those of the Simplon and Cenis, but by a road taking a multitude of short and numerous zig-zag turns-each one to the left touching a precipice, which rose sheer from the bed of the torrent, and became more terrible at every turn. Müller had impressed upon me the Prussian rules for a march-never to let the mind wander to the past, but to keep it fixed upon the present-never to think of home, as it would unnerve you-sometimes to raise the flagging spirits at a halt by the chorus of a merry songalways to be prepared for a surprise by having your arms ready for action. So I pulled the sheath off the short spear at the end of my umbrella—a device of my friend (with whom I had many a pleasant fencing bout), as an Austrian Coercion Act prohibited pistols, sword-canes, and stilettos—and I 'screwed my courage to the sticking-place,' by singing an Irish song and the Barcarolle in Masaniello. Then, like Müller, I studied the surrounding grand and savage scenery, closed my eyes, and retraced it in my mind, opened them to compare the landscape in my mind with the stern and sublime reality, and then, after due correction, made a strong effort to commit to the storehouse of my memory a painting finer than Salvator Rosa's, because a true copy of the great CREATOR's handiwork. I also realised accessories,' making my landscape physically, mentally, and spiritually more healthful and ennobling than his-the exhilarating Alpine

breeze for the musty Mal'aria round the 'Old Masters' in the Vaticanthose sounds which cannot be embodied on canvas, but which so solemnise the mind, and turn it towards the CREATOR, the roar of the cataract and the thunder of some far-distant avalanche so awfully heard in

"These deep solitudes,

Where heavenly, pensive contemplation dwells.

I was just thanking the Lord, who hast created all things, and for whose pleasure they are and were created,' that in this landscape He alone was present to receive glory and honour and power,'-not shrouded by multitudes of Rome's effigies of Saints, whom the Old Masters' delight to invest with supernatural grandeur (like Loyola, from whose head issue rays, emblematical of his having enlightened the world by his Jesuit doctrine!) whilst they generally represented the SAVIOUR, in His humiliation and suffering as a babe protected or adorned by the bewitching Madonna, or rendering up His Spirit in mortal agony-when my unwelcome comrade again appeared, almost exhausted by efforts to overtake me. He began, with a turn to me of the flexible thumb of which Italians make such use, 'He is English; for he is without this,' touching his moustache. No, I am Irish.' Where is Ireland?'-' It is a beautiful island, far away on the sea.' 'What language is spoken by its low people?'-'Irish.' Are the Irish rich ?'-'No, for they are fond of fighting, and such are never rich.' 'But you must be rich or you could not have come hither from a land so far away?' 'Certainly, if I had been rich, I would not travel on foot and stop at poor, cheap inns.' We then silently climbed the mountain, till we reached a turn of the road close to the precipice, which seemed to have been lately swept by an avalanche or a torrent; huge rocks had been rolled over it, carrying away the balustrade-which had been raised by Napoleon for the safety of his troops-and making a sheer and slippery passage across the road down to the abyss. I was carefully picking my steps, when he shouted, 'You are afraid of me, for this morning you refused to follow me through the wood, or to give me your knapsack to carry. I am well able to kill you, and there is no one present to see or to prevent me.' 'The Good GOD is present,' said I, calmly, and if I die He will take my soul to heaven, for I trust in Him; and He will cast yours into hell, for He says, "murderers shall have their part in the lake which burneth with fire and brimstone." Besides, you are not able to kill me, for I know five mortal points in your body, and a touch of this spear in one of them would send you down into that gulph a corpse; and I sprung to the safe side of the road with my spear presented towards him en garde keeping him towards the precipice. He shuddered, and said, 'The Good God does not permit me to kill you-come away from this horrible place!' This over, in a few thrilling moments, we marched on in awful silence, only broken by the screaming of eagles darting over our heads; we passed the snowline, and entered a dense fog on the plain which crowns Mont Genèvre. Suddenly he cried, 'Safe! There flies the French tricolor!' Police immediately surrounded, and escorted us into their 'douane' me they treated politely, but they took off his wooden shoes, and felt his body all over to discover contraband goods. As we were leaving, a monk blandly invited us to the Convent opposite, but my comrade whispered to me, with a laugh, the proverb, ""Padre e frate sono privi della carita”—(Priests and friars are void of charity). If you pay them well, they will treat you

6

well; but if you are not rich, they will give you wine so sour as to set all your teeth on edge, and rye-bread so gritty as to leave you few unbroken. Come with me to the inn, and you shall fare cheaply and well.' Müller had often said to me, 'Poor man laugh-trust him,' so I fearlessly went with him; and curiously asked, 'Why did those Frenchmen decline to examine my pockets and my knapsack, while they rifled yours?'-'Because they read the face like a book, and see that you have not wit enough to be a smuggler; and yet I know tracks by which I have often deceived them.' We made the three leagues to Briançon rapidly, so smooth and easy was the road on the French side, and we made several short cuts, he now carrying my knapsack and assisting me, saying, 'Take care! if any hurt befalls a traveller in France, woe be to his comrade!' I carried always in my boot a small Italian Testament, and when I produced it, he listened with great pleasure as I read St Peter's Epistle, asking, 'Is it a book of prayers? and when I said that they were letters from that great Apostle to all Christians, he indignantly inquired, 'Why does not our Holy Father the POPE give those fine letters to us? I have often risked my life over the High Alps with contraband books for the Carbonari, not half so precious as this. It fills my heart with love to the Good God.' A Roman gentleman has said the very same to me at Frascati, offering to me a beautiful cameo in exchange; and when I told him that I could not part with it till many of his countrymen had seen the Sacred Volume, and desired to obtain it from LONDON, he rewarded me by showing the way to escape the stiletto of an assassin-by remembering that he strikes from the dark side of his lanthorn. Many other Italians had also admired it, and I thank God they now have it-except at Rome-as freely as ourselves; and hopeful I am that the little Volume, which I parted with on that eventful day, is still doing good in the High Alps, and prized, though no longer contraband.*

A CISTERSIAN RUIN.

O doubt these fields in the days of Popery's usurpation, were visited

N by ecclesiastics from the neighbouring monastery, the ivy-grown

ruins of which are extensive, and show how noble a pile must once have stood there. Such mummeries were probably enacted as those described by Naogeorgus:

"In villages, the husbandmen about their corn do ride,

With many crosses, banners, and Sir John, their priest, beside;

Who in a bag about his neck doth bear the blessed bread,

And oftentimes he down alights, and Gospel loud doth read.

This surely keeps the corn from wind and rain, and from the blast. Such faith the Pope hath taught, and yet the Papists hold it fast!" The ancient monastery sends forth now no Popish blessing, but by day the contemplative Christian man may walk about its extensive avenues, and meditate with much profit. At night, however, splendid music was wont to be heard pealing from its wood-embowered recesses, to which, at our chamber window, in the bright moonlight, we have often listened with rapture and wonder. But, be not surprised, reader, it was the music of congregated nightingales.-The Widow of East Angle, by the Rev. R. W. Vanderkiste.

From "The Faithful Shepherd," pp. 180-5, by Dawson Massy, D.D. London: Hamilton & Co. 1870.

THE NEW GOD OF THIS WORLD AND THE OLD ONE. A DIALOGUE AT ROME.

To visit his flock in the fold of St Peter Prince Satan late went, full of ardour and glee;

And finding the chief of his vassals promoted,

Accosted his holiness" All hail to thee!

"Believe me, my friend, I am greatly de

lighted

To see thee exalted so highly; but say, Who was it accomplish'd this strange elevation,

66

And made thee a god, when so wrinkled and grey?"

Myself," answered Pius, "and if I am aged;

Yet surely grey hairs the more reverence invite ;

Besides, thou thyself, if a god, art an old

Agreed," answered now the infallible
Pontiff,

66

'Agreed; for though champions many and strong

Support my pretensions, I'm new to my duties,

Nor have been install'd in my dignity long :

"For though that high dignity makes me diviner,

And I am a god, who was late but a man, I'm stripp'd of my kingdom and temporal splendour,

And, left to myself, I must do as I can.

"For lo! while the voices of priests and of prelates

Were sounding aloft through St Peter's vast dome,

Burst forth such a tempest of lightning and thunder

As never before had so terrified Rome.

"Dire omen-forerunner of war and con

fusion

Trust me I will give thee a wider dominion;

The spirits of all upon earth shall be thine!

"The war, which thou deemest a grievous misfortune,

Has proved an advantage and infinite gain

Has silenced the tongues which had otherwise clamour'd,

And raised up a tempest against thy new reign.

"The nations, 'tis true, who thy yoke have acknowledged

For many a year, some disloyalty show; But England herself hath now come to the rescue,

Even she who was late thy inveterate foe.

"Yea, long have I set my fond heart upon England,

And striven to bring beneath our old
sway;

No scheme have I left untried-no devices
Have spared to restore the lost sheep

gone astray.

Among the nobility few are the houses In which I have not placed an agent from Rome

Some governess, tutor, some man or maid servant,

Who notes down for me all that happens at home."

"To you, my good friend, I am greatly indebted,"

Replied the old Pontiff, "you're perfectly

right,

For Manning, our courteous Lieutenant,

assures me

Assured that if England is won, all the nations

Will follow her lead, and renew'd fealty show.

"Yes, we our dominion again shall establish, And people once more shall acknowledge

our sway;

No man shall dispute our infallible edict; When we give command, all the world must obey."

THE ST PETERSBURG PROFESSOR'S KLEPTOMANIA.

THE

HE St Petersburg correspondent of the Standard gives the following additional particulars of the extensive robbery of books from the public library of that city by a professor:-"Alago Pichler, a Bavarian by birth, and a member of the Munich Academy of Science, was, in the beginning of 1869, engaged to come to St Petersburg, where he received an appointment in the Foreign Religion Department of the Ministry of the Interior. He was then thirty-five years of age. Though a Jesuit, he was a strenuous opponent of the Papal power; and two or three months after his arrival at St Petersburg, he wrote a book against the Council which was about to meet, and afterwards he went himself to Rome, where he found means to become acquainted with what was going on, and communicated to the public the information he received in a series of brilliant letters to the Augsburg Gazette. These interesting letters attracted universal attention, and the Roman Catholics took extraordinary pains to detect the author, but till the last he remained undiscovered. A man of his attainments was naturally considered a great acquisition to the Imperial Library, and he was placed at the head of the theological department of the collection, which had only been neglected for want of a competent person to look after it. He appears to have lost very little time before commencing the serious business he had in hand, for towards the end of 1869 books began to be missed from the library, and very extensive works disappeared, volume after volume. The librarians became uneasy, and watched the public property with redoubled vigilance; but all their efforts to detect the thief were fruitless. Some of the functionaries, however, had very little confidence in Pichler. As a Jesuit, there was a want of frankness about his manner that kept his colleagues aloof from friendly intercourse with him. Then his habit of walking stealthily from room to room with indiarubber galoshes over his boots seemed very strange; and, above all, his pockets sometimes appeared suspiciously full. Whether the librarians were awed by Pichler's reputation as a man of extraordinary erudition, or whether the confidence reposed in him by the Ministry silenced their doubts, it is difficult to say, but for a long time they kept their suspicions to themselves. As time went on, however, the conviction gained ground that Pichler must be the thief; and at length, on the 15th inst., the porter of the library was ordered, on some pretence or other, to feel his clothes before he left the establishment. This was done; and when the books were taken from him, he had the impudence to complain to the director of the treatment he had received, for there was nothing suspicious, he said, in a man who was known to be writing important works taking a book home with him occasionally. He was obliged to acknowledge that he had a few more books at his lodgings, and these he offered to return immediately. But he was not allowed to go home alone; and on searching his rooms, no less than 4650 volumes were found, which had all been taken from the library. There are various conjectures as to the motive which could have induced this man to commit such an extraordinary crime. He had a good salary, something like £400 a-year, of which he spent but a small portion, for he lived very miserably. It may be a case of kleptomania, or, as some suppose, he