veturino, and as we were setting off, told the man that it was a dangerous country, and he had better make speed. Instead of urging on his horses, he turned round to me and offered me a paper to look at, saying, "pensa niente, pensa niente." I found it to be a printed paper, with a receipt of a money payment to a convent at Naples, as a charm against every ill. There were pictures of all sorts of dangers, and rescues from them, and a statement that, though the payer might be under the knife of the assassin, the souls he had by his payments for masses released from purgatory would intercede for him, and he would be perfectly safe. But alas, Eusebius, I was not insured, and I had no faith; and he might be considered by the saints, as in carrying heretics, to have contraband goods; so I had nothing to do but to pay him instanter the whole amount for my journey, that I might have the less to lose. This made my fellow travellers laugh; but whether at my faithless folly or my wisdom, I do not know. I have no doubt the veturino had faith-some of these fellows believe the saints can do any thing. I recollect one of them, not being able to manage his horses to his satisfaction, flew into a violent rage; but how did he show it? not with a volley of vulgar oaths, as an Englishman might perhaps have done, nor with a tremendous whack, and "up, my darlings!" as I have known an Irish driver do; but he deliberately left his seat and got before his horses, and knelt down in the middle of the road, and held up his hands, and lifted up his eyes, and prayed fervently and eloquently to all the saints," Tutti Santi,”—that they would instantly kill his master's horses. The miracle did not come, which, I dare say, he attributed to his own particular sins, and determined to do penance. Perhaps the beasts had often been on their knees before a "Tutti Santi," and of the three beasts they determined to disappoint the human. Now, as setting the Italians to put an end to these disgraceful robberies, would be very much like "setting a thief to catch a thief," the thing is not, or was not attempted; but Austrian soldiers had done and were doing something that way. And many of the soft and beautiful landscapes of Italy are adorned by a fore ground of a pole with a brown mahogany-looking leg or arm of some robber on the very spot of his villainy, so that the " Knight of the Post," post mortem, still "shoulders his arms and shows how fields were won." To sketch, with a friend standing by you with a cocked pistol, as once I was obliged to do, must greatly enhance the soft enchantment of the scenery, especially with these lopt members of the Inhumane Society festering in front. I am sure, Eusebius, you have had enough of bandits, and the more dignified and romantic robberies; shall we descend to the minor cheateries and cheats, the "pickers up of unconsidered trifles?" Alas! there would be no loss-three thick octavo volumes at least could I give you-but leave me this for the labours of the Statistic Societies, who poke their noses every where (unhappy be their noses, indeed, when they do so in Italy!) And I will here just hint, or rather state the fact with out entering into detail-and to one of your fine sense that way it will be quite enough—that in every quarter of Italy you can always smell a town a mile or two off at least; and it must have been in this country that the saying or direction was first made, to "follow your nose." The filth and indecencies of the country are really far beyond an untravelled Englishman's conception. Verbum sat. I do not wonder that foreigners take snuff and smoke tobacco-there is much to disguise; and thus have I thrown light upon this question of the why, obiter, not of design, so have I been lucky "ex fumo dare lucem." I told you I would not enter into the detail of these matters. But as I know, Eusebius, this paper will not reach you at a time to spoil your appetite, I will just mention what may be met with by telling you the following dietary anecdote. I lodged at a large hotel in Rome, kept by a German. We sat down, about forty persons every day, to dinner,-hussar officers, gentlemen travellers, natives, &c. &c. I have seen the latter sit at table without their coats-shirt sleeves looked very cool-I have seen waiters wait in their night-caps, and thought it not advisable to request them to take them off. But to the matter. One day in earnest conversation with my right-hand neighbour, just after dinner, as I was waiting rather impatiently to reply, I did what foolish people sometimes foolishly do, with my finger picked up the crumbs off the table; in doing this, and with my eye fixed at the same time upon the spot, I saw, how shall I tell it, the crumbs running away from me. What became of the argument I know not. My antagonists in it had it all to themselves. "Licito tandem sermone fruentur." There was very little "Comfort" in these "Crumbs." The next day I went off to Naples; but as I left my trunks and many things at Rome, and intended not to stay long in it again, and flattering myself that such an accidental licence would not befal me a second time, on my return I was constrained to go to the same hotel. I could not sit down at the same side of the table I had sat before, and with a misgiving mind took a more distant place. Before I began to touch any thing I examined the cloth,— "Infandum, Regina, jubes renovare dolorem ! Down dropt my knife and fork. It was the nature of the place and people. "Naturam expellas furcâ, tamen usque recurret ;" that is, you may throw down your fork, if you please, but you shall have the same dish for dinner tomorrow. The company at this hotel was sometimes very amusing. There was one timid gentleman, who appear ed to have retired early from the business of the world, or to have escaped from it for the wisdom and polish to be acquired by travel, to have something of travelled knowledge to impart at his parties at Islington-for there was he, according to his own free communication, most comfortably domiciled, with a maiden sister who kept house for him. Quite delicious were the descriptions of his home happiness. Oh, if his sister did but know the dangers he was in! did he often say. Nothing frightened this poor gentleman so much as accounts of robbers; and I make no doubt his courier, for he had one, played upon his fears upon all occasions. He looked upon himself in Rome as in a robber's trap, and which way to get out of it he did not know. He had no conversation but about banditti, and Islington comforts -and they were in fearful contrast. I bantered him not a little, and by All this by way of episode. Now to return. You are not to imagine, Eusebius, that the Italians resort to these great systems of robberies, be cause they have no genius for the little. once put my head within half an inch of one, in closing a shutter, going to bed at Subiaco; nor of tarantulas and "such small deer," because I have been reading an account of spiders in Persia, that, as I perfectly detest the genus, make me quite shudder to think of; and, in comparison, all these matters in Italy, excepting the fleas I cannot give up them, for they never gave up me-are nothing. Nothing more astonished me than the universal cheating of shopkeepers, and even bankers. I have received a small copper coin-under a farthing, nicely packed in the middle of a rouleau of Napoleons, from the bank; and have been cheated out of a few pounds, in the transfer from a bank in one place to a bank in another, because the banker chose to omit moneta fina. But, at a shop, if you offered often a third, or even a quarter, you would pay too much. I travelled some days in company with the wife of a manufacturer, who cautioned me on this point. I could not believe it; and, when I ar. rived at Rome, she desired me to go out and try the experiment. I bought a common article to ascertain the point. I forget what I gave, but it was about a third of what I was asked, and I felt ashamed to offer it, but I did so for the experiment's sake, and found I had given a little too much. But the following account as to this matter will surprise you:-I went to a bookseller's-a publisher's library. He had no shop, not to external appearance. He was a most urbane, aged, gentlemanly, white-headed man, the author of antiquities, &c. &c. &c. There, I suppose, were the literati and the dilettanti, for the room, in respect of company, reminded me of Mr Murray's in Albemarle Street, where you may breathe an atmosphere of learning, wisdom, and most urbane sociality; there was I introduced, and, when there, turned over some portfolios of “Qui color albus erat nunc est contrarius prints. I had been collecting prints albo." They are, I doubt not, the Pope's body-guard, whose business it is to keep your hands employed that you take away nothing of his. I suppose they do good and keep down the fever of the blood, and so you need no other phlebotomy. I will not attempt to frighten your young friend with accounts of scorpions, &c., though I from the works of a favourite master; and, in one of the portfolios, I found an injured, soiled print of one of his subjects, which I had not before seen. The man looked so like an author, and so far above all matters extra the love of the antique and antiquities, that I scarcely knew how to make my wishes known. I did it, therefore, by a circumlocation, first admiring the print; and then, as it was a modern one, ask ing if it was published in Rome, then if sold in Rome. He caught eagerly at the word sold, and, without much ado, told me the price-five scudi; that is, about twenty-five shillings. I saw at once it was enormous, and thought of the caution; and, remarking that it was a little soiled, said I ought to have it for three. He took three, and off I went with my print. Within an hour I passed a Stamperia, where I saw at the window a clean impression of the very print, and a printed list of the prices, and, would you believe it, Eusebius, it was under one scudo; and, for a damaged copy, I had been asked by this white-haired piece of antiquity, and inquitous antiquity, five, and had actually given three! Oh, Eusebius, you would not have been contented with blowing him up, you would have taken fire throughout, and gunpowdered the whole edifice, regardless of the literati and dilettanti, all the while gravely discussing the probabilities of the tombs of the Horatii and Curiatii; but, as you were not there, those discussions are still going on, and still will go on. But what did I do? I quietly walked back to the grand library, and as quietly told the old gentleman that he was a thief, a rascal, and that I would expose him to all the English. The last words did the business; he looked dreadfully alarmed, and looked behind him to see who might be within hearing; and, making significant nods, and putting one hand to my mouth, to prevent my doing mischief, in great haste put the other hand into his pocket and handed me back all my money. This was pretty well, for I came off with "flying colours," that is with the colour of my money, which was sure to fly upon some other occasion; for the Italians were too much for me. And so it happened; for in my love of the antique I forgot my prudence; and, being desirous of having some plaster casts, was recommended to an honest tradesman, who was to take them for me from some sculpture at the Vatican, the subjects of which much pleased me. They were a pastoral figure, and a freize, the search of Ceres. I made my bargain, and like a fool paid my money, and paid for the packing and the shipping. But the unplastered shepherd is still piping; and all I can hope is that Ceres has sent the plaster-cast maker to Hades instead of going there herself, and that, having some interest with Proserpine, he will be flogged daily, for my money has been cast upon the worthless. I bequeath the debt a legacy to the Pope. I have written enough, though I have matter more, and abundant, but there is a time for all things. Whatever effect this account may have upon your young friend, I am sure you, who know me, will be satisfied that I understate things. You know I have no talent at exaggeration. Probably your friend will read Eustace, and, if he be very young, believe him. Perhaps he will read Rogers' " Italy," and tell you that it is not mine, and you will add that I have not Rogers's "Pleasures of Memory." Vive valeque. Z. DE LAMARTINE. ALPHONSE DE LAMARTINE is a descendant of one of the ancient noble provincial families of France, whose members were always actively employed in the service of their country. In the 15th century one of his ancestors is mentioned as "Capitaine de la Ville de Cluny," and his female ancestors continued to receive a "redevance from the monastery of Cluny, until the first French Revolution, which abolished all such dues. In the Memorial des Etats de Bourgogne the family is registered. Several seignories belonged to it, such as those of D'Hurigny, D'Urcy, De Monceaux, &c., &c., and the chateau and estate of Monceaux still in his possession, by inheritance, have been for centuries in the family. ALPHONSE MARIA LOUIS DE LAMARTINE was born on 21st October, 1791. His father was Captain of Cavalry in the Dauphiny regiment, and Chevalier of St Louis. He was one of those who remained faithful to the unfortunate and forsaken Louis XVI.; and, together with his grandfather, uncles, aunts, &c., was imprisoned for his political opinions at Macon. The mother of Alphonse took a house looking on the prison gate, that she might show her infant daily to his father through the bars of the jail. Had it not been for the timely death of Robespierre they would all have ascended the scaffold; but, in consequence of that event, they escaped, and retired to a small residence on a wine estate called Milly, which he has since celebrated in one of his Harmonies, entitled "La Terre Natale." Is it not extraordinary that he, who was in his infancy the son of a political prisoner at Macon, should now be the political representative of that town, his birth-place, in parliament ? At Milly he passed his infancy in rustic liberty, and his fond. est affections gratefully attach him to this spot. There he first acquired his taste for nature. Birds, butterflies, flowers, and vineyards, were his companions, and the scenes of his early wanderings; and there the sunsets and sunrises, storms and tempests of the year, made an indelible impression on his young mind. At the college of Bellay, in the Department of Ain, seated near the Rhone, he received his education, and early showed a great aptitude for learning, bearing away all the prizes and crowns yearly distributed. A French provincial education is at best, however, a sorry affair; and, when De Lamartine received his, there was certainly not more, but less attention paid than at present, to the formation of the mind of the student. This was, however, partially compensated for by the superior moral and religious education he then obtained.. But De Lamartine was a genius and a poet. He had, in his earliest years, a passion for all that was beautiful, harmonious, and tasteful. ful. He loved the quiet landscape, the domestic and family hearth, the grouping of virtue and cheerfulness, the melody of the birds, the humming of the bee, the active perseverance of the ant, the gay wings of the butterfly, the variegated foliage of the forest, the murmuring of the rill—the homestead, the barn, the thatched roof-the knell of the curfew, the ivy of the church, the village cemetery, the vigorous peasant, the harmony of nature, and the works of God. As he grew up, he found the moral world replete also with good. Noble and generous sentiments, a disinterested love of his fellow-creatures, and an elevated piety towards the Father of heaven and earth, took possession of his nature; and, as Aimé Martin says, in his Education des Maurs de Famille, "Voilà pourquoi les grands écrivains nous ravissent; voilà pourquoi les grands poètes nous enlèvent ! voilà pourquoi, d'un trait de leur génie, ils soufflent sur la foule vulgaire le dénouement des Grecques pour la patrie, ou les transports de Socrate pour la vertu." On leaving college De Lamartine returned to his family, and often retired alone to the Chateau de St Point, which belonged to his father, but which was then uninhabited, and nearly in ruins. This solitary and romantic scene was admirably adapted to the character of his mind, and suited his imaginative and poetic tendencies. He continually studied nature whilst he read history, and examined, with the eye of Christian philosophy, the natu |