the emphasis with which the younger of plied, "Non possum." I had often declin old schoolmaster in former days, little dre hear the vocable pronounced with such te little cell, at day-break, on the banks of the cracked his whip,-I saw the diligence sound of its retreating wheels seemed like and home. A sad, desolate feeling weig turned to the faces of the police-officers whose power I was left. We all went ba little apartment of the passport office, whe versation with them, in order to discover w with me,-whether I was to be sent back to England, or simply thrown into the Po. gress in my Italian studies that day; and to be arrested a dozen days on end by the should by that time have been a fluent Ita result of much questioning and explanation to forward a petition to the authorities in Fe by my passport, I should be permitted to till an answer could be returned. It was n and, hiring a special messenger, I sent him port, and a petition craving permission to e addressed to the Pontifical Legation at Fer I had a gendarme to take care of me.

To while away the time, I sallied out, an the banks of the river. It was now full da ful light, and the noble face of the Po,—he equal almost to the Rhine at Cologne,Adriatic, chased away my pensiveness. Th between lofty embankments,—the adjoining its level, and reminding one of Holland; an

embankments of the Po, the territory around Ferrara, if not also that city itself, would infallibly be drowned. A few lighters and small craft, lifting their sails to the morning sun, were floating down the current; and here and there on the banks was a white villa,—the remains of that noble setting of palaces which adorned the Po when the House of D'Este vied in wealth and splendour with the larger courts of Europe. Prisoners must have breakfast; and I found a poor café in the little village, where I got a cup of coffee and an egg,the latter unboiled, by the way; and discussed my meal in presence of the gendarme, who sat opposite me.

Toward noon the messenger returned, and to my joy brought back the papal permission to enter "the States." Light and short as my constraint had been, it was sufficient to make me feel what a magic influence is in liberty. I could again go whither I would; and the poor village of Ponte Lagoscuro, and even the faces of the two officials, assumed a kindlier aspect. Bidding these last, whose Italian urbanity had won upon me, adieu, I started on foot for Ferrara, which lay on the plain some five miles in advance. The road thither was a magnificent one; but I learned afterwards that I had Napoleon to thank for it; but alas, what a picture the country presented! The water was allowed to stagnate along the path, and a thick, green scurf had gathered upon it. The rich black soil was covered with weeds, and the few houses I saw were mere hovels. The sun shone brilliantly, however, and strove to gild this scene of neglect and wretchedness. The day was the 28th of October, and the heat was that of a choice summer day in Scotland, with a much balmier air. I hurried on along the deserted road, and soon, on emerging from a wood, sighted the town of Ferrara, which stretched along the plain in a low

line of roofs, with a few towers breaking the senting my "pass" to the sentinel at the the city in which Calvin had found an asyl prison.

Poor fallen Ferrara! Commerce, learning, had by turns shed a glory upon it. Now where the "Queen of the Po" had been, t darkened plain a poor city, mouldering into silence of a sepulchre around it. I entered sound of human voice there was none; not being could I see. It might be ages since th trodden, for aught that appeared. The doors the windows were stanchioned with iron. In was neither door nor window; but the house s ceive the wind or rain, the fowls of heaven, or city, if any such there were. I passed on, and centre of the town; and now there began to signs of vitality. Struck at the extremities, lif to the heart. A square castellated building of rounded on all sides by a deep moat, filled wit the Po, and guarded by Austrian soldiers, upre before me. This was the Papal Legation. I found my passport waiting me; and the tiara emblazoned on its pages, told me that I was fre States.

CHAPTER XVII.

FERRARA.

Lovely in its Ruins-Number and Wealth of its Churches-Tasso's Prison -Renée's Palace-Calvin's Chamber-Influence of Woman on the Reformation-Renée and her Band-Re-union above-Utter Decay of its Trade, its Manufactures, its Knowledge.

EVEN in its ruins Ferrara is lovely. It wears in the tomb the sun-set hues of beauty. Its streets run out in straight lines, and are of noble breadth and length. Unencumbered with the heavy arcades that darken Padua, the marble fronts of its palaces rise to a goodly height, covered with rich but exceedingly sweet and chaste designs. On the stone of their pilasters and door-posts the ilex puts forth its leaf, and the vine its grapes; and the carving is as fresh and sharp, in many instances, as if the chisel were but newly laid aside. But it is melancholy to see the long grass waving on its causeways, and the ivy clinging to the deserted doorways and balconies of palatial residences, and to hear the echoes of one's foot sounding drearily in the empty street.

I passed the afternoon in visiting the churches. There is no end of these, and night fell before I had got half over them. It amazes one to find in the midst of ruins

such noble buildings, overflowing with we statuary, marbles, and precious metals, da weary, the traveller, and form a strange co solate fields, the undrained swamps, the n ments, and the beggarly population, that are them. Of the churches of Ferrara, we may s the shrine of Loretto, " It is indeed an ama such a prodigious quantity of riches lie dead in the midst of so much poverty and misery sides of them. If these riches were all turn coin, and employed in commerce, they would most flourishing country in the world."

Two objects specially invited my attention one was the prison of Tasso,-the other the p the Duchess of Ferrara. Tasso's prison is a m courtyard of the hospital of St Anna, built with a brick wall, and closed at the other by a door. The floor is so damp that it yields to th arched roof is so low that there is barely roo right. I strongly doubt whether Tasso, or a could have passed seven years in this cell and It is written all over within and without with them illustrious ones. "Byron" is conspicuous cut in strong square characters in the stone; an Lamartine," in more graceful but smaller lette Tasso seems to have regarded his country as less than himself, and to have strung his harp a wail its captivity. The dungeon "in which A his poet dwell" was dreary enough, but that drearier still; for it is Italy, fully more than may be regarded as speaking in the following furnish evidence that, along with Dante, and

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