arm, and held me fast, but bent himself down to me the next moment, kissed me vehemently, called me his dear little Antonio, and whispered, "Do thou also pray to the Madonna !" "Is the string lost?" I asked.

"We will find it we will find it!" he replied, and began searching again. In the mean time the lesser light was quite burnt out, and the larger one, from its continual agitation, melted and burnt his hand, which only increased his distress. It would have been quite impossible to have found our way back without the string; every step would only have led us deeper down where no one could save us.

After vainly searching, he threw himself upon the ground, cast his arm around my neck, and sighed, "Thou poor child!" I then wept bitterly, for it seemed to me that I never more should reach my home. He clasped me so closely to him as he lay on the ground that my hand slid under him. I involuntarily grasped the sand, and found the string between my fingers.

"Here it is! "9 I exclaimed.

He seized my hand, and became, as it were, frantic for joy, for our life actually hung upon the single thread. We were saved.

O, how warmly beamed the sun, how blue was the heaven, how deliciously green the trees and bushes, as we came forth into the free air! Poor Federigo kissed me yet again, drew his handsome silver watch out of his pocket, and said, “This thou shalt have!"

I was so heartily glad about this, that I quite forgot all that had happened; but my mother could not forget it, when she had heard it, and would not again consent that Federigo should take me out with him. Fra Martino said also that it was only on my account that we were saved; that it was to me to whom the Madonna had given the thread to me, and not to the heretic Federigo; that I was a good, pious child, and must never forget her kindness and mercy. This, and the jesting assertion of some of our acquaintance, that I was born to be of the priesthood, because, with the exception of my mother, I could not endure women, instilled into her the determination that I should become a servant of the Church. I

do not myself know why, but I had an antipathy to all women, and, as I expressed this unhesitatingly, I was bantered by every girl and woman who came to my mother's. They all would kiss me in particular was there a peasant girl, Mariuccia, who by this jest always brought tears to my eyes. She was very lively and waggish, and maintained herself by serving as a model, and always appeared, therefore, in handsome, gay dresses, with a large white cloth upon her head. She often sat for Federigo, and visited my mother also, and then always told me that she was my bride, and that I was her little bridegroom, who must and should give her a kiss; I never would do so, and then she took it by force.

Once when she said that I cried childishly, and behaved myself exactly like a child that still sucked, and that I should be suckled like any other baby, I flew out, down the steps, but she pursued and caught me, held me between her knees, and pressed my head, which I turned away with disgust, ever closer and closer to her breast. I tore the silver arrow out of her hair, which fell down in rich abundance over me and over her naked shoulders. My mother stood on the hearth, laughed, and encouraged Mariuccia, whilst Federigo, unobservedly, stood at the door, and painted the whole group.

"I will have no bride, no wife! I exclaimed to my mother; "I will be a priest, or a Capuchin, like Fra Martino !

The extraordinary meditations into which I was wrapt for whole evenings also were regarded by my mother as tokens of my spiritual calling. I sat and thought then what castles and churches I would build, if I should become great and rich; how I then would drive like the cardinals in red carriages, with many gold-liveried servants behind; or else I framed a new martyr-story out of the many which Fra Martino had related to me. I was, of course, the hero of these, and, through the help of the Madonna, never felt the pangs which were inflicted upon me. But, especially, had I a great desire to journey to Federigo's home, to convert the people there, that they also might know something of grace.

Whether it was through the management of my mother or Fra Martino I know not, but it is enough that my mother,

early one morning, arrayed me in a little kirtle, and drew over it an embroidered shirt, which only reached to the knees, and then led me to the glass that I might see myself. I was now a chorister in the Capuchin Church, must carry the great censer of incense, and sing with the others before the altar. Fra Martino instructed me in the whole duty. O, how happy all this made me! I was soon quite at home in that little but comfortable church, knew every angel's head in the altar-piece, every ornamental scroll upon the pillars; could see even with my eyes shut the beautiful St. Michael fighting with the dragon,1 just as the painter had represented him, and thought many wonderful things about the death's heads carved in the pavement, with the green ivy wreaths around the brow.

On the festival of All Souls, I was down in the Chapel of the Dead, where Fra Martino had led me when I was with him for the first time in the convent. All the monks sang masses for the dead, and I, with two other boys of my own age, swung the incense-breathing censer before the great altar of skulls. They had placed lights in the chandeliers made of bones, new garlands were placed around the brows of the skeleton-monks, and fresh bouquets in their hands. Many people, as usual, thronged in; they all knelt, and the singers intoned the solemn Miserere. I gazed for a long time on the pale, yellow skulls, and the fumes of the incense which wavered in strange shapes between them and me, and everything began to spin round before my eyes; it was as if I saw everything through a large rainbow; as if a thousand prayerbells rung in my ear; it seemed as if I was borne along a stream; it was unspeakably delicious more, I know not;

consciousness left me - I was in a swoon.

The atmosphere, made oppressive by crowds of people, and my excited imagination, occasioned this fainting-fit. When I came to myself again, I was lying in Fra Martino's lap, under the orange-tree in the convent garden.

The confused story which I told of what I seemed to have seen, he and all the brethren explained as a revelation: the

1 The celebrated picture of St. Michael, the archangel, who, with the beauty of youth, and with great wings, sets his foot upon and pierces the head of the Devil. - Author's Note.

holy spirits had floated over me, but I had not been able to bear the sight of their glory and their majesty. This occasioned me before long to have many extraordinary dreams, and which, put together, I related to my mother, and she again communicated to her friends, so that I became daily more and more to be regarded as a child of God.

In the mean time, the happy Christmas approached. Pifferari, shepherds from the mountains, came in their short cloaks, with ribbons around their pointed hats, and announced with the bagpipe, before every house where there stood an image of the Virgin, that the time was at hand in which the Saviour was born. I was awoke every morning by these monotonous, melancholy tones, and my first occupation then was to read over my lesson, for I was one of the children selected, "boys and girls," who, between Christmas and New-year, were to preach in the church Ara Coli, before the image of Jesus.

It was not I alone, my mother, and Mariuccia, who rejoiced that I, the boy of nine, should make a speech, but also the painter Federigo, before whom I, without their knowledge, had had a rehearsal, standing upon a table; it would be upon such a one, only that a carpet would be laid over it, that we children should be placed in the church, where we, before the assembled multitudes, must repeat the speech, which we had learned by rote, about the bleeding heart of the Madonna, and the beauty of the child Jesus.

I knew nothing of fear; it was only with joy that my heart beat so violently as I stepped forward, and saw all eyes directed to me. That I, of all the children, gave most delight, seemed decided; but now there was lifted up a little girl, who was of so exquisitely delicate a form, and who had, at the same time, so wonderfully bright a countenance, and such a melodious voice, that all exclaimed aloud that she was a little angelic child. Even my mother, who would gladly have awarded to me the palm, declared aloud that she was just like one of the angels in the great altar-piece. The wonderfully dark eyes, the raven-black hair, the childlike, and yet so wise expression of countenance, the exquisitely small hands, — nay, it seemed to me that my mother said too much of all these, although she added that I also was an angel of God.

There is a song about the nightingale, which, when it was quite young, sat in the nest and picked the green leaves of the rose, without being aware of the buds which were just beginning to form; months afterwards, the rose unfolded itself, the nightingale sang only of it, flew among the thorns, and wounded itself. The song often occurred to me when I became older, but in the church Ara Cœli I knew it not; neither my ears nor my heart knew it !

At home, I had to repeat before my mother, Mariuccia, and many friends, the speech which I had made, and this flattered my vanity not a little; but they lost, in the mean time, their interest in hearing it earlier than I mine in repeating it. In order now to keep my public in good humor, I undertook, out of my own head, to make a new speech. But this was rather a description of the festival in the church than a regular Christmas speech. Federigo was the first who heard it; and, although he laughed, it flattered me still, when he said that my speech was in every way as good as that which Fra Martino had taught me, and that a poet lay hidden in me. This last remark gave me much to think about, because I could not understand it; yet thought I to myself, it must be a good angel, perhaps the same which shows to me the charming dreams, and so many beautiful things when I sleep. For the first time during the summer, chance gave me a clear notion of a poet, and awoke new ideas in my own soul-world.

I was

It but very rarely happened that my mother left the quarter of the city in which we lived; therefore it seemed to me like a festival when she said to me, one afternoon, that we would go and pay a visit to a friend of hers in Trastevere.1 dressed in my holiday suit, and the gay piece of silk which I usually wore instead of a waistcoat was fastened with pins over the breast, and under my little jacket; my neckerchief was tied in a great bow, and an embroidered cap was on my head. I was particularly elegant.

When, after the visit, we returned home, it was somewhat late, but the moon shone gloriously, the air was fresh and blue, and the cypresses and pines stood with wonderfully sharp out

1 That part of Rome which lies on the higher banks of the Tiber.Author's Note.