fo, grande e

orta

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eat and marvellous b

rranted to carry elderly gentlemen,- look down on the gliding landscapes! There, near the ruins of the Oscan's old Atella, rises Aversa, once the stronghold of the Norman; there gleam the columns of Capua, above the Vulturnian Stream. Hail to ye, cornfields and vineyards famous for the old Falernian! Hail to ye, golden orange-groves of Mola di Gaeta! Hail to ye, sweet shrubs and wild flowers, omnis copia narium, that cloth

reathes round yon broken columns. Yes, that is the arch of Titus, the conqueror of Jerusalem,- that the Colosseum! Through one passed the triumph of the deified invader; in one fell the butchered gladiators. Monuments of murder, how poor the thoughts, how mean th

e heaven, a s

How the lizard watches us with his bright, timorous eye! We disturb his reign. Gather that wild flower: the Golden House is vanished, but the wild flower ma

er the grass-grown hills, or sauntering through the streets of the new city, not with the absent brow and incurious air of students, but with observant piercing eyes that seem to dive into the hearts of the passers-by. An old man, but not infirm,- erect and stately, as if in his prime. None know whether he be rich or p

t, bodily, and face to face. But if they are sages, thought can meet thought, and spirit spirit, though oceans divide the forms. D

itual calm, the emotions change and go. HE has acted in the past he surveys; but not a trace of the humanity that participates in joy and sorrow can be detected on the passionless v

the last century, the future seemed a thing tangible,- it

hundred years, Man, t

ige, Der reifste Sohn de

ntemplating mankind leads but to the two results,- compassion or disdain. He who believes in other worlds can accustom himself to look on this as the naturalist on the revolutions of an ant-hill, or of a leaf. What is the Earth to Infinity,- what its duration to the Eternal? Oh, how much greater is the soul of one man than the vicissitudes of the whole globe! Child of heaven, and

h the sweet music of mortal passion; thy kind is to thee still something warmer than an abstraction,- thou wouldst look upon thi

o