bition, and wilfully abandoned himself to a mode of existence that threatened to reduce him to the level of those he despised.

That the country in which he now resided was well calculated to foster such a view of humanity, when its morbid tendency had once set in, we may readily believe; for Shelley tells us that he had no conception of the excess to which avarice, cowardice, superstition, ignorance, passionless lust, and all the inexpressible brutalities which degrade human nature, could be carried, until he had passed a few days at Venice.

This once proud and still beautiful city, with its temples and palaces "like fabrics of enchantment piled to heaven," its silent streets paved with the blue waters that came stealing dreamily in from the Adriatic, had sunken, oh, how low! in the scale of nations. It still stood beautiful in ruin; but all its greatness, its wealth, its glory, and magnificence, had passed away for ever; and its people, both morally and politically, had degenerated to the very lowest depths of depravity and degradation; and Lord Byron did not scruple to associate with the most fallen of this degenerate people.

In "Julian and Maddalo," Shelley has admirably depicted the moods of Byron's mind, portraying that gloomier tendency which lay at the background; and which was only slightly veiled by the lively wit, and frank affability of manner, which appeared on the surface. Nor has he given us a less admirable picture of his impressions of Venice, which he pronounces a wonderfully fine city, and the approach to it over the Laguna, with its domes and turrets glittering in a long line over the blue waves, one of the finest architectural delusions in the world.

He visited its palaces, its dungeons, its galleries, and libraries; and became enchanted with everything he beheld. He says:

"If I had been an unconnected man,

I, from that moment, should have formed some plan,
Never to leave sweet Venice, for, to me,

It was delight to ride by the lone sea.
And then the town is silent; one may write
Or read in gondolas by day or night,
Having the little brazen lamps alight,
Unseen, uninterrupted:-books are there,
Pictures and casts from all those statues fair,
Which were twin-born with poetry."

CHAPTER XI.

Shelley's residence at I Capuccini-Finishes the first act of Prometheus Unbound-The lines written among the Euganean Hills-Shelley proceeds to Ferrara— To Bologna-Arrival at Rome-Arrival at NaplesA romantic incident.

THE poet's stay at Venice was, however, of brief duration. Till he had seen Naples and Rome, he could scarcely be said to have any fixed purpose. For the present he accepted the kind offer from Lord Byron of the use of a villa which he rented at Este, overlooked by the ruins of the ancient castle, once the residence of the Medicis before their emigration to Florence; and, sending for his wife and family from the baths of Lucca, he was established for a few weeks in this retreat.

This picturesque little villa, called I Capuccini, after the ancient Capuchin convent demolished by the French, on whose site it was built, occupied a commanding position on the brow of a hill, and overlooked the wide plains of Lombardy, which, says Mrs. Shelley, presented a gratifying contrast to the limited but picturesque view of mountain, ravine, and chesnut wood at the baths of Lucca.

Here, in the summer house at the end of the garden, which Shelley had made his study, he wrote "Julian and Maddalo," and the first act of "Prometheus Unbound."

But Este was also destined to bear painful associations to the poet-his infant girl, his poor little Clara! as he calls her, was seized with one of those disorders peculiar to the climate, and becoming alarmed at her symptoms, he hastened with her, accompanied by his wife, to Venice, to obtain the best advice.

In the confusion of his hurried departure, he had forgotten his passport, but so great was his impetuosity, increased to the highest by the danger of his child, that he overawed the Aus

trian guard at Fusina, and was allowed to pass without one.

They had scarcely arrived, however, when the child died, and the disconsolate parents returned to Este only to mourn her loss.

The effect of this event may be traced in the lines written among the Euganean Hills, a poem also of this period, exhibiting great power and beauty, the result of many wanderings and watchings from his garden or little summer house retreat, from whence he could see,

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Spread like a green sea,

The waveless plains of Lombardy,
Bounded by the vaporous air;
Islanded by cities fair;"

over which he could watch the sun and moon rise and set, and the evening. star, and all the golden magnificence of autumnal clouds.

Quitting Este in the beginning of November, with his wife and only surviving child, he proceeded to Ferrara, where he arrived in one day, and did not fail to visit the tomb of Ariosto and the dungeon of Tasso; from thence he proceeded to Bologna, where he devoted upwards of a week to survey its innumerable attractions, consisting of