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after having passed two years in the solitude of the hermitage. At present there are four-and-twenty only. The abbot always resides among them, and governs the monastery below by a delegate called the Prior. The life of these hermits is unusually austere and mortified. Their diet consists entirely of vegetables and eggs, as meat is utterly prohibited. On Fridays they confine their repasts to bread and water. In summer, out of regard, it seems, to the genial influence of the season that must naturally invite to social enjoyments, the hermits are allowed to converse together at certain stated hours three days in the week. In winter, when the gloom of the weather and the horrors of the surrounding wilds are supposed to be more favourable to meditation, this indulgence is confined to two days. These austerities are peculiar to the inhabitants of the Sagro Eremo, and do not extend to the monastery. The church of the Eremo is extremely neat, and the sacristy adorned with some excellent paintings. The library contains not only religious and ascetical works, which are seldom wanting in such establishments, but a very good collection of general literature. The situation is extremely grand and romantic; in the midst of craggy mountains, and almost impenetrable forests of firs, it is eternally enveloped in that holy gloom so congenial to the spirit of monastic institution, and so well calculated to infuse into the most dissipated minds sentiments of religious melancholy.

Not far from the Eremo, the Apennines attain their highest elevation, and exhibit at once a view of the Adriatic and Tyrrhene seas. We did not, however, ascend, as the heat of the weather at this season renders the horizon too hazy for extensive prospects; but when evening approached we returned to the abbey, where we found a very good supper prepared for us by the

attention of the Padre Foresteraio, to whom we had particular letters of recommendation. The prior himself also honoured us with his company, so that we were on the whole provided with good fare and excellent conversation.

We were informed by the Prior, that the abbey was founded by a Calabrian anchoret, called St. Romuald, who having sought in vain for perfect solitude in many parts of Italy, at length settled himself in the rugged desert of Camaldoli, in the beginning of the eleventh century. Here, with a few compa nions, he revived or rather augmented the primitive austerity of the Benedictin Order, intermixed with its rule some portion of the eremitical life, and in short laid the foundation of the con gregation called, from its principal monastery, Camaldulensis or Camaldolese. As St. Romuald lived to the advanced age of a hundred and twenty, and enjoyed a high reputation for sanctity and wisdom, he may be supposed to have left his monastery in a very flourishing condition at his death. It has now continued for the space of nearly eight centuries, with little relaxation in its rules and few vicissitudes in its fortunes.

There is something extremely striking in the duration of these monastic establishments-kingdoms and empires rise and fall around them-governments change-dynasties flourish and fade -manners and dresses alter, and even languages corrupt and evaporate. Enter the gates of Camaldoli or Monte Cassino-the torrent of time stands still-you are transported back to the sixth or the tenth century-you see the manners and habits, and hear the language of those distant periods-you converse with another race of beings, unalterable in themselves though placed among mortals, as if appointed to observe and record the

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vicissitudes from which they are exempt. Hitherto these monuments of ancient times and past generations have been placed above the reach of that mortality, to which all the other works and institutions of man are subject; but is not the term of their existence at hand? or are they destined to survive the tempest that now scowls over Europe, and where it falls, levels all that is great and venerable in the dust?

The number of monks at the Abbey of Camaldoli is about forty, of whom ten only are in priest's orders; though not obliged to the silence or extra-fasts of their brethren in the hermitage, they lead a more austere life than other Benedictins. They arise a little after midnight, or rather about one in the morning, a practice not uncommon in religious orders, nor difficult to persons who sleep in the afternoon and retire to rest early; I might, perhaps, add, pleasant in a country where the morning is so delightful and so glorious. In winter indeed, which in these elevated regions of the Apennines is long and intensely cold, this practice must be very irksome, and may justly be considered as one of their severest duties. But in all seasons, at such an hour and in such solitudes, the deep tones of the bells, the chant of the choir, and the fulness of the organ, must be most solemn and impressive.

The dress of the Camaldolese is white, but in form the same as that worn by the Benedictins in general, that is, a cassock, a scapulary, a hood, and in the church a cowl or long robe, with white sleeves.

The abbey enjoys a considerable income, derived principally from its forests, which supply the port of Leghorn with firs for

masts. More than fifty men are kept in constant employment immediately about the house; and bread is daily distributed to the poor around.

In the golden days of Lorenzo the Abbey of Camaldoli, like that of Fasula, was the occasional resort of that prince and his classic associates; its abbot was equal to Bosio in learning, and perhaps excelled him in eloquence; and the rocks of Camaldoli sometimes, it is said, repeated the sublime tenets of Plato, and re-echoed his praises. How many ages may elapse before the silence that now reigns around us, is likely to be disturbed by similar discussions!

EXCURSION TO LAVERNIA.

The next morning we set out for Lavernia, called in Latin Mons Alvernus probably its ancient name. It is about fourteen miles from Camaldoli; the road winds through a rocky and desolate country. We arrived at the convent about sun-set. It belongs to the Franciscan friars, and is the second of the order, as that at Asisium claims the first place. It was founded by St. Francis himself, who was delighted with the savage scenery and deep solitude of the place, so favourable to the indulgence of enthusiastic devotion. The choice of the situation does honour to the Saint's taste.

The convent was built and the mountain settled on it as a property, by Count Orlando, lord of the territory about the year 1216. It is seated on a very lofty and romantic rock, about three miles in circumference, towering far above the neighbouring eminences, and entirely covered with wood. The

rock itself is broken into numberless pinnacles, insulated prominencies and fantastic forms, and in these again are va rious grottos and galleries, hollowed out by nature though occasionally enlarged by art. The thick groves that crown the summit and nod over the steeps cast a rich and mellow shade over the whole scene, which thus appears to great advantage from its contrast with the bleak barren hills that lie immedi ately under. The view is varied, on one side extending over a rugged uncultivated tract, and on the other, towards Vallombrosa, losing itself amidst wooded vallies and scattered villages, dells and mountains rising in confusion one above another, and forming that outline both bold and beautiful which characterize Apennine perspective. Most of the grottos which I have mentioned are distinguished by some real or legendary history of St. Francis. In a little recess, on the edge of a tremendous precipice, the saint sheltered himself from the devil, who endeavoured to hurl him down the steep; the saint adhered to the rock the dæmon darted over. Had the latter profited by experience, he would not have renewed a mode of attack in which he had been foiled twice before in the very same neighbourhood. This attempt is, however, the last of the kind on record. "In this cave, (said our guide,) St. Francis slept, and that very stone enclosed in an iron railing was his bed, and on that peninsulated rock, called La Spilla, hanging over yonder deep cavern, he was accustomed to pass a part of the night in prayer and meditation.”

But of all the places consecrated by the presence and miracles of the founder none is held in so great veneration as the cave, now chapel, of the Stemmate (Stigmata) in which the holy man is said to have received, imprinted on his body, the marks of our Saviour's wounds. The spot where this miraculous event took