The Brothers of Goschemn. 145 



what I had read had been written, and I grew more and more me- 

 lancholy as I thought of it. 



" Hang it, this will never do," said I, bringing the four legs of my 

 chair to the same level, " I'll go to the kitchen." 



Eccomi then ; there I was in a trice, chatting Polyglot with la 

 Signorina Flaminia and her equally lively half-sister Beatrice. They 

 had both been some years in France, and had acquired the art of 

 speaking gras to perfection. Of this they were evidently a little 

 vain, and wandered every now and then out of the clear liquid in- 

 tonations of their own dear tongue into the nasal twang of Paris. 

 Altogether, however, they were two charming dear souls. They 

 asked in the simplicity of their little hearts whether there were 

 olives and figs in my cold country, and what part of England Ireland 

 was in ; and all about my Lord Vilainton, and what I had got in my 

 knapsack, and whether I was married or single, while they shook 

 their clustering curls so provoking in my face as I disowned the soft 

 impeachment, that I could have kissed the darling rogues in spite of 

 the presence of their good-natured fat mamma, but for the* old Ca- 

 puchin who was taking his evening meal for God's sake in the chim- 

 ney corner, and who every now and then lifted his great dark eyes 

 from his bouilli and brown bread to scan the proceedings of the young 

 folks. He was a man beyond^the middle age, but had the look of bear- 

 ing his years well. His form was spare, but muscular. The stripe 

 of short unshaven hair that encircled his head was interrupted over 

 his large forehead, which showed, in spite of the tonsure, the gloss of 

 natural baldness ; and I could not help remarking the lady-like 

 smallness of his hands and feet, browned as they were by constant ex- 

 posure to every change of weather. Gradually, I know not how, he 

 slid into the conversation. One casual observation introduced an- 

 other, and at last at ten o'clock the good-night of our landlady and her 

 daughters interrupted a lively dispute on the wines of Italy and their 

 merits as compared with the produce of the transalpine vine. I was 

 beginning to be pleased with my companion. There was a shrewd 

 self-possession in his dark eye ; and the quick decided movement of 

 his lip, partially covered as it was with a dark beard not too large 

 to hide the expression of the mouth, a soft mellowness in his voice 

 (that most prepossessing of personal attributes), and a grace in the 

 slight action that he used in speaking, that would Jnot have been out 

 of place either in the bustle of the active world or the elegance of the 

 salon, but seemed to suit but little with the garb of the idle mendi- 

 cant and the lazy friar. 



But, as I said, our hostess bade us good-night. 



" Buona notte,'' said I. 



" Benedicite," said the Capuchin. 



" Speaking of the wine," said he, resuming his discourse, " La 

 Signora Teresa has some splendid Montepulciano." 



" Signora Teresa !" shouted I, as she closed the door, " a flask of 

 Montepulciano ; and perhaps it would be as well to leave another, 

 with a morsel of salame and one or two sardignes on the table 

 yonder." 



"Montepulciano!" said the Capuchin, as the hostess closed the 



FEB. 1837, L 



