1831.] Pope Gregory and the Pear-tree. 385 



" Aye — and only with all, must Luigi take his share. Farewell, Hugo, 

 and the Virgin bless you :" and Luigi turned away with ill-concealed 

 emotion, and endeavoured to proceed with his work. Hugo was like- 

 wise sensibly affected by the sincere passion of his friend. And let not 

 the reader too hastily condemn the scene as weak and puerile — hitherto 

 Luigi, although he had known and conceded to the superiority of Hugo, 

 yet felt proud of the excellence that had cast its favour upon himself. — He 

 now saw in it the cause of separation ; he now felt that he was the 

 humble Luigi, the gardener, destined to eat from his daily toil — and that 

 Hugo, his earliest and choicest friend, was to be severed from him to 

 pursue a path, it might be, of glory and renown. Luigi continued at his 

 work. — 



" What are you going to plant there, Luigi?" asked Hugo. 



" A pear-tree — and it is said to be of a rare kind." 



" Stajr, let me help you," rejoined Hugo ; and approaching Luigi, he 

 assisted him in planting the young shrub, for it was little more. Whilst 

 thus employed, they uttered not a word — each drew a sombre picture of 

 the future, and for the time, Hugo felt that he could give up all hopes 

 of the power and splendour, promised to him in his dreams, and in those 

 reveries more delicious, though often as equally vain, as the visions of 

 the night — that he could forego all temporal pomp, all spiritual domi- 

 nion, rather than wound the honest heart beside him. — For a moment, 

 the genius of the place seemed to ask him — " Why not abide here in the 

 home of thy father — why not rest with us, and get thy food from the 

 earth — why pant for the commerce of the world, ' as the hart panteth after 

 the water-brooks .''' " Ere the yoimg tree stood supported by the earth, 

 this feeling had subsided, as it had never risen, and Hugo stood again 

 about to say farewell to Luigi, who looked at him with a look of mingled 

 sorrow and distrust. 



" Luigi," exclaimed Hugo, with sudden animation — " let this tree be 

 as a covenant between us. As it stands, it is no unapt type of your 

 friend. The rich earth is about its roots, and the ' dew will he upon its 

 branches ;' with the blessings of the saints, it may put forth swelling 

 buds and leaves, and rich and odorous fruit — and men may pluck re- 

 freshing sweetness from its boughs, and rejoice beneath their shade. So 

 it may grow up, and so may it adorn the land that doth sustain it : and, 

 Luigi, it may be that it may pine and shi-ink, and never put forth one 

 green leaf — or blight may eat its buds, and canker gnaw its heart, and 

 so, cut down, it may be cast upon the fire, and so may perish. Thus 

 stands your friend : I shall be planted in the church, Luigi, — in that soil, 

 rich with the flesh and blood of saints — heaven may rain its dews upon 

 me, and I may put forth glorious fruit — and, Luigi, (the voice of the 

 speaker became slightly tremulous) — these hopes may be a melancholy 

 mockery of my fate — for I may perish, unknown, unhonoured, unre- 

 gretted. I know not how to account for it, my mind is possessed by a 

 sudden superstition — I feel, and it is an odd, perhaps an unchristian 

 fancy, that this tree will be the symbol of my destiny : if it flourish, I 

 shall prosper ; if it fade, Hugo will decay too. But, however it may 

 be, Luigi, the hearts of our youth shall, in their friendship, be the hearts 

 of our old age. And though we shall meet, yes often meet, yet here I 

 promise, that there is no time so distant, no state so high, that even 

 tlioiigli, j)arting here as youths, wc never meet but as grey-headed men 

 — thai here embracing in this humble garden, we next encountered in the 



