bonds of union between individuals and families) are now so general that the report of the Chamber of Commerce for 1863 says, that almost all the persons belonging to the classes who live by personal or manual labour have become members of one or other of these societies.

Freedom has thus assured to Milan material as well as moral progress. It has not less contributed to develop those charming and pleasant social relations which are nowhere more agreeable than in the capital of Lombardy. Thus the stranger finds in Milanese society a kindness which never fails, a cordial and unaffected hospitality. There is, however, one reproach to which the Milanese lay themselves open. The richest and the most aristocratic among them have the disagreeable habit of using generally and constantly in ordinary conversation the common patois or dialect of the country. That the people should converse in it is no matter of surprise; that is the case in all countries. Now, this dialect is composed either of barbarous words peculiar to itself, or of words belonging to the beautiful Italian language, which are mangled and horribly disfigured. The educated classes of cities like Turin and Milan, which justly boast of being at the head of the Italian movement, will do well to follow the example of good society in Naples, and leave the patois or dialect of the country to porters and uneducated peasants. Is it indeed asking too much to beg of the Milanese to banish from amongst them this last badge of the divisions and bondage of Italy,

and henceforth to use only their rich national tongue, that almost divine language, the sweetest and the most musical spoken by any European community? Let my good friends of Milan pardon me for being so outspoken, for I cannot consent to keep back either praise or blame. I can, however, most truly say, that never shall I forget the many and happy days which I have spent in their midst; above all, those bright hours of peace and joy in which Milan first tasted the ennobling pleasures of freedom.

II.

It was during that same autumn of 1859, in which I had seen Milan so full of attraction and life, that I found only sadness and silence in Venice. It appeared like a city of the dead. Its people mourned. in bitterness of heart the vanished hope of freedom -a freedom that seemed already within their grasp. An incident which occurred at the time paints to the life the condition of Venice in the summer of 1859.

There lived together a Venetian widow and her son, whom his mother loved tenderly. Her only cause of anxiety was the fear of his getting into trouble with the Austrian government, for the young man was an ardent patriot. The poor woman had so often beheld the hopes of Venice vanish away, that she had almost ceased to believe in the deliverance of her country. When her son told her of hopeful signs, she shook her head sadly, and contented herself with praying in silence for her beloved and

unfortunate Venice. The great events of the spring and summer of 1859 kindled anew the ardour of the young man. It is easy to imagine with what animation he related to his mother every particle of news which reached him during that eventful period. Still she believed not; it seemed too good to be true. At length, one day the son came rushing into his mother's room, and cried, "Come, mother, come quickly! from a neighbouring roof I will show you the fleet of our deliverers, the flag of France!" They hastened forth, and when, in the far distance, the poor woman saw the French men-of-war, she raised to heaven her eyes full of tears, and said: "Merciful God, I thank thee! at length I believe indeed in the deliverance of my beloved Venice." The next day came the news of that peace which left Venice to Austria.

Who on that account has a right to blame France? If France did not do all she promised in 1859, she yet did much. To speak plainly, we are still too near those unequal contests, sustained by Poland and Denmark abandoned to their fate, to give an Englishman the right to blame France for not having completed the work she undertook in 1859. At any rate, she spent both blood and treasure for the Italian cause. If I have narrated, as I heard it, the little story given above, it is with the sole object of showing how bitter was the disappointment of Venice, and how deep still is her grief.

Of all the Italians whom I have known, the Venetians are those who display most patience. It is they

above all whom I have heard say: "Let not Italy risk everything upon the stroke of some rash attempt; we know that our king and our brothers will not fail to come to our aid when a propitious occasion presents itself, when strikes the appointed hour." The Venetians are right. If young and ardent patriots occasionally throw themselves into a hopeless struggle against their oppressors, that is no cause for wonder; but the more experienced and sensible among them ought to use all their influence to prevent such mistakes being committed, for mistakes they are. Venetians, one and all, ought to reserve themselves for the last great effort which, one day or another, will assuredly bring with it the triumph of the Italian

cause.

The general aspect of Venice at the present time (1865) is of the saddest; its population wears a sombre look, and there is a singular absence of young men. It is to be accounted for by the fact that thousands of the young generation have quitted their country in order to settle in the Italian kingdom, whose army numbers some 14,000 Venetians in its ranks. Along the Grand Canal and elsewhere, the palaces fall more and more into ruin, and can be bought at a very low price. Everything indicates a decaying city. The beautiful old palace of the Foscari is turned into a barrack, an ample proof of the amount of respect felt by Austrian rulers for the great memories of the past, so dear to Venetian hearts. The ancient Queen of the Adriatic has become one of the most mournful cities in Europe.

The carnival is now but a thing of the past. Since 1859, operas, illuminations, and balls have disappeared. Festivities find no place in public or in private life. The only demonstrations which interrupt the national mourning are those by which the Venetians protest against the rule of the Germans. Sometimes they take an amusing form; as when, for example, the pigeons of St Mark are seen, some fine morning, flying about with tricoloured wings, to the great scandal of the Austrians. The Venetians have invented various ingenious modes of celebrating the national fêtes of Italy; such as the birthday of King Victor Emmanuel, the giving of the Italian constitution, the celebration of the victories of Magenta and Solferino. Sometimes fireworks displaying the Italian tricolour shoot across the evening sky from one place or another; sometimes the early dawn reveals upon the walls placards in which the Venetians hail Victor Emmanuel as their king, offer him their homage, or express their sympathy and good-will to their brother Italians. Thereupon the Austrian police take the field in hot haste; ladders, poles, pails of water, are brought quickly to bear on the obnoxious placards; they are mercilessly attacked, and ere long utterly destroyed.

The Venetian character is naturally open and goodhumoured. In the cafés, at balls, fêtes, and places of public resort, strangers easily made acquaintance with the inhabitants of Venice. Now all is changed. The Venetians regard with suspicion those whom they do not know. Such a change is by no means aston