They entered the house, where yet another reproof awaited him from the lips of a tall friar in a white habit, who was standing by the window turning over the leaves of a book well known to Salvator, who detested the very sight of it, and who knew that the lesson given him to learn from it was most imperfectly known. He was aware also that his idleness day after day was quite wearing out the patience of worthy Father Antonio, his preceptor, who had borne so long with him, and to whom he was really attached; so it was with a feeling of shame he followed him into the adjoining room, and confessed he had not done more than merely read over the portion he had set him.

But we must give a few words of information respecting the family to whom we have introduced the reader, which consisted of five persons.

The boy Salvator was the only son of Guilia and Antonio Rosa, who lived on the pic

turesque spot we have mentioned. Rosa was an artist and architect, who earned such a scanty livelihood by his pencil that he resolved his son should not follow the same profession. His mother's strong desire was that he should become a priest, and so his education had to begin early. For this purpose a friar from the neighbouring monastery had been engaged to instruct him in reading, writing, and Latin. Father Antonio came every morning to his young pupil, and did his best to bring him on in such studies as he thought suitable to his age. But he had undertaken a task of no small difficulty, for the boy hated his lessons, and neither coaxing or threats would induce him to apply to them with energy. His delight was to roam about the hill, revelling in the glorious landscape, which ever seemed to have fresh charms for him.

But what gave his father serious uneasiness was the fact that he was for ever sketching and drawing on such bits of paper as he could

find, and that he did it with an ease and rapidity that was very unusual in so young a boy. So great was Rosa's dread lest he should grow into an artist, that he caused paper and pencil to be put carefully out of his way, and he charged Father Antonio to give him such long Latin lessons to learn, and so many copies to write, that they would take up a great deal of his time, and, as he fondly imagined, turn his tastes into a different direction.

But nature was far too strong and unyielding to be thus mastered. Salvator never

crossed the threshold of the house or looked out of window without enjoying the scenery around in a way none of his young companions did. Whilst they scrambled about, or played at games, he would lie down, or wander about by himself, watching the effects of the lights and shades on the hills, or the bay below. He would clasp his hands in ecstasy at the brilliant calm of the bright blue waters under a cloudless sky, or he

would look long and earnestly on their varying aspect under a stormy one. In fact, the child lived in a beautiful world of his own, which no one around him ever entered, or could have understood or appreciated, had they done so.

To return to Father Antonio, who was having a hard time of it with his troublesome pupil, whose thoughts were this morning anywhere but with his lessons. He outdid himself with inattention. The priest was a conscientious man who desired to do his duty by the lad.

Salvator," said he at last, "I shall report you to your father, and tell him I must give you up. You take no pains with your Latin, and you are making no progress.'

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"I hate Latin,” replied the boy.

But you must learn it, or you can never be a priest."

"I don't want to be a priest; I want to be an artist, and take sketches," said Salvator.