the benefits of the supreme Cause, and, by an impious subtility, tempt men to deprive him of his just homage.

Yes, great God! thou carest for us; we cannot doubt it: but how impenetrable are thy judgments! If we are punished more than others, we are no doubt more culpable. Perhaps thou wouldst purify us, and render us more deserving of thy benefits; but how little do we know! There may be other causes of evil, to which our weak intelligence cannot arrive.

'Alas! my dear Socrates, we have outlived our friends, and almost outlived ourselves!'

Petrarch, willing to replace the voids which death had made in his heart, attached himself to Paganino Bezzozi, a man of sense and conversation. The circumstances of the times had contributed to their immediate union. Distress softens the heart, and ties close the bonds of affection: the more we have lost, the more we are attached to what remains behind. Our fortunes became common,' said he. After a short trial of his worth, I found he merited my confidence, and he proved a sort of Socrates in the friendship he showed me.' But death envied Petrarch this consolation in his misfortunes. Paganino was struck with the plague: but this did not hinder his supping with his friends. After supper, he discoursed with Petrarch as usual. He suf

fered with amazing fortitude, all night, the most violent pain, and expired before morning.

There remained at this time to Petrarch only three of his old friends; Gui Settimo, Lelius, and Socrates. Settimo was making his court at Avignon. Lelius had retired to Rome, his native city, some time before the death of cardinal Colonna. Petrarch was very uneasy about Socrates; he had written him several letters by safe hands, but had received no answer. He wrote again, with a letter inclosed to his brother Gerard, who had made great progress in the spiritual life in the seven years he had been among the carthusians.

This month, September, 1349, there was another scourge which oppressed mankind. The earth was agitated in a violent manner. These earthquakes in some places lasted several days, and the violence of the shocks caused great havoc in the city of Rome. Petrarch speaks thus of it in a letter:

'I tremble not only for Rome, but for all Italy. My blood freezes when I recal the last words of the prophecy of Balaam: "They shall come from Italy in ships, they shall vanquish the Assyrians, and ravage the Hebrews." This prophecy has been accomplished in the fall of the Roman empire. God send that these earthquakes

do not fortel the loss of peace and liberty to our land!'

Petrarch paid a visit this year to Gonzagua, lord of Mantua, who had invited him so pressingly to reside at his court. Lewis de Gonzagua had associated his three sons in the government with himself, and assigned them employments suited to their genius. Gui, the eldest, liberal, magnificent, and a lover of letters, was charged with all that concerns the interior government of the city, and its negotiations with strangers. Philipon, active, unquiet, warlike, had the department of war, and was general of the army: he had attended the king of Hungary in his expedition to Naples, to revenge his brother's death, and was lately returned from thence. Feltrin, who loved the arts, had the direction of the buildings, fortifications, reparations of the highways, &c. Lewis de Gonzagua, sinking under the weight of years, (for he was above fourscore,) had resigned the government to his children; and they showed, in their admirable conduct, what may be accomplished in a small state by three brothers firmly united.

Gui, who was the patron of letters, and had long known our poet, gave him a very distinguished reception. A despatch being sent to Avignon, in the letters of the chancellor, who was the negotiator, and Petrarch's friend, no

mention being made of him, Gui reproached the chancellor, saying, 'You speak of our affairs, you tell us what passes at the Roman court, and you say nothing of Petrarch, in whom I am more interested than in them all.' The chancellor communicated this sentiment to Petrarch, who expressed his acknowledgment by saying, 'The power of love extends from pole to pole, and binds men by invisible ties, however situation may separate them; as Augustus manifested in his affection for Virgil, the son of a Mantuan labourer, and Horace, son of a freedman, to whom he wrote with the most affectionate familiarity. If such examples render it less surprising that I should be so honoured, I feel not less sensibly the glory of being treated like these great men, when I fall so short of their merit. One of them said, "It is not a little matter to obtain favour of princes:" for my part, I know not how I came to please others, who could never please myself.'

Petrarch was at Mantua. He went to see that little village, famous for the birth of Virgil: it is only a small league from that city. It was formerly called Andes; its present name is Pietola. On this spot his fancy kindled, and he wrote the following lines to Virgil:

'Great poet! the honour of Rome, the fruitful hope of the muses! tell me where you are at

present. In what part of Avernus are you inclosed? Or are you not rather on Parnassus, with Apollo and the nine, who enchant you with their concerts? Perhaps you are walking in the woods, or in the Elysian fields, with Homer, whom you so much resemble, with Orpheus, and the other poets of the first rank. I except Lucan and Lucretius, and all those who, like them, put an end to their own lives. I would know the life you lead; wherein your dreams differed from truth, and where is the ivory door through which you caused Eneas to pass, on his return from hell. I willingly believe that you inhabit that region of heaven allotted to happy souls.

If any mortal shade is admitted to your celestial mansions, mine shall attend you there, and inform you what passes in the place dear to you, and the fate of your works. Mantua, whose glory you are, has been agitated by the troubles of its neighbours. Defended by princes full of valor, she has refused to come under a strange yoke, and will only be governed by her children. It is there I write these lines, in a solitary place near your tomb. I seek, with ardor, the rocks to which you retired, the meadows where you walked, on the banks of the Mineio, the trees under which you sought a cooling shade, the woods which were your asylum against the heat, and the green banks where you were seated, at