able opinion of Crowe and some other lovers of literature was all that he wished for, probably more than he expected. Pecuniary return for his labours was altogether out of the question, though that indeed would have been most acceptable; for the increasing expenses of a young family straitened his means and put him under the necessity of great thrift and self-denial. The proceeds of his two livings of Abbots-Bromley and Kingsbury, after the payment of curates' salaries, returned him barely 1007. a year; his private fortune produced a revenue of less than double that sum, and the addition of an allowance of 2001. a year from his father constituted his whole income. With these slender means he had to assist his eldest son, who had lately entered the army, to maintain two sons at a public school, and three children at home. The desire to encourage a love of literature in his children was most natural; and though he could not force a taste for such pursuits, he could at least afford the groundwork of a sound and learned education. To do this no expense within his power was spared. In one of them all his hopes seemed likely to be realised, but an early death deprived him of that one. This was his only surviving daughter she was now in her sixteenth year: her education had been his occupation and delight. Music and painting afforded him scarcely less pleasure than poetry; for these he provided her with masters; dancing was the only accomplishment that he could not away with. He had himself taught her French, Italian, and Spanish; in the two former languages she had made such progress as the pupil of such a master would be likely to make; and in the latter, as we learn from his journal, was now sufficiently advanced to be able to join him in reading the great epic of the Spanish, the Araucana of Ercilla. It was, I believe, about this period that he made the subjoined imitation of one of Pignotti's prettiest fables. His daughter was employed to transcribe the original, and from her transcription I now insert it. Probably to cheer her in her task, he amused himself, as well as his pupil, by putting it into an English dress. Not long before his death, some thirty years later, or perhaps just before the decease of his friend Hood, he revised his version, with a view to its insertion in Hood's Magazine, to which, as will by and by be seen, he contributed a translation from another humorous Italian poem. In the copy I have, my father says: "The following tale is imitated rather than translated from the Italian of Pignotti, a writer of fables, who may take his place somewhere between the French La Fontaine and our own Gay." IL VECCHIO E L'ASINO. OR che l'Autunno al Verno cede il loco, Vorreste voi che, almen per ingannare L'ore tediose e la stagion rubella, Prendessi a raccontarvi una novella? Visse un buon Vecchiarel canuto e bianco, Che degli anni agli ottanta omai giungea, Curvo le spalle e indebolito il fianco, Che poco udiva e meno ci vedea, E provisto di molti altri malanni, Chi di vecchiezza portan gli ultim' anni. Era il mio Vecchio un ricco contadino, Semplice e buono al par di un fanciullino Che vita spensierata e ognor tranquilla Avea vissuto fin allora, e appunto Per questo a età sì grave egli era giunto. Era devoto, e alla sua casa intorno Di frati e negri e bigi e bruni e bianchi Un nuvolo aggiravasi ogni giorno, Che col sacco alla man, la fiasa a' fianchi Versavano ne' campi a larga mano Benedizioni, ed insaccavan grano. Il Vecchio un giorno ad un vicin castello E qual parte del prezzo, che da quello Lentamente camina, e men veloce L'asin lo segue, cui più d'una fiata Il Vecchiarello intento al suo viaggio Venne ad entrare in solitario bosco, Di cui nel sen più cupo e più selvaggio Fra gl'intricati rami e l'aer fosco, Stavan ascosi ed imboscati al fresco Tre di frati minor di san Francesco. Tenean le braccia incrociate al petto, E nella faccia placida e modesta Voi già vi crederete o donne belle, E stavan queti ed appiattati al varco Ma pur l'inferma età tanto li mosse, Sicchè, piegando un po' la mente dura Voller che il Vecchio almen rubato fosse Garbatamente, e senza aver paura ; Ed un di lor, ch'era faceto un poco, Volle rubarlo, e insiem prenderne gioco. S'innalza, e al Vecchio s'incammina dreto, Ei Ladri a favorir fremer s'udía Nel bosco il vento con sì cupo suono, Che udito altro rumor non si saría Ancora da un orecchio acuto e buono. Il ladro s'avvicina, e già pian piano Stende sull' asinel la cheta mano. E con quel garbo e quella gentilezza, Il cappuccio si cava; e il capo caccia Coll' andar lento lento, e così bene Poich' ebbe seguitato per buon tratto Il Vecchiarel che indietro non si volse, E coi compagni dileguato affatto L'asin già s'era, più seguir non volsi, Lo stimola il villan senza voltarsi, E con quei dolci nomi l'accarezza, Invan l'alletta e tira la cavezza: |