alive after ten o'clock. She must ! I am
sure of it."

Mrs. Lockwood's tone was so petulant
and sharp, and so unlike her usual tone of
resolute composure, that Hugh looked at
her with some uneasiness.

"She has been over- worn and harassed,
the poor little mother," he thought. Then
ho glanced at Maud, whose eyes were
brimming with tears: and pushing his papers
aside, to be finished when the others should
have gone to bed, he set himself to speak
cheerfully of his prospects and of his plans;
how they would let the house in Gower-
street; and how he had seen a tiny cottage
near the spot he had set his heart on living
at, in Daneshire, that would just suit his
mother; and how he had already projected
sundry inexpensive alterations that would
make the tiny cottage a delightful
residence. And so no more was said that
night about Lady Tallis.

THE OLD CARDINAL'S RETREAT.

WE live in it at the time of this present
writing. It is in the Montagnolo, an hour
distant from Siena, among the mountains
bordering the Maremma. The whole country
is a forest—such a forest! Giant oaks,
wild, scathed, savage-looking, growing on
rocky broken ground, with never a stick of
underwood. Spiky cypresses, gathered
up like nosegays; patches of olives—grey
mystic trees said to have paled into that
sad tint, out of grief for the Divine One who
once wept under their shade; vineyards of
yellow-leafed grapes, now laden with ruby
fruit, clinging ,to light cane supports.
Higher up, fold upon fold of rounded hills,
dimpling into each other like the petals of
a tulip, clothed with a dark mantle of
evergreen ilex. Beyond, an open country
broken into long horizontal lines of hills
and valleys, waving up and down like the
swell of a stormy sea, either utterly barren
and desolate, or thickly dotted with villas,
churches, towers, villages, clinging
together as if for company. How easy to give
the details, how impossible to paint the
whole; the glorious sun lighting up all,
even in November, like a golden dream!
The varied tints and magic changes of light
and shade on this broad horizon, the morning
mists, the fervid blue of the mid-day
sky, the great white clouds like snow-drifts
that come riding up over the dark hill-tops,
the ruddy glory of the sunsets! When we
came here, the woods were green; now
they look as if lighted by a living flame;
the shadows those of a furnace, glowing
russet, deepest ruby, and richest purple.

The heart of this fair forest-wilderness
is a villa, built in the Tuscan or rustic
style, standing on a plateau facing the
Apennines to the south, and backed by the
evergreen forests on the hills. It was
built by Cardinal Chigi, brother of Pope
Alexander the Seventh, and is still in pos-
session of his descendants. As Louis the
Fourteenth created Versailles out of a sandhill,
so the cardinal (attracted to this spot
by its exceeding natural beauty) caused this
villa-palace to arise out of a virgin forest,
by the force of gold. He summoned
the great architect Fontana to his aid,
made roads, pruned the wild forest
luxuriance into parks and gardens, formed stately
terraces adorned with sculpture, placed
twelve chapels or stations round the house
in the adjacent woods, which he peopled
with statues of saints, gods, and satyrs, a
mixed but goodly company, looking over
the tree tops on pedestals some sixty feet
high, and startling the sight in unexpected
places. Also he caused to be traced from
the northern front of the villa, a broad grassy
alley, spanned midway by a triumphal arch,
and further on by a theatre for al fresco
performances, from whence, rising abruptly—
always in a straight line and forming a
vista from the villa—two hundred steps of
stone, cut through the forest, form a Scala
Santa, or sacred staircase, mounting to a
high tower on the summit of the hill,
where twelve monks, living in twelve cells,
said prayers for his eminence and all his
family, day and night.

When all was done, our cardinal called
the place THE THEBIAD, in memory of his
lowly brethren, the starving monks in
the Egyptian desert, who would mightily
have enjoyed the change from arid sand
and thirst and hunger, to this refined and
luxurious hermitage. Pope Alexander, out
of the funds of St. Peter, left it also a noble
revenue, along with many broad acres on
Tuscan and on Roman soil, which have
come down unlessened to the present day.
The Thebiad is therefore maintained with
fitting splendour by its present owner.

Within, the saloons and galleries are
still decked with old frescoes, gilding,
marbles, and statues, to which are added
the comforts of our own present time.
A crowd of modern retainers, valets,
keepers, stewards, gardeners, shepherds,
come and go, over the grassy court within
the gates, where in the morning are often