to narrate of his travels, and spoke
specially of the beautiful music which he had heard at Easter in the
Roman churches. He had also had lessons on the piano from a celebrated
professor of the Italian style, but seemed to have been particularly
delighted with the music of the seventeenth-century composers, of whose
works he had brought back some specimens set for piano and violin.

It was past eleven o'clock when Mr. Gaskell left to return to New
College; but the night was unusually warm, with a moon near the full,
and John sat for some time in a cushioned window-seat before the open
sash thinking over what he had heard about the music of Italy. Feeling
still disinclined for sleep, he lit a single candle and began to turn
over some of the musical works which Mr. Gaskell had left on the table.
His attention was especially attracted to an oblong book, bound in
soiled vellum, with a coat of arms stamped in gilt upon the side. It was
a manuscript copy of some early suites by Graziani for violin and
harpsichord, and was apparently written at Naples in the year 1744, many
years after the death of that composer. Though the ink was yellow and
faded, the transcript had been accurately made, and could be read with
tolerable comfort by an advanced musician in spite of the antiquated
notation.

Perhaps by accident, or perhaps by some mysterious direction which our
minds are incapable of appreciating, his eye was arrested by a suite of
four movements with a _basso continuo_, or figured bass, for the
harpsichord. The other suites in the book were only distinguished by
numbers, but this one the composer had dignified with the name of
"l'Areopagita." Almost mechanically John put the book on his
music-stand, took his violin from its case, and after a moment's tuning
stood up and played the first movement, a lively _Coranto_. The light of
the single candle burning on the table was scarcely sufficient to
illumine the page; the shadows hung in the creases of the leaves, which
had grown into those wavy folds sometimes observable in books made of
thick paper and remaining long shut; and it was with difficulty that he
could read what he was playing. But he felt the strange impulse of the
old-world music urging him forward, and did not even pause to light the
candles which stood ready in their sconces on either side of the desk.
The _Coranto_ was followed by a _Sarabanda_, and the _Sarabanda_ by a
_Gagliarda_. My brother stood playing, with