of the
Baron de Warenghien. Colonel Stanley's copy sold for L11 lls. The book
was printed at Basle, by Jean Oporin. See Clement, _Bibl. Cur. Hist,
et Crit._, vii. 371. See also, for an account of it, Salleugre, _M.m.
de Litt._, ii. 6, 203; and Schelhorn, _Amoen. Lit._, iii. 151.]

[Footnote 9: An entertaining and curious account of Curio and his
family is to be found in a commemorative oration delivered in 1570
before the Academy of Basle by Stupanus, and printed by Schelhorn in
_Amoen. Lit._, Tom. xiv.]

[Footnote 10: In two or three of the dialogues Hutten is introduced as
one of the speakers; and several of the poetic epigrams are ascribed
to him by name.]

[Footnote 11: In Luther's _Table-Talk_, he says, "Whoso in Rome is
heard to speak one word against the Pope received either a
Strappecordo or is punished with death, for his name is _Noli me
tangere._" Pasquin himself has hardly said a shrewder saying than
this. _Noli me tangere_ is the name under which Pius IX. pleads
against the diminution of his temporal power, while he threatens his
opponents with the Strappecorde.]

[Footnote 12: _Lectures upon Shakespeare and other Dramatists_, ii.
90.]

[Footnote 13: Novaes, x. 56. Artaud de Montor, _Hist. des Pont. Rom._,
v. 523.]

[Footnote 14: _Vita d' Innocenzio X._, dal Cav. Ant. Bagatta.]

* * * * *

THE SUMMONS.

My ear is full of summer sounds,
With summer sights my languid eye;
Beyond the dusty village bounds
I loiter in my daily rounds,
And in the noon-time shadows lie.

The wild bee winds his drowsy horn,
The bird swings on the ripened wheat,
The long, green lances of the corn
Are tilting in the winds of morn,
The locust shrills his song of heat.

Another sound my spirit hears,
A deeper sound that drowns them all,--
A voice of pleading choked with tears,
The call of human hopes and fears,
The Macedonian cry to Paul!

The storm-bell rings, the trumpet blows;
I know the word and countersign;
Wherever Freedom's vanguard goes,
Where stand or fall her friends or foes,
I know the place that should be mine.

Shamed be the hands that idly fold,
And lips that woo the reed's accord,
When laggard Time the hour has tolled
For true with false and new with old
To fight the battles of the Lord!

O brothers! blest by partial Fate
With power to match the will and deed,
To him your summons comes too la