again. ----

Second Period (continued).

EVENTS IN THE FAMILY, RELATED BY THE GOVERNOR. ----

CHAPTER XXXII. THE MIDDLE-AGED LADY.

In the year 1870 I found myself compelled to submit to the demands of
two hard task-masters.

Advancing age and failing health reminded the Governor of the Prison of
his duty to his successor, in one unanswerable word--Resign.

When they have employed us and interested us, for the greater part of
our lives, we bid farewell to our duties--even to the gloomy duties of a
prison--with a sense of regret. My view of the future presented a vacant
prospect indeed, when I looked at my idle life to come, and wondered
what I should do with it. Loose on the world--at my age!--I drifted into
domestic refuge, under the care of my two dear and good sons. After a
while (never mind how long a while) I began to grow restless under
the heavy burden of idleness. Having nothing else to complain of, I
complained of my health, and consulted a doctor. That sagacious man hit
on the right way of getting rid of me--he recommended traveling.

This was unexpected advice. After some hesitation, I accepted it
reluctantly.

The instincts of age recoil from making new acquaintances, contemplating
new places, and adopting new habits. Besides, I hate railway traveling.
However, I contrived to get as far as Italy, and stopped to rest at
Florence. Here, I found pictures by the old masters that I could really
enjoy, a public park that I could honestly admire, and an excellent
friend and colleague of former days; once chaplain to the prison, now
clergyman in charge of the English Church. We met in the gallery of the
Pitti Palace; and he recognized me immediately. I was pleased to find
that the lapse of years had made so little difference in my personal
appearance.

The traveler who advances as far as Florence, and does not go on to
Rome, must be regardless indeed of the opinions of his friends. Let me
not attempt to conceal it--I am that insensible traveler. Over and over
again, I said to myself: "Rome must be done"; and over and over again I
put off doing it. To own the truth, the fascinations of Florence, aided
by the society of my friend, laid so strong a hold on me that I believe
I should have ended my days in the delightful Italian city, but for the
dangerous illness of one of my sons. This misfortune hurried me back to
England, in dread, every step of the way, of finding that I had arrived
too late. The jou