showed themselves most laudably anxious. At present the official language, where English is not used, is not Maltese but Italian; and this foreign tongue becomes, with a certain class, a shibboleth of disaffection. It is to be regretted, also, that this contracted view is fostered by many of the clergy, who, with gross ingratitude, forget that they enjoy privileges and immunities under English rule which in France or Italy would be denied them, and persist in posing as the representatives of a true Church, offended by the very presence of heretical interlopers.

It is much to be hoped that the Government will steadily persevere in the introduction of the English language, in spite both of open opposition and covert discouragement; as there can be no question that it would not only strengthen the bond with Great Britain, but, by encouraging visits to this country on the part of Maltese, improve the standards of taste and intelligence which now prevail among the latter.

General Porter's book does not, of course, deal to any great extent with the modern condition of Malta, or even with its antiquarian aspect, apart from the period of the rule of the Grand Masters; but he inferentially adds another to the many testimonies of the value of the historical treasures for which England has made herself responsible, by her acceptance of the position once occupied by the Order of St John in Malta.

That these traditions and relics are in some danger of being neglected is only too true. At home, although a spasmodic interest in them may be aroused at intervals by travellers like Lady Brassey, and savants like Professor Sayce, the feeling soon subsides, and we are content with a few specimens,

deposited in our own museums or arsenals, and leave the people of Malta to do very much as they list with the great bulk of the archæological treasures which are still in their original home: a very unsatisfactory mode of discharging our responsibility.

A melancholy spectacle of the little regard paid to literature is to be seen in the public library, rich in valuable works bequeathed by eminent members of the Order, and containing likewise a good modern collection of books of general information, for which an annual allowance is made from the Government estimates. The chairs in the great hall are occupied by urchins of ten or twelve, learning their lessons from dog's-eared primers, or amusing themselves with the engravings in illustrated newspapers, while adults are conspicuous by their absence. You are in search of some book, and learn that it has disappeared, or receive it in the form of a crumbling heap of dusty leaves, tied together with packthread, and honeycombed by the ravages of the Anobium pertinax and the Acaris eruditus, to say nothing of other varieties of the insect enemies of literature, which were described in an article in the Academy' about two years

ago.

Should you desire to see the museum of antiquities, you will be ushered into a series of dusky closets in the rear of the building, where the objects, some of them unique and priceless, are huddled together without arrangement or catalogue. This is to a great extent the result of the foolish parsimony of the English Government, who for many years provided a perfectly inadequate staff of custodians; but it is now in no small measure the vis inertia which opposes suggestions of improvement

made by the committee of management, even when originated and supported by native gentlemen of the highest culture and standing. The most practical of all these proposals was to procure the services of one of the higher officials of the British Museum to reorganise the whole collection, which might easily be done in the handsome building where it is at present located, were the best use made of the numerous apartments at the disposal of the Government; but the cry of the Colonial Office for economy knocked the scheme on the head. Sir Penrose Julyan, in fact, with the best intentions, did the island a serious injury when he made his report upon her finances; and there is no doubt that, had his recommendations been thoroughly carried out, irreparable injury would have been inflicted upon many of those remains of historical grandeur, which so ancient and wealthy a country as England should not hesitate to preserve in their in

tegrity, even at some cost to the national exchequer.

There are few parts of the world so varied in antiquarian interest as Malta. The gigantic Phoenician temples, in size, number, and state of preservation unequalled elsewhere; the Roman villas and tombs; the early Christian crypts and catacombs; the fragments of the work of Norman builders during the Sicilian occupation; and the gorgeous and lavish splendour in carving, painting, tapestry, and other adornments with which the knights decorated churches, palaces, and even hospitals, altogether make up a panorama of the world's architectural progress and decline. That England should add to these grand features is perhaps hardly to be expected; but we may hope that the New Zealander of the future, on his way to view the ruins of London Bridge, will not find every trace of the Knights of Malta obliterated in their ancient stronghold by British utilitarianism.

It is a favourite complaint in this country, a complaint which has assumed almost the shape of an axiom, that there is no such thing as a modern Italian literature; and since for some years past the study of that liquid language has grown unfashionable, for reasons only known to the fickle goddess of fashion, no contradictions have been put forth against a dictum that is both narrow-minded and erroneous. For while we who in this country still learn the language of the

"bel paese dove il si suona,"

are set to cut our linguistic teeth upon the classics, Petrarch, Dante, Ariosto; or are supplied, in the shape of lighter literature, with the equally classic romances of Manzoni, D'Azeglio, Grossi,-there has arisen with the unity of Italy, and the new hope, power, strength, that legitimate freedom and emancipation from the hateful Austrian yoke has given to the Italians, a virile and vigorous new school of writers, poets, dramatists, critics, novelists, whose very names are unknown in our country. It is therefore high time that we revised our views; and for this purpose we propose to introduce our readers to four novelists, who are, each in his sphere, the leading writers of modern Italy.

In making our selection, we have chiefly sought to find a representative of every school. From our dealing only with these four it must by no means be inferred that modern Italy does not own other writers as excellent in their Such way. a supposition would do great injustice to authors like Barrili, the prolific, the easy, amiable, versatile

raconteur, who spins forth romances treating of the prehistoric lake-dweller and the gilded youth of modern Genoa, the Queen of Sheba and Roman drawing-rooms; to Enrico Castelnuovo, the graceful writer of short humorous scenes from everyday life; to Capuana, the unflinching, powerful, at times even brutal realist; to De Amicis, the traveller, the laudator of military life and the virtues of the house of Savoy; to Rovetta, whose 'Mater Dolorosa,' a tale of modern life, has secured him at one bound a foremost place; to Camillo Boïto, with his short strong studies that blend modern realism with bygone romanticism; to Caccianiga, the writer of tendency romances that protest against the current Radical inclination in Italian politics; to D'Annunzio, the hot-passioned Neapolitan; to De Zerbi, to Petruccelli della Gattina, to De Renzis, and others too many to enumerate. Nor must we forget the ladies who are taking so honourable a place in current literature, where, beside the two of whom we shall speak, G. Pierantonio Mancini, Bruno Sperani, Emma Perodi, Ida Baccini, have made their mark.

The reason why novel-writing, in the modern sense, has been later to blossom in Italy than in other cultured European States, must be sought in yet one other cause beside the political, and that is, the nature of the Italian written language, which was not that spoken of the people, and was therefore ill adapted as a vehicle in which to convey a record of their doings. It is, indeed, only quite recently, with the unity of Italy, the introduction

of compulsory education, and universal military service, that Italian-i.e., Tuscan-is being learned and spoken throughout the peninsula. Until then each province, almost each town, had its own dialect, which in some cases so nearly assumed the proportions of a language that the speaker of Zanese that is to say, Genoese, with its Arab and Spanish affinitieswould not understand the speaker of, say, Sardinian, the nearest survival to ancient Latin yet spoken on the globe. To this day it is only in Tuscany that Italian is the common speech. For the benefit of the stranger or visitor from other parts of Italy, the inmates of a city will speak Italian; but it often comes with difficulty from their lips, and when left alone they relapse into their familiar native dialect. The final disappearance of this peculiarity is of course a mere question of time, probably of but one generation. Still the novelist has had to reckon with this factor, and has been hampered by it. If not born a Tuscan, he often himself commanded the Italian language with difficulty; and hence has arisen a certain stiffness and angularity of style peculiarly fatal when it appears in fictitious literature, whose mechanism, so to speak, should above all run smoothly and imperceptibly. A leading Italian author told a friend of ours that to this day he never ventures to write a page without turning to his 'Fanfani' (the Italian Stormonth) to see if he may use a word or not. Now Fanfani, no doubt, is somewhat of a purist, and the very newest contemporary writers of Italy refer to him but little, to judge from the Gallicisms and neologisms they permit themselves. On the other hand, it would be well if they remembered that here,

as elsewhere, there is a middle path; and that if the diction sanctioned by the Crusca, with its academic niceties, wanted flexibility, and made the language one which it was hard for a novelist to handle and mould to his requirements, the laxity and liberties they permit themselves with the ancient and classic tongue of the peninsula are yet more to be deprecated, and will, unless a proper check is imposed, end in effacing some of its finest characteristics. It was Manzoni, himself a Lombard, who, among moderns, first used the Tuscan language in which to clothe his romance; and to this circumstance, as much as to its excellence, the sensation it created, the fame it preserves, is due. Its publication marks an epoch. The spoken language was here first employed in written form; it was demonstrated, and interestingly, attractively demonstrated, that printed language need not necessarily walk upon stilts, a form of progression peculiarly ill adapted to fiction that deals with men and women as they live and move in daily life, not men and women powdered, painted, and "made up" for masquerading.

It was, no doubt, the pressing reality of political events that recalled the Italian writers from the arena of past ages to the events of our own day; and for some time they were more anxious to arouse high-souled and patriotic sentiments than to write for the sake of pure literature. As the political horizon lightened, the novelists found themselves uncertain whither to turn for example, and whence to choose their themes. Some looked to France for models, others to England, some to both; and among those who did the latter was Salvatore Farina, at this day unhesitatingly pronounced the head