THE FIRST 'KING OF ITALY.'

N the days when there were kings of Rome, Italy was divided into a number of independent States. But there was no 'King of Italy; and as the Roman power increased under the Commonwealth these States were absorbed, and during the rule of the Cæsars the Italian provinces were merely a part of the Empire of Rome.

In the fifth century of the Christian era, the last of the twelve centuries of Roman dominion, supposed by the ancients to have been prefigured by the twelve vultures seen by Romulus, founder of the city, the empire was crumbling to pieces. Italy was overrun by barbarians; Rome itself had been sacked by the Goths, and the seat of government had been transferred to Ravenna. At this time of darkness and fear the throne was occupied by a weak boy-Romulus Augustulus, whose father, Orestes, governed in his name. At the same period there was roaming about the region of Pannonia, and leading the life of a robber, a youth named Odoacer, the son of Edecon, who had been secretary to Attila, king of the Huns. When the Hunnish empire was broken up in the great battle with the Goths, Edecon had been killed and Odoacer chosen chief of the remnants of his tribe, which appears to have been of Germanic origin. After leading a life of hardship for some time, he and his brother Hunwulf, or Onulph, resolved to seek their fortunes in Italy; but before they left their own land they visited the cell of St. Severinus, a holy man, who had built himself a little hut on a height overlooking the Roman town of Vindabona (now called Vienna), and who was reverenced by both Pagans and Christians. The young men approached his humble dwelling; but so gigantic was the stature of Odoacer that he could not enter, but remained stooping in the doorway. The saint looked up at the young barbarian, and, seeing in him the signs of future greatness, said, Go to Italy; thou wilt soon cast away this garment of skins, and thy wealth be equal to thy liberality.' The youths pursued their journey, but soon separated. It need only be said of Hunwulf (Wolf of the Huns) that from him were descended the Guelphs, counts of Altorf, so that he was the ancestor of Queen Victoria.

Odoacer went to Italy, and entering the Imperial army soon rose to distinction. Orestes had refused to the army, which consisted mainly of barbarian mercenaries, their extravagant demand of an entire third of the soil of Italy. Thereupon Odoacer promised them the land they coveted, if they would assist him in grasping the supreme power. Orestes, being defeated in several battles, took refuge in Pavia, which was taken by assault and he himself slain. Romulus Augustulus was banished; and the western empire of Rome came to an end in a feeble youth, who combined in his names diminutives of those of the founders of the city and the empire!

Odoacer assumed the government in A.D. 476, with the new title of 'King of Italy,' and taking up his residence at Ravenna he fulfilled his promise of dividing a third part of the country among his followers. And now, when he had attained the summit of his ambition, he remembered the little hut far away at Vindabona, and its holy occupant who had predicted his future greatness; and sending for Severinus, he offered to grant him any favour he could ask: but the saint only requested the king to pardon some Romans whom he had banished. It is said that one day, hearing Odoacer's warriors boasting of his greatness and power, Severinus observed that, splendid as his reign appeared now, it would only last about thirteen or fourteen years, which was exactly its duration. He then retired from the court, to pursue his humble life of devotion and charity to the sick and destitute.

The rule of Odoacer was wise and energetic: he strove to unite the Romans and barbarians, and he re-established the Consulate. He might, with his abilities, have even restored prosperity to Italy; but there rose up against him the mighty Theodoric, king of the East Goths, who flooded the unhappy country with a fresh torrent of barbarism. Odoacer was defeated in several fiercely contested battles, and when he tried to rouse the Romans to aid him the citizens shut their gates against him. He retreated to Ravenna, and after fighting many battles with varying success, and sustaining a siege of nearly three years, he capitulated on the understanding that he and Theodoric were to reign together as joint kings. But the solemn oaths taken on the occasion did not bind the Goth, who shortly afterwards caused Odoacer to be murdered at a banquet, and succeeded him in his title of 'King of Italy.' A. R.

THE FAKENHAM GHOST.

THE lawns were dry in Euston Park
(Here truth inspires my tale),
The lonely footpath, still and dark,
Led over hill and dale.

Benighted was an ancient dame,
And fearful haste she made,
To gain the Vale of Fakenham,
And hail its willow-shade.

Her footsteps knew no idle stops,

But followed faster still,

And echoed to the darksome copse

That whispered on the hill;

Where clamorous rooks, yet scarcely hushed,

Bespoke a peopled shade,

And many a wing the foliage brushed

The dappled herd of grazing deer,
That sought the shades by day,
Now started from her path with fear,
And gave the stranger way.

Darker it grew, and darker fears
Came o'er her troubled mind:

When now a short, quick step, she hears
Come patting close behind.

She turned-it stopped-nought could she see
Upon the gloomy plain!

But as she strove the sprite to flee,

She heard the same again.

Now terror seized her quaking frame,-
For, where the path was bare,
The trotting ghost kept on the same:
She muttered many a prayer.

Yet once again, amidst her fright,
She tried what sight could do,
When through the cheating gloom of night
A monster stood in view!

Regardless of whate'er she felt,

It followed down the plain :

She owned her sins and down she knelt,
And said her prayers again.

Then on she sped, and hope grew strong,
The white park-gate in view;
Which pushing hard, so long it swung
That ghost and all passed through.

Loud fell the gate against the post;
Her heart-strings like to crack :
For much she feared the grisly ghost
Would leap upon her back.

Still on, pat, pat, the goblin went,
As it had done before-

Her strength and resolution spent,
She fainted at the door.

Out came her husband much surprised,
Out came her daughter dear:
Good-natured souls! all unadvised

Of what they had to fear.

The candle's gleam pierced through the night,

Some short space o'er the green;

And there the little trotting sprite

Distinctly could be seen.

His little hoofs would rattle round
Upon the cottage floor:

The matron learned to love the sound
That frightened her before.

A favourite the ghost became,

And 'twas his fate to thrive ;

And long he lived, and spread his fame,
And kept the joke alive.

For many a laugh went through the vale,

And some conviction, too:

Each thought some other goblin-tale
Perhaps was just as truc.

BLOOMFIELD.

MOONLIGHTING CATTLE.

BY JAMES HOPE.

T was a dry season-word of fear only known in its true meaning to an Australian squatter. The sun had licked up the few remaining spots of muddy water, scorched the grass, and turned everything but the bare earth to a sort of rusty blue. The plains, filled with great cracks and holes, and with scarcely a vestige of any green thing, had been scraped and trodden by the starving sheep till they looked like fresh-dug flower-beds, and the thunder-storms which mocked us on the horizon every night were only too sure signs that this sort of thing might last for months.

The wild cattle had long been a nuisance on the run. They had so increased that the scrubs round Mount Breakneck were full of them, and their numbers were always being recruited by stragglers from the quiet cattle of the place, which, in these dry times, often wandered a dozen miles from their own camps to look for better pasture, or follow the beds of the dried-up creeks, scraping up the sand in the faint hope of coming on the water which, even in the worst seasons, is generally found running below.

It was just Christmas time, and, in consequence, steaming hot. The thermometer registered over 100° in the verandah of the Coburn Humpy,' or squatter's house, which, built of weather-board and raised from the ground on piles, was, except perhaps the huge woolshed lower down the creek, the coolest place for many miles. We, that is the cattle overseer and myself, in our little bachelors' quarters, had been trying in defiance of flies, mosquitoes, and the tarantula spiders that disported themselves on the rafters, to sleep all day, and to fancy that we were enjoying our Christmas; and, in default of anything else, had been brewing large jorums of lime-juice and water, to drink the healths of divers people who were at that moment snoring