"That is Sir Richard Rainham's castle of Sturmere, is it not?" he asked.

"You seem to know the country well," Ralph answered.

I have heard of this knight," returned the merchant. "What hope has your master Wycliffe of bringing such as he to a sense of their duty? How can he be persuaded to protect where he has been used to plunder? As soon might you hope to tame an old wolf or a tiger."

"He must be controlled by the stronger." "But who at court dares control him in these distracted times? There is but one power that can control him, and such as he. Our pageant is designed to make that power manifest."

"You speak in riddles," said Ralph coldly. "Then I will speak more plainly. The power I mean is the power of the poor commons. Singly they are nothing; united they would be irresistible. I and my friends aim at uniting them. The hour is at hand when they will appear in union. That is the pageant to which you are bidden. You may not come, but I know you will not betray me."

"I know nothing to betray. But if your pageant is a repetition of the bloody rebellion of the Jacquerie, let me implore you to pause. What can an unarmed rabble do against trained and mail-clad men-at-arms?"

"What can your preaching do against the stupendous power of the Church? You preach singly; we propose to act in union." "In civil war!" cried Ralph. cannot be so desperate!"

"You

"There need be no war. The poor commons will only demand their rights; they will ask only to be relieved from unjust extortion, high-handed robbery, cruel and wanton imprisonment, stripes, maiming, murder. They will not want leaders among the good nobles: it is only the worthless and godless that are their enemies; from them there is but one deliverance possibleDeleantur ex libro viventium. Expunge them from the book of the living."

Deleantur ex libro viventium. Just as the merchant pronounced these words his henchman Lawrence galloped up from behind the waggon, his right arm pointing ahead. They had toiled up from the valley, and were now on the high ground opposite Carford Green. The spire of Haverhill Church was visible ahead of them in the distance. They proposed to rest and eat at Haverhill, and the merchant at first supposed that Lawrence's gestures were meant as a humorous expression of delight at the nearness of the end of that stage of their journey.

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"Yes, I know," he said. "We can see Haverhill from here. Two miles more and we are at rest in our inn!"

Lawrence waved his arm impatiently. "See! Look! There!" he cried. "Behind that hedge!"

He pointed to a hedge at right angles to the road some little distance in front.

The travellers looked, and saw some glittering spear-points and helmets bobbing above the hedge, evidently surmounting a troop of horsemen riding towards the road.

As all the world knows, this enchanting isle, the Capreæ of the ancients, famed for grand scenery and beautiful women, lies exactly opposite Naples, across twenty miles of sea.

And you cannot be at Naples and forget it. That precipitous double rock fills your thoughts as it charms your eyes, and draws you to it by a thousand threads. It is fascinating from every point of view. Whether flushed with jewelled sunset tints, veiled by opalescent haze, subdued to the faintest shadow on the waters, or looming stern and dark against a stormy sky, it has always a special beauty and significance. It is a storied rock; and memories of the tyrant of imperial Rome are strangely mixed with sunny modern associations of poetry and art. For Capri has long been a paradise of painters; artists have introduced its nature and inhabitants to every gallery in Europe, while writers of all countries have descanted on its charms. Its mere outline has inspired a host of epithets. Strabo likened it to a wild boar, and derived its name from the Greek word for that animal; Jean Paul has compared it with a sphinx; Gregorovius with an ancient sarcophagus; others with a lion couchant. And although tradition has dedicated to the sirens a group of rocks nearer the Sorrento shore, there is reason to suppose that Capri was the real siren isle of the Odyssey. The pebbly cove of the Piccola Marina, near the wild Faraglioni rocks, is still locally known as "La Sirena."

The island's Latin name, Capreæ, is probably a corruption of its Greek appellation, while the term Anacapri, bestowed on its

upper half, has an undoubted claim to Hellenic descent. In the physical aspect of Capri there is the same sharp contrast between the ferocious and the beautiful that we note in its history. Savage, sea-washed crags wall in a garden land of softest beauty, and although so small an island-its circumference barely nine miles, its length four, its width one and a half-most varied scenery is comprised on its twenty square miles of soil.

Many years have passed since the present writer first set foot in Capri, but-like a first impression of Venice-that visit dwells fresh and vivid in the memory apart from all subsequent experience. There was no steam communication with Naples then. We crossed in a crowded market-boat, rejoiced by brilliant sunshine and a brisk following wind. We were young, the world was young, and we were bound for Capri. Nearer and nearer to the grand rock; there was the port at last, and we scrambled to shore on benches through the surf, amid a vociferous, particoloured throng. Our enchanted isle was decidedly noisy, but none the less delightful for that. We were welcomed by red capped, brown-legged fishermen, handsome of face and dramatic of gesture, by still more dramatic well-fed beggar boys, by smiling, picturesque girls. Soon we were on donkey-back climbing the steep slope to the town, our luggage poised on the heads of the chattering Grecian goddesses at our heels. We looked on all we had heard described: the feast of warm light and colour, quaint, flat-roofed houses, cactus and olive, oranges and vines, the

sparkling gulf, wild, tumbled rocks-all was here. Yet, of course, all was utterly different from the imagined scene.

Many changes have come to Capri since then. The rough mule track from the haven is replaced by a good carriage road, and its easy zigzags now mount the cliff of Anacapri. The wonderful stairway has gone, with its five hundred rock steps that seemed as many thousands to tired feet. And now that steamers puff to and fro with shoals of cheap trippers, the island and its sights are well nigh as hackneyed as Chamounix and Mont Blanc. Nothing, however, can vulgarise Capri. There is still the complex witchery of its scenery and people, its rich vegetation,

of water-worn caves about twenty feet above the actual sea-line, while numerous ruins partially submerged show that in the days of imperial Rome the island stood higher than at present. Then, too, the Piccola Marina was the only landing-place-the Grande Marina being probably the top of a cliff and the galleys of Tiberius were sheltered in an artificial harbour, under Capo Tragara, where, in the cave called the Grotta dell' Arsenale, interesting remains of Roman work have been found. So, in coasting round the island, you are chiefly impressed by its grand inaccessibility, but once ashore you find a smiling land of infinite variety and charm. The pretty little town stands on a ridge about

semi-eastern buildings, dark old-world associations and sunny modern life.

The island is a natural fortress, for, save at the Grande and Piccola Marina on the northern and southern sides, its precipices fall sheer into the sea, jutting out here and there into lofty headlands, and further guarded by fantastic outworks of crag and reef, sharp pinnacles and jagged fangs, only to be approached in the calmest weather. Everywhere the waves have scooped out deep caverns and archways, and gnawed the limestone into the strangest forms. Geologists tell us that Capri has not always stood at the same level, but alternately risen and sunk since its first upheaval. There is a row

five hundred feet above the sea, and with its white buildings, low-domed or flat-roofed and mosque-like church, has a distinctly oriental character. Feathery palms nod above dense green orange groves, and little houses are bowered in vines and oleanders. A fertile valley dips southwards from the town, while to the east broken ground rises to the bold heights once crowned by the fortified palace of Tiberius, the Villa Jovis, and the great lighthouse that flashed his signals and guided his fleets. And nearly everywhere you are gladdened by sight of the sea, the wonderful jewelled sea of lapis lazuli, sapphire and turquoise. Not only from breezy uplands fragrant with myrtle, rosemary, and thyme,

but among the olives, in copses of ash and laurel and arbutus, between the spikes of cactus-hedged lanes, or in deep ravines festooned with trailing greenery, you have sudden peeps of the glittering floor. And amid the varied fascinations of rock and ruin, orchard and woodland, of colour, atmosphere, and form, you forget the points of the compass, and when expecting to see the lonely main towards Africa, find yourself facing the headlands of Massa and Sorrento, and looking away past the Amalfi crests to the faint coast line by Pæstum, and in full view of the western isles, Ischia, Ponza, etc., where you thought to see the white curves of the gulf, smoke-plumed Vesuvius and the clustered summits behind.

Before long you are perfectly intoxicated by the multitude of interests in Capri. Artists and archaeologists, geologists and historians, poets and ethnologists, Alpine climbers and boating men, may all find occupation here. Idlers even forget their ennui, for a time, in the simple novelty of Capri life; and invalids gain strength in its balmy air and stillness. It is a true siren island, and its Greek-faced daughters still

retain some of the gifts of their fabled ancestry. But before saying much of its inhabitants, it is necessary to give an outline of its history, following humbly in the track of J. R. Green, Gregorovius, and other skilled authorities.

No one knows when and by whom Capri was first inhabited. Traces of cave dwellers have been discovered, and the knives and arrowheads of a stone not indigenous to the island point to its early settlement by some tribe from the mainland. According to Virgil and Tacitus, it was first occupied by the Telebox, and tradition assigns to the Phoenicians the foundation of the two cities of Capri and Anacapri, also deriving its name from the Phoenician word Capraim (two towns). What is certain is that it was a naval station of the Etruscans, that after their crushing defeat at Cumæ it fell into the power of their Hellenic conquerors, and became part of the territory of the "new city," Neapolis, across the gulf. On the north-west side of the town of Capri there are still fragments of a cyclopean wall, built after the same fashion as the Acropolis of Cumæ. Telone, the

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first Greek governor of the island, flourished in the eighth century, B.C. The Greek domination passed away and was followed by that of Rome. Succeeding ages brought new masters and new blood to the island, yet Hellas still reigns in Capri. As in other Greek colonies, in Sicily and the mainland, both in face and form, temperament and speech, its natives still bear the stamp of their far remote ancestry.

Under the Romans Capri merely served as a lighthouse station to guide the corn ships from Sicily through the Sorrento Straits, and did not emerge from obscurity until the closing years of the reign of Augustus. The aged emperor came to the island by chance; a withered ilex- so runs the tale-put forth new leaves as he stepped ashore. Rejoiced by this good omen, and charmed by the scenery, climate, and people, he fell in love with Capri, and hastened to make it his private property, giving Ischia to the Neapolitans in exchange. The island was now his summer resort, and he immediately began the erection of a sumptuous abode on the site afterwards chosen for the Villa Jovis of his successor. Here he found rest from the cares of state, went about among the simple, kindly inhabitants, admired their proficiency in Grecian sports, and amused himself with making collections of fossil remains. It is said that Tiberius accompanied him on one of these holiday visits, but the new emperor only returned to the island when, after twelve years of storm and strife, he needed a safe retreat where he might plan his crimes and vent his lusts without fear of the assassin's knife. Then for eleven years, from A.D. 26 until he went to his death at Misenum in A.D. 37, he made this lonely rock the seat of the Roman Empire, the centre of the world's power. Scornfully rejecting the usual machinery of government, the emperor reduced his official suite to one senator, a few knights and several Greek pedants, while keeping a host of slaves and concubines to minister to his wants. Thus Tiberius asserted his personal rule, and boldly showed Rome and the world that he was the State, his coadjutors mere puppets danced by the strings in his grasp. The legend of the tyrant's life in Capri may be studied in Suetonius, with all its revolting details, and still lives in the memory of the natives. The eastern heights are known as Monte Tiberio-in dialect Timberio-and refractory babes are still quelled into silence by his name. In his time the sea-level was much lower than at present. The story of the rocks tells us that the Grande Marina did not exist, and that the only convenient

access to the island was by the beach of the Piccola Marina. The emperor was forced to construct a port for his galleys, and exulted in his well-guarded solitude. We all know how barbarously he treated the obsequious fisherman, who, landing at a difficult point, dared to seek his presence with an offering of gurnet.

However much we may detest Tiberius the man, it is impossible not to admire the vast energy of the ruler, who, while busied with endless schemes and intricate feats of diplomacy, found time to convert the rocks and thickets of Capri into a paradise of pleasure and luxury. Besides his twelve villas, dedicated to the gods of Olympus, crowning the myrtle-grown hills, innumerable buildings rose from the earth at his bidding. The island swarms with Roman ruins remains of docks and quays, temples and shrines, barracks, baths, cisterns and aqueducts, are everywhere to be traced on the small patch of soil constituting its lower half. Even now, after ages of destruction, after the vigorous researches of Hadrowa in the last century, and of many later excavators, costly marbles and mosaics, statues, pottery, and coins are still to be found in vineyard and olive orchard. Many art treasures of the Naples Museum were disinterred in Capri ; the numerous caves and grottoes contain traces of Roman handiwork, and a ruined temple to the sun-god Mithras still exists in the romantic depths of Val Metromania. The planning of all these undertakings might have filled the life of an ordinary man, yet all were accomplished during the last decade of the tyrant's reign. His chosen abode, the Villa Jovis, must have been a fortress-like structure of colossal size. Its fragments stand on a promontory more than 1,300 feet high, with sheer precipices on three sides commanding glorious views of sea and coast. On the south side terraced gardens draped the steep slopes to the plateau beneath. The Salto di Timberio at the edge of the cliff is said to be the spot where victims of the imperial wrath were hurled to the fishes, and the recent discovery of human bones imbedded in the stones below serves to support the theory. A complicated system of signals from watch-towers and lighthouses facilitated the emperor's communications with the mainland, and enabled him "to hold," as he said, "the Roman wolf by the ears."

With the death of Tiberius Capri lost all importance. Caligula is reported to have gone there only once, and Commodus used it as a place of exile for Crispina and Lucilla. On the fall of the Western Empire it became