am not mistaken,' I ventured to remark,
recognising her, indeed, from the miniature in the Laurentian library at
Florence.

"She bowed, and I began to ask for her adorer, Petrarch.

"'Excuse me,' said Laura, as we glided down a mossy path, under the shade
of trees particularly dear to poets, 'excuse me, but the sonneteer of
whom you speak is one whose name I cannot bear to mention. His conduct
with Burns's Clarinda, his heartless infatuation for Stella--'

"'You astonish me,' I said. 'In the Paradise of Poets--'

"'They are poets still--incorrigible!' answered the lady; then slightly
raising her voice of silver, as a beautiful appearance in a toga drew
near, she cried '_Catullo mio_!'

"The greeting between these accomplished ghosts was too kindly to leave
room for doubt as to the ardour of their affections.

"'Will you, my Catullus,' murmured Laura, 'explain to this poet from the
land of fogs, any matters which, to him, may seem puzzling and unfamiliar
in our Paradise?'

"The Veronese, with a charming smile, took my hand, and led me to a
shadowy arbour, whence we enjoyed a prospect of many rivers and mountains
in the poets' heaven. Among these I recognised the triple crest of the
Eildons, Grongar Hill, Cithaeron and Etna; while the reed-fringed waters
of the Mincius flowed musically between the banks and braes o' bonny Doon
to join the Tweed. Blithe ghosts were wandering by, in all varieties of
apparel, and I distinctly observed Dante's Beatrice, leaning loving on
the arm of Sir Philip Sidney, while Dante was closely engaged in
conversation with the lost Lenore, celebrated by Mr. Edgar Allan Poe.

"'In what can my knowledge of the Paradise of Poets be serviceable to
you, sir?' said Catullus, as he flung himself at the feet of Laura, on
the velvet grass.

"'I am disinclined to seem impertinently curious,' I answered, 'but the
ladies in this fair, smiling country--have the gods made them poetical?'

"'Not generally,' replied Catullus. 'Indeed, if you would be well with
them, I may warn you never to mention poetry in their hearing. They
never cared for it while on earth, and in this place it is a topic which
the prudent carefully avoid among ladies. To tell the truth, they have
had to listen to far too much poetry, and too many discussions on the
caesura. There are, indeed, a few lady poets--very few. Sappho, for
example; indeed I cannot recall any other at this moment. The result is
that Phaon, of a