those unhallowed blocks of masonry by the river below the Scolastica. The visitor who has the time may perfect his impression of the musing monasteries by a stroll up the valley towards Jenne. From the road, which skirts magnificent rocks, he will look up to the buildings firmly planted on the cliffs. A bird's-eye view from above can be gained from the wooded mountain bearing a cross whose green slope rises on the other side of the Anio facing the Scolastica. One of its names is Carpinetto, so called from the 'carpino,' the little hornbeam which covers its riverward declivity. From the summit one can look down into the courts of the Scolastica, and on a Sunday morning may watch the tiny figures of the peasants as they move along the path between the two monasteries on their way to Mass. From this point, too, one gets a good idea of the general plan of the Speco with its long Gothic arcade, its terraced gardens, and the cliffs and Foods which enclose it. So closely are the monasteries and the town of Subiaco onjoined in their history that some inspection of the atter fittingly completes a visit to this retired corner of he Anio; and, in spite of its general shabbiness and abunant dirt, and of the labour exacted in climbing its steep treets and steps, the inspection will be richly rewarded. is characteristically medieval in the narrowness and arkness of its streets, which wind about and double in perplexing way; in its deep, dark archways, which are sometimes round at one end and pointed at the other and dom straight; and in its few old gateways. On a Sunday afternoon these shady streets are alive with nots of men and boys standing about, and women and children squatting on the doorsteps. In their festive attire they serve to light up the dark, time-stained walls. They look like a sturdy, nonchalant race; and the women eye the passer-by with a frank inquisitiveness which is dashed by a touch of hostile suspicion. They are the descendants of a people habitually on the watch in days. when the sunniest of Sundays brought no certitude of security, and when the din of battle and its bloodshed too were brought into its piazzas and up to its very doors. The story of Subiaco is in its essentials that of many another town in the papal territories, modified by the Vol. 211.-No. 421. 2 H proximity of the monasteries. Of its beginning and its early fortunes we know next to nothing. Signor Nibby thinks that the ancient castello was built between 528 and 596, that is, soon after St Benedict had set up religious houses; and that both were afterwards deserted and then rebuilt early in the eighth century. Two hundred years later, the monasteries were growing wealthy; and in the eleventh century the abbot seems to have become the Baron of Subiaco. The feudal dominion of the abbey over the town was consummated by the erection of the Rocca about the year 1070. It seems to have remained in the hands of the monks for about four hundred years. The most flourishing period of the abbey extended from the date of the building of the Rocca to about the end of the thirteenth century, the epoch to which the reconstruction and embellishment of the monasteries belongs. After this a period of decline set in, and continued uninterrupted, save for a short revival of prestige in the fourteenth century. This decline was due in part to external causes, natural disasters such as plague, earthquake, and floodthat inundation of the valley which made an end of Nero's lakes and to the disorders consequent on the absence of the popes from Rome. But it was aided by internal evils, the doings of the abbots and their monks, In Subiaco, as in Rome, the union of spiritual with tenporal power was prolific of misgovernment, of intrigue, and of strife. The so-called followers of the pious recluse, leading an abstemious life in his cave, were men of war who lusted for material dominion. Their abbot, who lived in the Rocca, still looking down on Subiaco like a falcon on its prey, levied hard exactions on the town, and rode at the head of its army in many a bloody conflict with neighbouring bishops. These enterprises brought new possessions and greater renown for a time, but were destined ultimately to impoverish and exhaust both city and monastery. Nor were these aggressive wars the only undermining agency. The new temporal fune tions of the abbot could hardly consist with a due supervision of the monks; and we read of moral laxities which, in spite of one or two efforts to restore discipline, grew from bad to worse, until the Pope had to deprive them of the right of electing their abbot. In later times the abbey fell into the hands of the powerful Colonna and Borghese families. The feuds which now arose brought bloodshed within the gates of Subiaco and right up to the Piazza della Valle, close to the entrance to the Rocca. Twice, we read, was the town sacked, and on one of these occasions burnt as well, when Pompeo and Scipio Colonna, Abati commendatori,' waged war on the Pope. In the eighteenth century the people of Subiaco, no longer able to endure the feudal tyrannies, conspired against the monks; so the Pope abolished the temporal jurisdiction of the abbots. And thus the monasteries were stripped of even the appearance of their old dominion. In the evening, looking down from our bedroom window and listening to the Anio as with purring sound it curls about the feet of the old burgh, we lapse again into the masing mood. The murmur of the river shapes itself to our supercharged imagination as an echo of the chequered story of this secluded valley, its Imperial villa, its monasteries, and its town. The low whispering tones in which it tells its tale deepen the feeling of the remoteness of its vents, and of the disappearance of its older world. Riotous emperor, emaciated saint, bellicose abbot-all belong to orders of things which have passed for ever. Fogazzaro's artistic revival of the medieval saint serves only to remind us how completely he has passed away. But the murmuring stream tells us more than this. Its happy note sounds like an invitation to linger, like the soft plea of a friendly host as his guest announces is departure: Stay just one day more.' It tells not only of that which vanishes, but of that which abides. The cultivation of the soul in retirement still remains open to us, and will remain, even though particular forms of it, like those practised by Horace and by St Benedict, may have passed away. Its voice sets us wondering whether there is not room in human life to-day for Occasional withdrawals from a world which is even more with us than it was in Wordsworth's time; for opportunities of communion with nature and with self less subject to interruption than those provided by a cruise from port to port, a sojourn at some fashionable wateringplace, or even a month in a crowded Swiss hotel. J. SULLY. Art. 6. THE DECLARATION OF LONDON. 1. Correspondence and Documents respecting the Inter national Naval Conference, held in London, December 1908-February 1909. Miscellaneous Papers. No. (1909.) [Cd. 4554.] 2. Proceedings of the International Naval Conference, held in London, December 1908-February 1909. Miscellaneous Papers. No. 5. (1909.) [Cd. 4555.] THE Naval Conference of London, which sat during the winter of 1908-1909, has produced a draft code of prizelaw comprising seventy-one articles, which now awaits ratification, and must be ratified or rejected by next June. This code is so far intimately connected with the Convention, produced by the second Hague Peace Conference (1907), concerning the creation of an international prize-court, that this latter Convention will not be ratified, and the proposed International Prize-court will not be constituted, unless the above-mentioned code of prize-law is ratified by the naval Powers. Public opinion in this country is not yet decided as to the merits of the Declaration of London. Voices have been raised in the daily and periodical press which warn this country against ratification, asserting that the consent of Great Britain would deprive her of most valuable weapons in case of a naval war, and would seriously endanger her position as the supreme Power at sea. On the other hand, voices have been raised from another quarter, warning against ratification on the grounds that the Declaration is entirely drafted in favour of belligerents abandons altogether important interests of neutrals and puts them at the mercy of belligerent Powers. The fact that the Declaration is thus standing between the crossfire of those who champion the interests of the neutrals on the one hand, and, on the other, of those who defend the naval supremacy of this country, would seem to indicate to an impartial onlooker that both parties must be in the wrong. For, if those are right who maintain that the Declaration deprives this country (if belligerent) of powerful weapons, then the interests of the neutrals cannot have been sold; on the other hand, if those are right who maintain that the interests of the neutrals have been abandoned, then it cannot be true that the offensive force of this country as a belligerent in a naval war has been in any degree weakened. Both parties, indeed, seem to be wrong in the eyes of those who approach the Declaration without bias, and carefully examine its stipulations. The Declaration is a product of compromise. The interests of belligerents and neutrals are to a great extent conflicting; and in the past this fact has frequently led to the result that states, when belligerents, resorted to measures which, when neutrals, they condemned. Further, there is no doubt that the interests of the different maritime states are also to a certain extent conflicting. For instance, the British Empire, whose outlying parts are scattered all over the globe and offer ports everywhere, has naturally different interests from Russia, which has no colonies and no ice-free ports. Lastly, such maritime states as possess only small fleets will in many questions have interests different from those of Great Britain, which possesses a fleet at present strong enough to make her mistress of the seas. It would for this reason have been impossible to come to an agreement without a a compromise respecting many points. Hence nothing is easier than to pick holes in the Declaration of London, and to point out that here it is unfavourable to one country, and there too favourable to another; that in this respect it favours overmuch the belligerents, and in that respect the neutrals. An international convention, which naturally must be the product of a compromise, must, as regards its merits, be contemplated as a whole. Two questions must be put and answered: Does the Convention represent progress as compared with the conditions formerly prevailing? Does it safeguard the interests of the signatory Powers, and particularly the interests of this country, when neutral or when at war? We have, on the whole, no doubt that both questions can fairly be answered in the affirmative. Let us glance at the conditions prevailing anterior to the Declaration of London. Although many publicists and judges maintained that prize-courts were international courts and following Lord Stowell, who |