perceiving the bust of a faun beautifully executed, he immediately began to copy it, with such rapidity and skill as to amaze Lorenzo, who watched his progress. When Michael Angelo had nearly finished his work, he ventured to ask his patron's opinion of the manner in which it was executed. Lorenzo praised it highly, but observed that he had made the teeth more regular than those which are usually possessed by old men, who seldom have a complete set. Michael Angelo smiled, and immediately struck out one of the teeth, which so pleased Lorenzo that he thenceforth made the docile young artist dine at his own table, and treated him as one of his most distinguished guests.

Their

Lorenzo had three sons;-Piero, whose early promise of ability was not fulfilled by his riper years; Giovanni, afterwards Leo the Tenth; and Giuliano, who married a princess of France, and obtained the title of Duke of Nemours. father did not live long to enjoy that tranquillity which he had laboured so assiduously to secure. From his youth he had been subject to frequent and painful attacks of the gout, which resisted the prescriptions of the most skilful physicians of the day. Indeed the science of medicine must then have been little understood, since we find a particular jewel recommended to him to wear on his finger as a preservative against pain, while pearls

dissolved in strong potions were administered to him with the expectation of their effecting his cure. In spite of these and other remedies, Lorenzo found himself rapidly growing worse; and at length, surrounded by his friends, and full of pious resignation, he expired in the forty-fifth year of his age. His death was regarded as a severe calamity, not only by the Florentines, but throughout Italy; and Ferdinand of Naples, on being informed of the event, exclaimed, "This man has lived long enough for his own glory, but too short a time for Italy." As a promoter of peace, and patron of literature and the arts, he might indeed be wished to live for ever. His policy was selfish, but it was so hidden beneath generosity and benevolence, that its injurious tendency was only discovered under his

successors.

EXPEDITION OF CHARLES THE EIGHTH.
A. D. 1492.

THERE was a young improvisatore, named Cardiere, who had often diverted the leisure hours of Lorenzo de' Medici by singing his extempore verses to the lute. One morning, not long after the death of Lorenzo, Cardiere entered the study

of Michael Angelo, pale and trembling, and told him that his patron had appeared to him in the night, shrouded in a black and flowing mantle, and in a solemn voice had charged him to warn Piero de' Medici that he would soon be banished from Florence. It was the age of superstition: however, Michael Angelo treated the story as an idle dream, and induced the young poet to consider it so likewise. Soon after, Cardiere, who, without being a conjurer, might have prophesied the misfortunes of Piero, was persuaded that he again beheld Lorenzo at his bedside, who angrily reproached him for not carrying his message, and smote him on the cheek. This dream, the result in all probability of Cardiere's heated fancy, and his sorrowful musings on Piero's feeble character, took such an effect on him, that Michael Angelo advised him to relieve his conscience by delivering his message forthwith. Accordingly, he set out for Piero's country seat, but met him half-way, returning with his attendants to the city. With much simplicity and earnestness he told his errand, to the no small diversion of his hearers; and a flippant young nobleman, one of Piero's favourite companions, cried laughing, "Do you think, Messer Cardiere, if the great Lorenzo had been desirous of giving information to his son, he would have chosen you for his messenger?" So they spurred

on their horses, highly amused at this pleasant adventure, while the improvisatore was more than ever convinced of the likelihood that Piero's banishment would come to pass.

The political aspect of Italy was now becoming overwhelmed with threatening clouds. Ferdinand, King of Arragon, having obtained possession of Sicily, silently waited for an opportunity to assert his claim to the throne of Naples. Charles the Eighth, the youthful monarch of France, was eager to dispute the kingdom with him, as heir to the house of Anjou; and the Emperor of Germany was ready to take a share in the contest. While three powerful enemies were thus waiting for an excuse to commence their attack on Italy, Ludovico, Duke of Milan, treacherously invited across the Alps the monarch against whom he should have most cautiously closed the barriers.

Ludovico Sforza, surnamed the Moor on account of his dark complexion, had unjustly deprived his nephew, Gian Galeazzo, of the crown of Milan. Though treacherous and designing, he was a man of considerable ability, and perceived the danger to which Italian freedom was exposed from the ambition of France and Spain. He was aware that a common sacrifice of jarring interests and a general union against the invaders could alone save Italy, and strongly urged the rulers of the different states

to form a league of mutual defence. But Piero de' Medici and the King of Naples were blind to their danger, and refused to listen to Ludovico's proposals. He became alarmed at the intimate connexion which they had formed with each other, and his fears for the safety of Italy were soon forgotten in those which he experienced for himself. His young nephew, the rightful Duke of Milan, had married Isabella, grand-daughter of the King of Naples, equally distinguished for her virtue, spirit, and beauty. Indignant at Ludovico's usurpation of her husband's duchy, she appealed to her grandfather for protection; and Ferdinand's consequent demand that the young duke should be restored to his rights caused Ludovico to tremble for his safety. In this difficulty, he applied to the King of France, and promised to assist him in the conquest of Naples if he would in return guarantee his possession of Milan. Charles the Eighth eagerly caught at his offer; and making peace on very disadvantageous terms with the Spaniards and Austrians, he commenced immediate preparations for his expedition. The age of chivalry was not yet past: Charles was young, ardent, and inexperienced, burning to acquire warlike renown, fond of change, and picturing to his imagination, in the most glowing colours, the beauty and magnificence of his intended conquest. "He was in truth," says