Meli's name is as oddly yoked with the title of _abate_ as Herrick's with the designation of clergyman. He does not seem, as a matter of fact, to have ever been an _abate_ at all. Once, when dining with a person influential at court, his host inquired why he did not ask to be appointed to a rich benefice then vacant. "Because," he replied, "I am not a priest." And it appeared that when a young man he had adopted the clerical habit for no other reason than that he intended to practise medicine, and wished to gain access to convents, and to make himself acceptable to the nuns. It was not an uncommon thing to do. The public generally dubbed him with the ecclesiastical title. Not long before his death, in 1815, he actually assumed the lesser orders, and in true Sicilian fashion, wrote some verses to his powerful friend to beg him to get him preferment, but he died too soon after to profit by the result. The Sicilians are very proud of Meli. It is for them alone probably to find much pleasure in his occasional odes--to others their noble sentiments will be rather suggestive of the _sinfonia eroica_ played on a flute; but the charm and lightness of his Anacreontic poems must be recognised by all who care for poetry. He had a nice feeling for nature too, as is shown in a sonnet of rare beauty: Ye gentle hills, with intercepting vales, Ye rocks with musk and clinging ivy dight; Ye sparkling falls of water, silvery pale, Still meres, and brooks that babble in the light; Deep chasms, wooded steeps that heaven assail, Unfruitful rushes, broom with blossoms bright, And ancient trunks, encased in gnarled mail, And caves adorned with crystal stalactite; Thou solitary bird of plaintive song, Echo that all dost hear, and then repeat, Frail vines upheld by stately elms and strong, And silent mist, and shade, and dim retreat; Welcome me! tranquil scenes for which I long-- The friend of haunts where peace and quiet meet. I must not omit to say a word about a class of songs which, in Sicily as elsewhere, affords the most curious illustration of the universality of certain branches of folk-lore--I mean the nursery rhymes. One instance of this will serve for all. Sicilian nurses play a sort of game on the babies' features, which consists in lightly touching nose, mouth, eyes, &c., giving a caressing slap to the chin, and repeating at the same time-- Varvaruttedu, Vucca d'aneddu, Nasu affilatu, Occhi di stiddi, Frunti quatrata, E te' cca 'na timpulata! Now this rhyme has not only its counterpart in the local dialect of every Italian province, but also in most European languages. In France they have it: Beau front, Petits yeux, Nez cancan, Bouche d'argent, Menton fleuri, Chichirichi. We find a similar doggerel in Germany, and in England, as most people know, there are at least two versions, one being--