"The privilege of admission to our club is strictly limited to such as have been fairly _damned_. A piece that has met with ever so little applause, that has but languished its night or two, and then gone out, will never entitle its author to a seat among us. An exception to our usual readiness in conferring this privilege is in the case of a writer who, having been once condemned, writes again, and becomes candidate for a second martyrdom. Simple damnation we hold to be a merit, but to be twice-damned we adjudge infamous. Such a one we utterly reject, and blackball without a hearing:-- "_The common damned shun his society._ "Hoping that your publication of our Regulations may be a means of inviting some more members into our society, I conclude this long letter. "I am, Sir, yours, SEMEL-DAMNATUS." * * * * * DARK WAYS. "Tortured with winter's storms, and tossed with a tumultuous sea." When God's curse forsook my country, it fell on me. I had been young and heroic; I had fought well; what portion of the clock-work of Fate had been allotted me I had utterly performed. Twelve years ago I became a man and strove for my country's freedom; now she has attained her heights without me, and I--what am I? A shapeless hulk, that stays in the shadow, and that hates the world and the people of the world, and verily the God above the world! "Fight!" whispered Father Anselmo, the young priest, to me, at my last shrift; and fight I did. For from Italy's bosom I had drawn the strength of sword-arm, hip, and thigh; and I vowed to lose that arm and life and all that made life dear toward the trampling of oppressors from the sacred place. My sun rose in storm, it continued in storm,--why not so have set? Why not have died when swords swept their lightnings about me, when the glorious thunders of battle rolled around and sulphurous blasts enveloped, when the air was full of the bray of bugle and beat of drum, of shout and shriek, exultation and agony? Why not have gone with the crowd of souls reeking with daring and desire? Why, oh, why thus left alone to wither? Why still hangs that sun above me, yet wrapt and veiled and utterly obscured in thick, murk mists of sorrow and despair? Peace!--let me tell you my story.