explain how, on receipt of the mayor's letter informing the Signor Avvocato of his godson's arrival and detention at the mayor's house, he had been dispatched in Barnaby's absence to meet and bring home the fugitive. Giuseppe's explicit admission that he had been used as a pis-aller for Barnaby fell like oil on the rising waves of the old gardener's wrath. Nevertheless, he observed in a very curt manner, meant to set at rest all doubt as to his own superiority, that the lad was in his charge, and should remain so until once more safe in the palace. Giuseppe said nothing to the contrary; upon which Ugly and Good condescended to disarm. The dinner to which they presently sat down was copious, if not varied. The poultry yard had supplied it almost entirely; but the two condiments of cordiality and cheerfulness made up abundantly for want of variety. The conversation ran exclusively on the victories of Peschiera and Goito; and many were the bumpers drained to the health of the king and army, and to the speedy termination of the campaign. The remotest hamlets were by this time sharing in the general intoxication caused by the great news; and all along the route our travellers had been struck by the universal excitement, and by the unanimous and almost magical celerity with which triumphal arches of laurel were erected, in addition to preparations for illuminations even in the humblest dwellings. It was a lucky coincidence that the glorious tidings should have reached these rural districts on a fête day-in fact, on Ascension-day; a coincidence which went far to enhance, and, to a certain extent, to hallow their celebration. As mayor of the village, Ambrogio's father had been able to get up a demi-religious, demi-political demonstration, in the shape of a procession to take place after vespers; and in which would figure all the notables of the place and the clergy, accompanied by the municipal body and the national guard with its band of music, not to speak of illuminations and fireworks in the evening.

The mayor urged Barnaby to stay over the night, if not for his own plea

sure, to let Vincenzo enjoy the sight in Ambrogio's company; but Barnaby was proof against all entreaty. Cross-grained people are not necessarily without feeling-very often quite the contrary, as in this individual instance. No bribe could. have induced Barnaby to prolong the anxiety he was aware his master and the signorina must be suffering. Such a good reason shut the mayor's mouthhe could not even plead mercy to Blackie as an excuse for delay; that valuable animal had been so recruited by rest and food that she looked brisk enough for double the work she had before her.

The gig was already at the door, an affectionate farewell spoken hinc inde, the two lads pledging themselves to an eternal friendship, when the mayor exclaimed to Barnaby, "Wait a moment;. we have forgotten this youngster's cassock, though, to judge from appearances, I do not think he will be in a hurry to put it on again."

"Pray don't trouble yourself," cried Vincenzo; "I prefer leaving it behind. Ah! but I remember now, it does not belong to me."

"Never mind that," said Barnaby ; "let it stay where it is; we'll pay its value if we are asked for it; I'll be bound its price won't ruin us."

Nor are the clothes I have on mine," added Vincenzo, in sudden and great perplexity, "and I really ought to return them to their owner."

Here Ambrogio interrupted him with a hurried "Keep them as a recollection of me and our journey."

"Yes, yes, keep them," echoed Ambrogio's father; "my son has long outgrown them."

"Well, we'll keep them, and be thankful for them also," interposed Barnaby; "but on condition that you allow us to give you something in return."

"No such thing," cried both father and son, as they saw Barnaby, after fumbling in his pocket, draw forth a time-worn leather purse.

"Now listen to me," resumed Barnaby; "I am not going to offer to pay you for the clothes, but answer me a

question. There is some poor person in the parish to whom you would probably have given them? Well, give instead this couple of five-franc pieces, and thus we sha'n't feel as if we had been robbing our neighbour."

"But-" began the mayor.

"No buts," interrupted Barnaby ; "either give such person this little help, or we can't take Ambrogio's clothes;" and Barnaby, with an irate jerk forward of his whole body, looked as if about to alight.

"Have your own way then, you obstinate fellow," said the mayor good humouredly, accepting the money. "That's right, and thank you. Good day;" and Barnaby drove off in triumph with his captive.

Vincenzo hailed this final divorce from his seminarist's robe as a great victory; it was a fait accompli, which, at least in his eyes, raised his chances of emancipation fifty per cent. Another cause of inward satisfaction was the unmistakeable admiration of which he had seen himself the object to a circle of urchins gathered round the gig, who had never ceased staring at the would-be volunteer during this last debate between Barnaby and the mayor-Vincenzo's first sip of popularity. The drive presented no incident worth relating, unless it be the meeting at a late hour with a band of merry youths belonging to Rumelli on their way home, who, on recognising the well-known grumbler, opened a battery of jokes against him, keeping up, till they lost sight of him, a brisk fire of "There goes Radetzsky!" to the incredible exasperation of the old man, who swore he would make an example of them. Nothing came of the threat, however, save some useless slashes with the whip at the innocent bushes by the road side, responded to by derisive laughter and redoubled discharges of the obnoxious nickname.

As to what was said between the couple in the gig-and the conversation did not languish-it all related to the main question at issue-cassock or no cassock-and was summed up on Barnaby's part in this short formula, "If you ever put it on again I have

done with you;" and in still fewer words from Vincenzo, "I'll die first."

No glimpse of light lingered in any of the windows of the palace when they reached it at midnight; so both groped their way up to their respective rooms in the attic, and tired as they were soon went to sleep. Vincenzo awoke early the next morning, and could not close his eyes again for thinking of the dream he had had. He had dreamed that the Signor Avvocato had received him with so much kindness, and had begged him in such a paternal manner to reconsider his resolution of renouncing the priesthood, had urged him so earnestly to resume his studies at the seminary, that Vincenzo had ended by giving a reluctant consent. "God grant he may not be such as I saw him in my dream," thought Vincenzo; "I would rather a thousand times he were angry and harsh than kind and gentle to me. I could not resist his kindness-that I am as sure of as that if I go back to the seminary it will be the death of me. Nothing, no, nothing in the world could ever reconcile me to a profession for which nature most certainly never intended me." During this soliloquy Vincenzo dressed himself, and then opened the window; it was a gusty rainy morning, the sky one uniform tint of grey. The lad inhaled with delight the cool air and the racy scent arising from the moistened earth. He stood there long, listening to the thrushes, and looking with the keen pleasure of one newly returned to a dear home, at the row of familiar dwarf acacias, which, with their rounded tops, had a considerable likeness to broomsticks surmounted by periwigs. Vincenzo had no idea of what hour it might be ; the clock of the village, owing to the direction of the wind down the plain, could not be heard that morning at the palace. Barnaby had promised to come to him early; probably, as he had not made his appearance, it was not yet his usual hour for rising; at all events, Vincenzo scrupled to wake the old man. Had it not been raining so hard he would have gone down to the garden, with the certainty of meet

ing his godfather taking his usual early walk, and so have got over their first meeting. As it was, no chance now of accomplishing that out of doors; but when and where, then, should he see the Signor Avvocato? It stood to reason that it was Vincenzo's duty to seek the Signor Avvocato; yet he was shy of doing so until somebody should have informed the Signor Padrone of his return. At last, unable to go on arguing the matter with himself alone, Vincenzo made up his mind to go and wake Barnaby. He opened his own door gently, and stood on the threshold listening if there were any sounds of moving in the house. Suddenly a door below opened noisily, and he heard a heavy step coming up the stairs. Could it be the Signor Avvocato? Yes, not a doubt of it. Where could he be going? Could he be coming in search of the truant? Vincenzo closed his door with the utmost precaution, and with a beating heart. returned to his station at the window. It was actually the Signor Avvocato, who, in his impatience to ascertain whether the carriage he had heard drive to the door during the night had brought back the seminarist as well as Barnaby, had got up an hour earlier than his wont, and in his dressing gown was making his way to Vincenzo's room.

This was, indeed, a good sign. The Signor Avvocato had, as we know, a real attachment for his godson, which at any time would have inclined him to be indulgent; and the elation of his spirits, consequent on the glorious news received on the preceding day, putting for the moment principals of seminaries and political misgivings into the background, left full play to the promptings of his kindly disposition. The Signor Avvocato, when happy himself, was not the man to give pain to others.

"Ta, ta, ta!" interrupted the master of the palace; then added, with a proper assumption of severity, "I don't advise you to rely too much on my goodness; better try to deserve it, sir."

"And so I will, with all my strength," was Vincenzo's eager reply.

"Very well, we shall see. Deeds, not words, is my motto. What, may I ask, has become of your cassock?"

"It was in such a threadbare state, really going to pieces," answered the youth, evading a direct reply.

"In truth, it was far from good," said the gentleman; "however, it can be easily replaced if necessary."

"Then I may be pretty sure it never will be," observed Vincenzo.

"How so?" inquired the Signor Avvocato.

"Because you added the condition of its being necessary; and, indeed, sir, I can foresee no case in which my resuming the cassock could be considered a matter of necessity."

"Fine talking. After all, what do you know about it, Mr. Arguer? the decision does not rest with you. You must do as you are desired."

"I am safe, then," rejoined Vincenzo, quickly, "for you, sir, will never require of me what you know to be out of my power."

"Methinks your travels have sharpened your wits," observed the Signor Avvocato, with a shade of complacency. "No wonder, however, considering the distinguished leader under whose auspices you commenced them. So, your colonel Roganti, was but a sorry knave, after all Tell me about him and his tricks."

Vincenzo did so, to the infinite amusement of his listener, who chuckled amazingly at the notion of his godson's going about offering hymns and scapularies for sale, and gratefully receiving alms in aid of the State. While Vincenzo was still narrating his adventures, Barnaby came into the room, and, to show his satisfaction at the evident good understanding between his master and

his protégé, went through a series of grins and winks that might have made a monkey jealous.

The Signor Avvocato, in the best of humours, at last returned to his own bed-chamber to finish dressing, while Vincenzo, in obedience to his orders, went down to the kitchen in quest of a breakfast, thankful and happy to have fallen so luckily on his feet.

As, with some malice prepense, he loitered after his meal in the diningroom, a large hall on the ground-floor, which adjoined the kitchen, Miss Rose, in a great hurry and excitement, came thither in search of him. On seeing him, she stopped for a second, as if puzzled or alarmed by the change in his appearance, then ran forward and shook hands with him, saying, "Oh, Vincenzo! I scarcely knew you at first; you look like another person!" Something there was in these words which gave Vincenzo a sudden pang. He said, sorrowfully, "Whatever alteration there may be in. me outwardly, pray believe that my heart has not changed, signora."

"I am sure it has not," said Rose, with some warmth, "nor has mine, I assure you. I am very, very glad to see you back again; only I must tell you, that you looked much better in your seminarist's dress. It is really true, then, that you do not mean to take orders? What a pity!"

"Keep it!" exclaimed Vincenzo ; "only too gladly, if you tell me I may do so. As it was, having failed in the pledge I gave you, that I would force Del Palmetto to give it up, I did not feel entitled to keep it."

"I confess I don't see where you have failed," replied Rose; "however, as your conscience is so tender, I make you a present of it anew. And now, please to explain this mysterious phrase;" and the young lady took from her apronpocket Vincenzo's letter.

A flush of pleasure diffused itself over Vincenzo's pale cheeks. The fact that she had carried his letter about her, and the inference he drew from it, passed, as it were, a sponge over the little disagreeables that had clouded their meeting.

"This is the sentence that puzzled me and papa too," said Rose, pointing to it with her finger.

"You showed my letter, then, to the Signor Avvocato?" asked Vincenzo, blushing again.

"Of course I did;" and Rose read aloud the enigmatical passage:-Should I never see you again, I feel sure that your kind heart will not disapprove of the way I shall have disposed of it, "meaning the purse, you know," said the girl, interrupting herself; then continuing with emphasis, that is, should the knowledge ever reach you. "Now, what does all that mean?"

"It means this," said Vincenzo, giving her the little memorandum he had made upon the paper enveloping the purse, and which ran thus :-" May 27, 1848.

Should I fall in battle, I, the undersigned, beg, as a last favour of those who may find my body, to bury with it the inclosed purse.-Vincenzo Candia."

And

Rose changed colour and said, slowly and gravely, "I understand now. so," resumed she, after a pause, looking up at him, "you deliberately intended to expose your life, without heeding for one moment the anxiety you would cause papa and me."

"How do you know I did not think of that?"

"If you had," retorted Rose, “you

would not have had the heart to inflict such pain."

"But," said Vincenzo, "if every one were to shrink from being a soldier, because of inflicting pain and anxiety on friends, who would there be to defend our country?"

"I am not speaking of regular soldiers, who are paid for fighting; there will always be plenty of them; but of those who volunteer as you did," said Rose. "Besides, this is not a war for defending our country, it is one of attack; Father Terenziano says so."

Father Terenziano, a Capuchin, renowned far and wide for sanctity, was Miss Rose's confessor.

"I beg your pardon," said the youth, warmly; "this is a war of defence and not of attack. We do not attack Austria on her own soil, do we? We defend our own land, our own countrymen, from her unjust sway. Suppose a band of brigands were to come and take possession by force of this palace, wouldn't you and your father be justified in trying to throw them out of the windows, and, if you could not manage it yourselves, in calling in your neighbours to help you to recover possession of your own property? This is just what the Lombards have done: they have driven the foreign invader out of their towns and villages, and have called on us, their neighbours and brethren, to lend a hand in driving them beyond the mountains; and we are striving to do so at this very moment. Austrians are our born foes; they have been the plague of Italy for ages."

"I know nothing as to what Austrians have been to Italy," said Rose, in a tone of pique; "but this I know, they are Christians like ourselves. Father Terenziano says so, and Pio Nono said the same when they wanted to force him to declare war against Austria."

"I don't deny their being Christians, but how that gives them a right impiously to enslave and trample under foot other Christians, I am at a loss to understand," rejoined Vincenzo.

"Oh! for goodness sake let us have done with politics," exclaimed Rose.

"How I do loathe the very name!" and so saying she skipped out of the room.

Rose had but repeated, parrot-like, the two great arguments in vogue at that time, and by which the yet covert enemies of the new order of things sought to prejudice the popular mind against the war. The war was one of aggres

sion, of ambition; and the Austrians, were they not Christians? Such were the mighty discoveries, which, issuing from vestries and still holier places, made their way to the cottage and the workshop, nay, to far less humble abodes, and influenced persons who ought to have known better.

Such education as Rose had had the benefit of, if we may dignify by that name the string of idle nursery tales and miraculous legends with which her young head was crammed, and the routine of external practices of devotion from which the spirit that vivifies was absent-such education, we say, as had fallen to Rose's lot, had prepared her to be a fit recipient for, and a ready believer in, any platitude, so long as it came from the quarter in which lay her earliest predilections. When yet a mere baby, Rose had been inoculated by her mother, a pious but narrow-minded woman, with a lively taste for the pomps and pageantries of the Roman Catholic Church; she had been taught to look on its ministers, and indeed on everybody and thing belonging to it, with a species of idolatry. Rose had thus from her earliest years learned to identify religion with priests and processions-her religion had in it more of the senses than of the spirit. To pray to God, she needed a church, and incense, and a priest. A forest, the sea, or an expanse of sky, would never have inspired her with a religious feeling. She had been sent to school to a convent of nuns of the Sacro Cuore; and there she had imbibed her first notions of right and wrong, received those strong impressions which bias the whole of after life. Even up to the present moment she still continued, when at Ibella, to frequent the sisters, to receive such instruction as they could or would impart. With what result we see. Rose,