my witness, I have injured no one, but still there is no one to whom I can give you a reference."

"The lady looked fixedly at the speaker all the while, but there was nothing hard in her look, rather the contrary. She mused for an instant, then said—

"Strange, almost incredible, as your statement may seem, if you would only account satisfactorily "

"Mary," said the gentleman, never looking up from his newspaper. The tone in which these two syllables were pronounced must have lowered the thermometer.

"All things considered," said the lady, rising, "I am sorry I cannot engage you."

"God bless you all the same for your kindness," said Lavinia, bowing low, and departed.

"Poor thing! so near the port, and wrecked!"

We commend this incident to the attentive consideration of young ladies starting on their own account. Many are forced, by pitiless circumstances, to breast the adverse current, whether they will or so, God help them! But occasionally, there are others who, "on the dissention of a doit-some trick not worth an egg"-fall out with their bread and butter, and cast themselves, heroines in distress, on the unknown world, convinced that their numerous acquirements and resources need only to be known to fetch their market-price. To such, who for the most part are novel-readers, let the lady address her question to Lavinia. "Where are your references?" Her intimation was right-Lavinia was really a good and innocent girl-but the gentleman was right too, there was something questionable in her antecedents. And young ladies seeking a livelihood in the bosom of a private family, are more likely to meet with the exercise of severe judgment than of benevolent intuition.

Finally, she writes to the amiable mother of her friend Lady Augusta, who procures for her the situation of companion to a lady in Devonshire. She travels part of the way with the lady's niece, Clara, a very interesting person no longer in the bloom of youth, and somewhat nun-like in her quiet dress. She goes to live with this lady's married sister, instead of her gay old aunt; and speedily finds that Clara is going out to the Crimea as nursing-sister. Lavinia decides to go with her. During the journey to Paris, Clara proves to have been the early love of Mr. Thornton, of whom she is most anxious to obtain tidings; and on arriving at Paris, they find out the good woman with whom he and Paolo had lodged, and learn from her that he is in a mad-house. Thenceforth Clara, under the guidance of the physician of the asylum, devotes herself to his recovery; and Lavinia, after writing a contrite letter to Paolo, whom she supposes at Rome, proceeds to the east.

Meanwhile, Paolo has run into strange excess of riot, and become an absolute prodigal son, except that he has no father's heart to break. We would not willingly read the hurried sketch of his delin

quencies again. Signor Ruffini ruthlessly destroys our pleasure in his simplicity, his purity, his high and holy aspirations, and shows him wallowing in the mire of Paris. Those who have the patience to follow him beyond this disagreeable chapter, which ought to have a little black curtain drawn over it, deeply craped, will find him aroused to a sense of his moral degradation by the unexpected arrival of his honest little friend Salvator, who has posted to Paris to thank him for a generous present. Salvator is horrified to find him just risen from bed at ten o'clock, and about to induct himself into a pair of sky-blue pantaloons; still more horrified at Paolo's transports of remorse on reading Lavinia's letter, which he has brought him from Rome. "There you stand," cries Paolo, "a living reproach to me! A glorious figure I cut in my Turkish morning costume, don't I! Look at my collection of whips, canes, cravat-pins, wrist-buttons, and scentbottles, and be lost in admiration! Worthy property for an artist, is not it? And the inward bonds, friend Salvator!"

"Nonsense!" ejaculates the little man. Paolo, however, assures him it is no nonsense. He is very bad, and very wretched indeed. None of this frippery has made him happy.

"There is a curse in money, Salvator," says he.

"Well, if it be so," replied Salvator, "the remedy is easy.

Cast

from you that curse, and live on bread and cheese. At it at once Put on your shabbiest coat and hat, to be in keeping with mine, and let us go out. Do you know of any place where we are likely to see any blackbirds?"

Paolo, after a little reflection, can only think of the cemetery where Prospero's little girl is buried. The spot does not seem to Salvator indicative of cheerfulness; however, they repair thither, Paolo makes a clean breast of it among the tombs, and after crying very heartily, more Italice, feels all the better for it, and accompanies his friend into a little eating-house, where they dine frugally and heartily on cutlets and fried potatoes. After being on their legs about nine hours, they are in bed and asleep at ten o'clock, like good men and true.

It is hardly necessary to say that Paolo's character is regenerated under Salvator's wholesome influence. He cuts his gay acquaintance, breaks up his bachelor establishment, and they resolve to enlist into the Sardinian Contingent. Previously, however, they go to have Paolo's republican scruples as to fighting under a monarchical banner overcome by Daniel Manin, which gives us a glimpse of that distinguished Venetian, drawn, we should think, from life. The whole. scene may worthily be detached.

"Manin occupied a small, and more than modest lodging, in the third story of a house in the Rue Blanche. His reception of the two young men was full of that frank cordiality which is a distinctive trait of the Italian character. Manin had his hat on, evidently ready to go out, when his unexpected visitors appeared; nevertheless he would not permit their going away, as they wished to do, but said he had a quarter of an hour at their service. Paolo, therefore, stated his case of conscience..

"Which do you care for most?" said Manin, "the Republic or Italy Italy, of course. To be either a republic or a monarchy, Italy must first exist as a nation; that is, be independent, and form one body. Every act which tends towards that end deserves the support of all patriots, whatever their creed. Is the co-operation of Piedmont in the Crimean war to be considered an act of this sort-a step in the right direction? I do not hesitate to say it is so, inasmuch as it widens her circle of influence in Europe, and strengthens her hands for good; inasmuch as it places her in manifest antagonism with Austria; inasmuch as it furnishes a precious occasion to add to the prestige of the Italian arms. Those who go to fight under the three colours of Italian redemption, are not the soldiers of the Piedmontese state, but the soldiers of Italy. Would to God that I were young enough and strong enough to be one of them!"

"The door had been gently pushed ajar while he was speaking, and the moment he stopped, a female voice (ah! pity him; not that of his wife or daughter-both lay in their freshly-opened graves)—a female voice said warningly,

"Mr. Daniel, it is striking eleven; you know you have to go to Rue Pigalle."

"Thank you," said Manin to his careful bonne; and snatching a book from a table, and putting it under his arm, he led the way down stairs to the street-door. There he stopped, and said with emotion,

"Good-bye, my young friends. May all success attend you. Honour certainly will; for it is the path of duty. My blessing goes with you. To the rising generation, which you represent, to the simple in mind, and stout of heart, Providence reserves the great work of Italian emancipation. Peace, peace at all costs among the oppressed, that their united war-cry may be like the trumpets before Jericho, at sound of which the ramparts of the oppressors shall crumble into dust. You will see that day, young men.'

"And so will you," said Paolo with enthusiasm.

"Not so, not so," replied Manin; "the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak. Dies mei numerati sunt, I may say with the Psalmist. Once again, farewell!" and with a friendly squeeze of the hand, he hurried away.

"Paolo's heart sank within him as he watched the tottering steps of the noble man; and he thought to himself, why this mysterious dispensation, which dooms the flower of a whole nation to live and to die broken-hearted?

"Bravo!" cried Salvator; "a man worth his weight in gold. . . By the bye, though, I should like to know why he goes about with an Italian grammar under his arm?"

"Manin gives lessons to live, and therefore carries with him the tools of his trade. Yes! oh mockery of fortune, the ex-dictator of Venne is reduced to sell participles !"

"Salvator mused a little, then said,

"And why not? Poverty at all times has been the seal of true

greatness. Deck Homer with a mantle of purple, seat Dante in a carriage and four, and see what a sorry figure they will cut."

Arrived at Turin, the two young friends receive the unwelcome intelligence that no volunteers are admitted into the Piedmontese expeditionary corps but such as had served already, and could prove their services. The undaunted little Salvator resolves on nothing less than a personal application to il re galantuomo ; and for this purpose, plants himself at a back gate of the royal palace, whence Victor Emmanuel is likely to issue, between two and three o'clock in the afternoon. This, again, has the air of a genuine anecdote about it. Salvator waits till three o'clock, and is on the point of deciding that the king is either going to keep in-doors, or has gone out some other way, when one of the long-watched back-doors opens, and two figures in plain clothes issue forth. Who can mistake the portly form, and remarkable moustache? Salvator has hardly time to whip off his hat as the king bears down upon him, and apply his hand to his forehead in military salute.

"Have you anything to say?" says Victor Emmanuel, half smiling. "Please your majesty, we are two Romans, who have come all the way from Paris to enlist for the Crimea."

"For the Crimea? Are you big enough?" says the king, sharply eyeing the little painter.

"Just the right size for a Bersagliere," says Salvator readily. "My friend has smelt powder already."

"Where?"

"At Rome, in 1849."

"What put it into your head to go to the Crimea ?"

"The wish to qualify ourselves for your next campaign in Lombardy, sire."

His Majesty turned with a pleased smile to the gentleman accompanying him; then addressing Salvator,

"And suppose you are killed in the Crimea?"

"If so, dulce et decorum est pro patria mori, sire."

"Bravo!" said the king, "Good Latin and good sense! What is your name and where are you to be found?"

"Angelo Gigli, sire, at your service; and, just now, at the Locanda of the Dogana Vecchia."

"Addio," said the king.

Salvator has secured his object, and the two friends go out, one as Bersagliere, the other in General Trotti's Second Infantry Brigade. They thenceforth see very little of one another, and poor Salvator is laid low by fever and sent to the hospital. His Clelia comes out to nurse him, and Paolo too, who is severely wounded in the battle of Tchernaya.

"This battle, according to competent judges, sealed the fate of Sebastopol. Paolo had the good luck to be one of the division Trotti, which was engaged in the action; nay, to belong to the very battalion which was sent to harass the retreat of the enemy. He did not at

one stroke run his lance through half-a-dozen Russians-by the bye he had no lance--nor did he achieve any other supernatural feat in the knight-errantry line; but his behaviour throughout was steady, and resolute enough to be noticed by the men and officers of his company. The greater their pity when they saw him stagger, reel, and fall to the ground. It was the last discharge but one of the artillery which had done the deed."

Whether he sinks or survives, the reader must learn for himself; also, whether he falls in with Lavinia, whether she turns out to be a patrician instead of plebian, and many other incidents which are too numerous to mention. We have already been too lavish in our communications, and shall seal our lips respecting the unravelling of the various mysteries of the tale.

A. M.

VI.

THE GOSPEL MIRACLES.

66

MR. POWELL'S essay holds a fitting place in the middle of the Rationalist Manifesto, entitled "Essays and Reviews recently published, as the key-stone of the arch upon which the sloping structure of the other essays on either side abuts, with nearly their whole weight, and the failure of which entails their certain downfall. The greater the strain of argument that presses upon the constructive system that holds these essays together, the more clearly it is seen that they rest upon and are sustained, by this essay. The common purpose that gives congruity and method to the different divisions of the volume, is the attempt to cancel every trace of the supernatural from the Bible; and to Mr. Powell is committed the à priori and philosophical position of their enterprise, viz., the proof that no testimony can reach to the supernatural” (p.107), and "that an event (such as a miracle) may be so incredible, intrinsically, as to set aside any degree of testimony" (p. 106), a position which, if successfully maintained, gives his coadjutors an easy conquest in their several departments, but, if lost, imperils their success, if it does not necessitate their defeat. The principle which Mr. Powell has to establish is assumed by the other essayists, and of course gives a high vantage-ground to their reasoning; for if it be conceded as an à priori and indubitable axiom that (1st) miracles are impossible, (2nd) incapable of being credibly reported by testimony, and (3rd) therefore à fortiori incredible,-then, of course, prophecies must be suppositious histories; all the miraculous portions of the Bible must be legends or lies; and a new system of