uncle's words, for she thought she had perceived in him, especially since his illness, more consistency than usual, and she said to him, "What is it you say, sir? Has anything extraordinary happened? What mercies and what sins do you speak of?" My good niece," replied Don Quixote, "the mercies I mean are those which God hath, in this instance, been pleased to show me, though my sins are so many. My judgment is now clear and freed from the dark clouds of ignorance with which the continual reading of those detestable books of chivalry had obscured it. I now see their extravagance and folly, and am only grieved that this discovery happens so late as to leave me no time to profit by such books as might improve and enlighten my soul. I feel myself, niece, at the point of death, and I would fain wash away the stain of madness from my character; for though in my life I have been deservedly accounted a lunatic, I earnestly desire that the truth thereof shall not be confirmed at my death. Go, therefore, dear child, and call hither my good friends the priest, the bachelor Sampson Carrasco, and Mas ter Nicholas the barber, for I would fain make my confession and my will.”

Fortunately, at that moment his three friends entered. As soon as Don Quixote saw them, he exclaimed, "Give me joy, good gentlemen, that I am no longer Don Quixote de la Mancha, but Alonzo Quixano, the same whom the world, for his fair and honest life, was pleased to surname the Good. I am now an utter enemy to Amadis de Gaul and all his generation. Now the senseless and profane histories of knight-errantry are to me disgusting and odious; I now acknowledge my folly, and perceive the danger into which I was led by reading them; and now, through the mercy of God, and my own dear-bought experience, I abhor them."

indeed," replied Don Quixote, were the stories that to me have proved so baneful; but my death, with Heaven's assistance, shall convert them to my good. I feel, good sirs, that death advances fast upon me; let us, then, be serious, and bring me a confessor, and a notary to draw up my will; for a man in my state must not trifle with his soul. Let the notary be sent for, I beseech you, while my friend here, the priest, is taking my confession."

They looked at each other in surprise at his expressions, and, though still dubious, they were inclined to believe him, and could not but regard as a fatal symptom this sudden change from madness to sanity. He then conversed again in so rational and Christian a manner, that no doubt remained of the perfect restoration of his intellect. The priest desired all the rest to leave the room, and when alone, he received his confession. The bachelor went for the notary, and presently after returned with him, followed by Sancho Panza, who, having learned from the bachelor the hopeless situation of his master, and seeing the niece and housekeeper in tears, also began to weep like the rest. The priest, having taken his dying friend's confession, came out of the room, and told them that the good Alonzo Quixano was near his end, and certainly in his right senses; he therefore advised them to go in, as it was full time that his will should be made. This sad intelligence opened still wider the sluices of grief, and torrents of tears issued from the swollen eyes of the housekeeper, his niece, and Sancho Panza his trusty squire, and from the bottom of their aggrieved hearts a thousand sighs and groans; for, in truth, as it hath been said before, both while he was plain Alonzo Quixano and while he was Don Quixote de la Mancha, he was ever of an amiable disposition, and kind and affable in his behavior, so that he was beloved not only by those of his own family, but by all who knew him.

The notary now entered the room with the others, and after the preamble of the will had been written, and Don Quixote had disposed of his soul in the usual Christian forms, coming to the distribution of his worldly goods, he directed the notary to write as follows: namely― Item, it is my will that, in regard to certain moneys which Sancho Fanza, whom

in the wildness of my folly I called my squire, has in his custody, there being between him and me some reckonings, receipts and disbursements, he shall not be charged with them, nor called to any account for them; but if, after he has paid himself, there should be an overplus, which will be but little, it shall be his own, and much good may it do him; and if, as in my distracted state I procured him the government of an island, I could, now that I am in my senses, procure him that of a kingdom, I would readily do it; for the simplicity of his heart and the fidelity of his dealings well deserve it." Then turning to Sancho, he said, "Forgive me, friend, for perverting thy understanding, and persuading thee to believe that there were, and still are, knightserrant in the world.

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'Alas! good sir," replied Sancho, "do not die, I pray you; but take my advice, and live many years; for the greatest folly a man can commit in this world is to give himself up to death without any good cause for it, but only from melancholy. Good your worship, be not idle, but rise and let us be going to the field, dressed like shepherds, as we agreed to do and who knows but behind some bush or other we may find the Lady Dulcinea disenchanted as fine as heart can wish? If you pine at being vanquished, lay the blame upon me, and say you were unhorsed because I had not duly girthed Rozinante's saddle; and your worship must have seen in your books of chivalry that nothing is more common than for one knight to unhorse another, and that he who is vanquished to-day may be the conqueror to-morrow.

"It is so, indeed," quoth the bachelor; "honest Sancho is very much in the right." Gentlemen," quoth Don Quixote, "let us proceed fair and softly; look not for this year's birds in last year's nests. I was mad; I am now sane: I was Don Quixote de la Mancha; I am now, as formerly, styled Alonzo Quixano the Good, and may my repentance and sincerity restore me to the esteem you once had for me! Now let the notary proceed.

"Item, I bequeath to Antonia Quixano, my niece, here present, all my estate, real and personal, after the payment of all my debts and legacies; and the first to be discharged shall be the wages due to my

housekeeper for the time she has been in my service, and twenty ducats besides for a suit of mourning.

"I appoint for my executors Signor the priest and Signor Bachelor Sampson Carrasco, here present. Item, it is also my will that if Antonia Quixano my niece should be inclined to marry, it shall be only with a man who, upon the strictest inquiry, shall be found to know nothing of books of chivalry; and in case it shall appear that he is acquainted with such books, and that my niece, notwithstanding, will and doth marry him, then shall she forfeit all I have bequeathed her, which my executors may dispose of in pious uses as they think proper. And finally, I beseech the said gentlemen, my executors, that if haply they should come to the knowledge of the author of a certain history, dispersed abroad, entitled, The Second Part of the Exploits of Don Quixote de la Mancha,' they will, in my name, most earnestly entreat him to pardon the occasion I have unwittingly given him of writing so many and such gross absurdities as are contained in that book; for I depart this life with a burden upon my conscience, for having caused the publication of so much folly.

The will was then closed; and being seized with a fainting-fit, he stretched himself out at length in the bed, at which all were alarmed and hastened to his assistance; yet he survived three days: often fainting during that time in the same manner, which never failed to cause much confusion in the house; nevertheless, the niece ate, the housekeeper drank and Sancho Panza consoled himself-for legacies tend much to moderate grief that nature claims for the deceased. At last, after receiving the sacrament, and making all such pious preparations, as well as expressing his abhorrence, in strong and pathetic terms, of the wicked books by which he had been led astray, Don Quixote's last moment arrived. The notary was present, and protested that he had never read in any book of chivalry of a knight-errant dying in his bed in so composed and Christian a manner as Don Quixote, who, amidst the plaints and tears of all present, resigned his breathI

mean to say, he died. When the priest saw that he was no more, he desired the notary to draw up a certificate, stating that Alonzo Quixano, commonly called

Don Quixote de la Mancha, had departed this life and died a natural death; which testimonial he required, lest any other authors beside Cid Hamet Benengeli should raise him from the dead, and impose upon the world with their fabulous stories of his exploits.

This was the end of that extraordinary gentleman of La Mancha, whose birthplace Cid Hamet was careful to conceal, that all the towns and villages of that province might contend for the honor of having produced him, as did the seven cities of Greece for the glory of giving birth to Homer. The lamentations of Sancho, the niece and the housekeeper are not here given, nor the new epitaphs on the tomb of the deceased knight, except the following one, composed by Sampson Carrasco:

Here lies the valiant cavalier
Who never had a sense of fear:
So high his matchless courage rose,
He reckoned death among his vanquished
foes.

Wrongs to redress his sword he drew,
And many a caitiff giant slew;
His days of life though madness stained,
In death his sober senses he regained.
THE END OF DON QUIXOTE.

THE LOST SPECTACLES. A country curate, visiting his flock, At old Rebecca's cottage gave a knock, "Good morrow, dame, I mean not any libel, But in your dwelling have you got a Bible?" "A Bible, sir?" exclaimed she in a rage, "D'ye think I've turned a Pagan in my age?

Here, Judith, and run upstairs, my dear, 'Tis in the drawer, be quick and bring it here."

The girl return'd with Bible in a minute, Not dreaming for a moment what was in it; When lo! on opening it at parlor door, Down fell her spectacles upon the floor. Amaz'd she stared, was for a moment dumb, But quick exclaim'd, "Dear sir, I'm glad you're come.

'Tis six years since these glasses first were lost,

And I have miss'd 'em to my poor eyes'

cost!"

Then as the glasses to her nose she raised, She closed the Bible-saying, "God be praised!"

A WARNING TO WIVES.-The police took up a prominent citizen in a sad state of mental aberration the other day, and after restoring him, learned that he probably lost his mind in trying to remember and deliver the parting message of his wife, who, on kissing him good-by in the morning, told him to go to the dressmaker and tell her that she (the wife) had changed her mind, and would have the watered silk made up instead of the poplin, and be sure and tell her," said the wife, "that if she thinks it would look better with ten bias flounces without puffing, and box-plaiting below the equator, gudgeons up and down the seams, with which should be gathered in hem-stitched gusset-stitch between, she can make it up in that way, instead of fluting the bobinett insertion, and piecing out with point applique, as I suggested yesterday.

A NICE SENSE OF PROPRIETY.-The Teutonic tailor of a Pennsylvania village having married a second wife indecently soon after the funeral of the first, the young men of the place notified their disapproval by a tin-horn serenade during the progress of the wedding feast. The indignant man expostulated in the following style: "I say poys, you ought to be ashamed of yourselfs to be making all dis noise ven der vas a funeral here so soon!"

*TALES FROM THE "DECAM

ERON" OF BOCCACCIO. [GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO, born in Paris, 1313, died at Certaldo, Val d'Elsa, 21st December, 1375. He was the son of a merchant of Florence, and in that city he was educated. He may be regarded as the father of Italian prose; and he was the author of the first romantic and chivalrous poem written in the Italian language, La Teseide, the subject being the fabulous ad

ventures of Theseus. From the Tescide Chaucer borrowed the materials of his Knight's Tale. The most

important of Boccaccio's prose works is the Decameron,

which was written at the desire of Queen Joan of

Naples. It is a series of one hundred tales, supposed

to be narrated by seven ladies and three gentlemen, who have fled to a country house to escape the plague

which visited Florence in 1348. The intrigues of lovers form the chief element of the stories, and the details of the greater number display a licentious freedom of

manners. Several of the tales, however, are pure and interesting. One of the important labors which Boccaccio accomplished was the collection of a valuable

library of Greek and Latin classics. The library was

unfortunately destroyed by fire about a century after his death.]

A PLAIN, HONEST MAN, BY A CASUAL JEST, VERY SHREWDLY REPROVES THE

HYPOCRISY OF THE CLERGY.

Emilia, whose turn came next (the witty reproof given by the marchioness to the king of France being approved by the whole assembly), began in this manner: I will not conceal a most stinging reproof given by an honest, simple man to a most sordid and avaricious monk, which you will both commend and laugh at. There was, not long since, a friar belonging to the Inquisition, who, though he labored much to be righteous and zealous for the Christian faith, had yet a much keener eye after those who had full purses than after those who held heterodox opinions. By his great diligence in this way he soon found out a person better stored with money than sense. This man, not so much out of profaneness as want of thought, and perhaps overheated with liquor into the bargain, unluckily said to one of his companions that he had better wine than Christ himself ever drank. This was reported to the inquisitor, and he, understanding that the man's estate was large, and that he was full of money, sent all his myrmidons, had him seized, and began a prosecution, not so much with a design to amend him in matters of faith as to ease him of part of his money, as he soon did. The man being brought

before him, he inquired whether that was true which had been alleged against him. The poor man immediately answered that it was, and told him in what manner the words were spoken. Thereupon the most holy inquisitor (devoted to St. John with the golden beard) retorted: "What! dost thou make Christ a drunkard, and curious in the choice of wines, like common sots and frequenters of taverns? and now wouldst thou excuse it as a small matter? It may seem so to thee; but I tell thee, should I proceed with the rigor of justice, thou wouldst be burnt alive for it. With these and such-like words, as if he had to do with a downright atheist, he so terrified the poor wretch that he was forced to have recourse to a little of St. John's golden grease-a most sovereign remedy (although it be not mentioned by Galen in his book of medicines) against the pestilential avarice of the clergy, especially of the lesser friars, who are forbidden the use of money. With that unguent the poor man anointed the inquisitor's hands to such purpose that the fire and faggot with which he had been threatened were changed into a cross, which, being yellow and black, seemed like a banner designed for the holy land. The money being paid, he was to stay there for some time, being ordered, by way of penance, to hear mass in the church of the holy cross every morning, to visit the inquisitor also at dinner-time, and to do nothing the rest of the day but what he commanded; all which he performed punctually. One morning it happened that, during mass, the gospel was read, wherein were these words: You shall receive a hundred for one, and so possess eternal life;" words of which he kept fast hold in his memory. That same day he waited on the inquisitor at dinnertime, as he had been commanded, and the latter asked him whether he had heard mass that morning, "Yes, sir," replied the man very readily. "Hast thou heard anything therein," quoth the inquisitor,

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as to which thou art doubtful or desirous to ask any questions?" No, surely,' said the honest man, "and I believe all that I have heard most steadfastly; only one thing I remember, which occasions great pity in me for you and the rest of your brethren as to what will become of you in the other world." "And what are those words which make you pity us

sir.

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so much?" "O, good sir," said the man, "do you remember the words of the gospel: You shall receive a hundred for one'?" Well, what of them,' quoth the inquisitor. "I will tell you, Ever since I have been here have I seen sometimes one and sometimes two great caldrons of broth given out of your great abundance every day to the poor, after you and your brethren have been sufficiently regaled. Now, if for every one of these you are to receive a hundred, you will all of you be drowned in broth. This set the whole table in a roar, and the inquisitor was quite confounded, knowing it to be a satire upon their great hypocrisy; and were it not that he had been much blamed for his former prosecution, he would have given the man more trouble: he ordered him, therefore, in a rage, to go about his business and not come near him any more.

MARTELLINO, FEIGNING TO BE A CRIPPLE,

PRETENDS TO BE CURED BY BEING LAID

UPON THE BODY OF SAINT ARRIGO;
BUT HIS ROGUERY BEING DISCOVERED,

HE GETS SOUNDLY BEATEN, AND IS
AFTERWARDS APPREHENDED, AND IN
DANGER OF BEING HANGED, BUT ES-
CAPES AT LAST.

There lived, not long since, at Triers a German called Arrigo, who was a poor man and served as a porter, when any one pleased to employ him; yet was he reputed a person of a good life; on which account (whether it be true or false I know not) it was affirmed by the people of Triers that, at the very instant of his death, the bells of the great church rang of their own accord, which was accounted a miracle, and all declared that this Arrigo was a saint. They flocked to the house where the corpse lay and carried it as a sanctified body to the great church; bringing thither the halt, lame and blind, in expectation that, by the touch of it, they would all recover. In so great a concourse of people, it happened that three of our own city arrived there, one of whom was named Stecchi, another Martellino, and the third Marchese; persons that frequented the courts of princes, to divert them as buffoons and mimics. Having none of them ever been there

before, and seeing the great crowd of people running from all parts of the city, they were much surprised; and, hearing the cause, they were very desirous of seeing the corpse. They left their baggage, therefore, at the inn, and Marchese said, "We will see this saint; but I do not know how we shall contrive to get near enough, for the street is full of soldiers and persons in arms, whom the governor has stationed there to prevent any tumult in the city; and, besides, the church is so thronged with people that it will be impossible to get in. Martellino, who was eager to be a spectator, replied, "I will find a way, notwithstanding, to get close to the very body.' How,' said Marchese, "is that possible?" "I'll tell you,' answered Martellino: "I intend to counterfeit a cripple, whilst thou shalt support me on one side and Stecchi on the other, as if I were unable to walk by myself, bringing me towards the saint to be cured; and you will see everybody make way for us to go on.

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The other two were much pleased with the contrivance, and they all went actellino distorted his hands, fingers, arms, cordingly into a private place, where Marlegs, mouth, eyes, and his whole countenance in such a manner that it was frightful to behold; and nobody that saw him would have imagined but that he was really so lamed and deformed. Being carried in that guise by Marchese and Stecchi, they directed their way to the church, crying out in a most piteous manner all the way to make room for God's sake! which the people did with great readiness. In a little time they attracted the eyes of every one, and the general cry was, Room! room! till at length they came where the body of St. Arrigo lay. Martellino was then taken from his friends by some persons that stood around and laid all along upon the body, to the end that he might, by that means, receive the benefit of a cure. All the people's eyes were now upon him, expecting the event, when he, who was master of his business, first began to stretch his fingers, then his hands, afterwards his arms, and at last his whole body; which, when the people saw, they set up such shouts in praise of St. Arrigo that a clap of thunder would hardly have been noticed in the din.

Now it happened that a Florentine was not far off, who, knowing Martellino very