from his labours, and, after the fashion of his country, enjoyed his dolce far niente.

The mind, however, is never still in sleep it runs wild and unbridled as the steed which knows not man; and the most we can do in our calmest moments, is to put our hands upon its mane, and lead it gently with the current of our own thoughts. Giuseppe, seated in his easy chair of polished wood, with his door-post as a footstool, found, without an effort, that this was precisely his case. He would have given a box of macchèroni to think of nothing; but as this might not be, he induced his thoughts to wander with his eyes, and, as they dwelt with quiet happiness on the comfort of his home, on the fruits of honest industry, a silent prayer passed with the breath of life, and he gave thanks to the Giver of all things, with a blessing on the Virgin.

While thus his grateful heart reposed amidst the still life within, a gentle flutter from a cage in the golden rays of the setting sun, called Giuseppe's thoughts to his pet canaries,-a pair so happy in captivity, that they nestled on their perch, without a wish to pass the threshold of the open door. Their gentle-hearted gaoler smiled to see how happy and contented were his prisoners, and, by some odd link or other, as his eyes fell upon an empty chair by his side, he thought a wife would be no bad means of filling it, and no bad addition to the furniture on which his mind had lately reposed with such infinite complacency. The idea once seized, worked well and rapidly. The poets speak truth in saying the sun has much to do in these matters, for, though the bright thought sprang to life in the last rays of the sunset, it drank of Italia's warmth, and, ere Time had told another month, it was at maturity.

Yes, within a month from the first conception of this happy thought, the empty chair was filled. Giuseppe was no longer a lone and solitary man; his evenings, his home, his all on earth were shared by another, by one whose heart beat time with his. He had married a child of poverty, one of many, dowerless in the world's eye, but above all wealth in his, for she was virtuous, young, and supereminently beautiful.

In order to introduce a third and most material person to the reader, we shall leave "the happy couple" to their honeymoon, and merely say, that since that gentle orb was first invited to a marriage feast, and fed on honey for a month, never were the sweets of love so fully and so fondly tasted. Nay, more than this, the following months were, if possible, happier than the first: like the pet canaries, Giuseppe and his wife never sighed for liberty,—their home was their happiness; and, as the husband gazed on the black and brilliant eyes of his wife, on the graceful turn of her neck, on her light and beauteous form, he was wont to press her to his side, and call her "his bird,” "his pet canary;" adding with a smile, "Ecco, carina mia, this is our cage, and yonder," pointing to the yellow macchèroni hanging in the sun-" yonder are the golden wires."

Within an easy amble of this straggling town which held Giuseppe and his wife in blest captivity, stands an ancient monastery, one of those picturesque buildings which abound in Italy, and many of which, like the one in question, are bosomed in wood, though perched upon an eminence. A certain Padre Giacomo was an inmate of its walls.

To tell that padre is the Italian for father, would be an insult even to the march of the "great unwashed;" but it may, I trust, be lawful to hint that the term padre is only applied to monks, friars, the Pope,

and such like, as "fathers in the church." Marriage with them being a forbidden penance, it could not, of course, be otherwise without a slur upon the sacred order, and possibly an action for libel in the Roman ecclesiastical court. This title, however, this sort of lucus a non lucendo, is often conferred by others than the high authorities of the church. The old, the young, the married and marrying of a town or district, sometimes unite in bestowing it as a mark of respect and holy love. Padre Giacomo had long enjoyed this prænomen, and well he deserved it. He was a treasure to the poor, and a friend to the sick at his approach discord fled, the tear of sorrow sparkled with a smile, the sick revived, the sinner hoped, and the dying died in peace. He was, in short, a good Christian of the Roman Catholic persuasion, and practised what he preached.

When cholera swept the land of Italy with desolation, and smote it with a scourge so ghastly and terrific, that, in comparison, cholera in England was like a rod of feathers; when leeches fled and priesthood shrunk from the dying and their duty, then and there Padre Giacomo was ever to be found. Many and many a life was saved by his courage, his kindness, and skill. Hundreds upon hundreds in that dark hour received from his hands and his lips the last consolations of religion. Faith goes a great way; Padre Giacomo did work wonders, and, by easy gradations, it was soon believed that he could work miracles.

And could he not? He who can turn to harmony this jarring world, what can he not do? If, in addition, we are bound to confess that this good man was young and handsome, that was no fault of his ; or, if a fault, if an attribute of danger to those who listened to his silver tones, how soon, alas! how very soon would it fade with the fleeting days of man!

If they who felt his smile, and inhaled the breath of peace, which murmured from his lips, felt also a something too nearly linked with adoration, that was no fault of Padre Giacomo; he could not help it, he sought neither homage nor reward, save in the happiness of his fellow-creatures, and towards one so good and so perfect the mingled feelings of reverence and love might surely be offered with impunity.

To return to Giuseppe and his wife. Some ten or twelve months had gone by since law and the church had made them one-in pursuance of the decree from on High, the feminine half was about to add one unit to creation. That anxious moment, that hour of trial, was fast approaching, when the woman hopes to be-a mother; and the man, trembling for his wife, hopes to be-a father!

Alas for Signora Ruffo! hers was no common case, but she evinced a fortitude worthy of her Roman descent. Never was the curse pronounced upon woman more fearfully fulfilled, never was a lovelier martyr, and never did Indian at the stake evince a courage more heroic!

But, alas! art, aid, and courage, had proved of no avail—the hopes of the woman were fading fast-the fears of the man were multiplied intensely; they grew to agony, distraction-all was tears, terror, and confusion, while death, shrouded in silence, looked quietly on from one corner of the room, and grinned with hungry delight at the thought of a speedy banquet.

"Sancta Maria, save her!" said the old nurse, as she knelt before a waxen image of the Virgin and Child.

"She is dying!" said another, as she told her beads and invoked the saints.

"She is dead!" cried a third, with a miserere wail.

"She breathes! she breathes!" said a fourth, as she held a glass to the lips of the sufferer.

"Nothing but a miracle can save her!" muttered a fifth, in a deep sepulchral tone.

"Padre Giacomo!" murmured the dying woman, to the surprise of all, as she heaved a deep-drawn sigh; and, for an instant, half unclosed her beautiful eyes.

"Padre Giacomo! Padre Giacomo!" echoed one, two, three, four, and five.

"Where is he? where is he? find him! find him!" cried a host at once, who cried and did not move. Luckily, there was one who said nothing, but ran to seek him.

"Eccolo! Eccolo! here comes our good Padre Giacomo!" was soon shouted in the street, and echoed on the stairs. Sure enough he was coming. And Signora Ruffo heaved an audible sigh.

Yes, as luck would have it, the good Padre, accompanied by three of his brethren, was passing through the town of Gragnano when he was thus unexpectedly arrested.

As may be expected, surprise mingled largely with his sorrow, when la Signora's case was fully explained. It was a new and difficult position: to aid the dying was his province,-so far he might be useful; but beyond, he pleaded ignorance and inability.

In vain the more humbly the good Padre spoke, the more loudly his powers were extolled. "His kindness and skill had saved hundreds in the cholera, why not save la povera Signora, the wife of his friend Giuseppe ?"

Now Giuseppe and Giacomo had been friends from boyhood, and the appeal was irresistible; but the Padre was too humble to trust to himself alone, so he made his brothers bear him company.

It is a rude and awkward trick to lift at all times the veil from the human mind. We therefore refrain from giving the full index of Padre Giacomo's thoughts, as, with noiseless tread, he ascended to the chamber of despair; enough to say, he thought of the power of faith, and he thought it just possible he might do good. That was enough. Within a little while he had returned the pressure of the husband's hand and whispered comfort in his agonized heart.

The curtains were closed, there was a solemn silence, not a breath was heard; it seemed as if death were already the tenant of that darkened room.

"Padre Giacomo!" once more murmured the dying woman.

"Eccolo! Eccolo !" echoed the voices of persons unseen, who whispered he was come.

Again there was a dead silence, and again la Signora sighed as in extremis.

On a sudden, in the chaunt of the church, in a voice soft as music, and solemn as an angel's dirge, Padre Giacomo sang out—“ Facciamo

il dolore di questa povera donna! poco per l'uno! poco per l'altro!”

"Facciamo il dolore di questa povera donna!" cried first one of the fat friars, then a second, then a third, and then, at the end of each chaunt, they chaunted in chorus the moans and groans of agony in the most feminine manner they could.

"Again, my brothers, and together!" cried Padre Giacomo, and again the chaunt was repeated, and they moaned most musically. Again! again! again!" shouted the Padre, as he warmed in his

novel vocation. The spirit of the man was caught; his brothers, one and all, joined in the chaunt, and groaned enthusiastically.

"Ecco! il bambino! here's a bouncing boy!" cried the old nurse, with a shriek of joy, as she emerged from the dark folds of a curtain, and implored the blessing of Padre Giacomo on the new-born child. "A miracle! a miracle!" was shouted by every tongue within the house, and caught by every ear that thronged the street.

"A miracle! a miracle !" rose with the windings of the straggling town, till the very macchèroni seemed to tremble with wonder and delight.

Padre Giacomo and his brethren turned to depart; their vocation was at an end, but the blessings of the husband, the father, and the mother, followed their footsteps, and were repeated by the poor.

When the Queen of England gives birth, and taxes poor England with a prince or a princess, the Duke of Wellington, the Lord Chancellor, a high and mighty posse comitatus of lords and ministers are wont to attend.

None of these, and none such, were present when Signora Ruffo presented a son and heir to the maker of macchèroni; but notwithstanding this, there was ample record; there were enough of witnesses to attest the miracle which saved a mother's life, and gave birth to Master Ruffo. Long life and good luck to the boy! May he be a blessing to his parents, and may he make as good macchèroni as his father-better were impossible.

A SHORT BIOGRAPHY OF A GENTLEMAN

FROM IRELAND.

BY W. H. MAXWELL, ESQ.

66
AUTHOR OF STORIES OF WATERLOO," ETC.

THIS is, or rather has been, a wonderful age for rail-roads and biographies. Fortunately, the mania for the one has subsided, or the United Kingdoms,-the Highlands and immediate vicinity of Plinlimmon excepted,-would, when viewed on a clear day from a balloon, in the endless iron interlineations of the surface, have exhibited the correct similitude of an overgrown gridiron, or a Scottish plaid. Railways have had their day-would we could say as much touching obituaries -for the latter outrage upon the public, so far from being abated, seems to be fearfully on the increase. If a dancing-master die, his son and successor places the full particulars of his lamented father's dietary and doings, and with all possible dispatch, before the world—and, in the dramatic line, even a clown is considered good for six or seven hundred pages,-tumbling and twaddle, of course, being the staple articles. Deceased statesmen, who, during a long life, conducted themselves so harmlessly that nobody ever heard of them, are evoked by some greatgrand-daughter from the tomb. Generals, extremely peaceable in the flesh, are placed as large as life again upon the field, and that, too, after the repose of a long century. Any post-captain in the Navy List is considered cheap at a post octavo; and, on the demise of an admiral, there is a regular rush among the literary gentlemen in the life line, to have the honour of touching off the defunct commander. No departed comedian is permitted to rest quietly in the grave; and even chancellors are summoned from the tomb, and reseated on the woolsack by their own successors.

In olden time, rest and the grave were considered to be things concurrent. Resurrectionists, it is said, have retired from businessbut no matter how humble and inoffensive a man may be, the tomb is no security at the present day against his being paraded before the public even by his own executors and heirs-at-law. In fact, nobody is safe from having his life taken-not by the sword-but the pen. In proper succession, we shall have "Memorials of Professor Morrison, by the President of the College of Health,"—" Secret Correspondence of Mr. Keeley with Mr. Buckstone, extracted from the Original MSS.," "The Life and Times of Michael Gibbs, Alderman and Citizen of London," and "The Remains of Emanuel Moses, Marine Merchant, by his Son and successor in the business." There will be "A Voice from Bermuda," on the demise of the first Irish patriot who may shuffle off this mortal coil; and overtures have been made to Mr. Joseph Ady, by a young and spirited publisher in the Row, to obtain the early particulars of the private history of that distinguished philanthropist, at the request of half a dozen gentlemen of great erudition and research, to enable them to present a biography, and the whole of his invaluable and unredeemed correspondence to the world, in twenty-seven quarto volumes, uniform in size with the last and corrected edition of the Encyclopedia Edinensis.