amounted to ferocity. Pietro was a clever fisherman, and was looked upon by his younger companions as a leader and wit among them. Unfortunately, all his tastes were those of a tyrant; he would laugh and torment Giannetto unceasingly, imitating the inarticulate sounds the poor fellow made, jeering and taunting him, till he worked him up into fury. The village lads were only too ready to follow his lead, and the consequence was, that Giannetto's temper, never very gentle, became more gloomy and morose every day, too often varied by fits of unbridled passion. In vain for many years had the priest striven to repress this spirit of cruel raillery; although controlled in his presence, it broke out universally when he was not near. It is fair to say that I believe that Pietro and his fellow-tormentors little realised the pain they inflicted. They were cruel, partly from thoughtlessness, and a good deal from utter inability to understand the acute sensitiveness of the dumb boy, who, proud and disposed to be vindictive by nature, suffered from the humiliation of his infirmity to an unusual degree.

At the age of nineteen, three years before I first came across him, Giannetto had saved money enough to buy a boat, and release himself from his partnership with Pietro. He succeeded well in his trade, and his mother and the Curato had great hopes that he would settle down resigned to his fate, and live, if not in content, at least in submission to the decree of heaven; but, to their sorrow, it proved far other wise. The good priest would often hold long conversations with him, telling him of the duty of resignation; but the truths of religion seemed to have no effect upon him -his heart was one wild rebellion, untamed and unruly; and it was in

this condition of mind that I first found him.

We reached Nice before the great heat of the day set in, on a Sunday morning; but it was already hot and very dusty, and I was not sorry to consign Giannetto to the care of my Italian servant Beppo, and retire to wash and change my clothes. My daughters, not expecting my return till the following day, had gone to church; and so, tired with my early start, and rendered drowsy by the increasing heat, I lay down on Helen's luxurious sofa and fell asleep.

I was awakened by the entrance of Beppo, who came to ask for orders. I told him I had none to give; but he still lingered, and at last said, "Does the Signor Conte know anything about the young country lad he has brought home?"

Knowing that Beppo was the kindest-hearted fellow in the world, I told him briefly the history of Giannetto. I saw that he was touched.

Dia

"Poor boy, poor fellow!" he kept' repeating; " and I smiled at the queer noises he makes, beast that I am! And the Signore says that they mocked at him? mine! they deserve to have their tongues cut! If you will excuse me, I fly to see that they have not stinted him in his macaroni. They are misers in this hotel, veritable misers-and their wine of Asti no better than a vin du pays."

Beppo was darting off, when I stopped him, being anxious to know what Giannetto was doing with himself down-stairs. Beppo twisted his hands together-"It was for that I asked the Signore Conte if he knew who and what he was. is strange! but very strange! First, he sits down, then he stands up, then he walks backwards and forwards thus "-and Beppo shambled about the room, till I could scarcely

He

forbear laughing; "then he sits again, till a new idea strikes him he leans out of the window, he

walks anew. Corpo di Bacco!

what a restless individual it is! One or two have spoken to him. Misé Brown, the maid of the Signorine, said something to him-a compliment, a remark, who can tell? -but he made such a scowl at her, that she fled to me for protection, and has not ventured into the room since."

"Never mind, Beppo," I said; "you now know that it is all the restlessness of suspense. You see that he hopes that this may prove the turning point of his whole life."

asked

"But must he wait?" Beppo, with his usual energy. "Will not the Signor Conte write at once? There is the Doctor Bartolommei; to be sure he always goes into the country on Sundays. Then the Doctor Simon-he might come! But no, he is this day at Mentone-a consultation-an English Milord is there ill; and this morning he was sent for even out of his bed, and went off in a vetturinocarriage at full gallop. But how about the English doctor who at tends our young lady? The Signor Conte has but to command I speed to the English church; he will be there with his wife; I wait till he comes out; I bring him with

me.

Have I your permission?" "Patience, patience, Beppo! the dinner! Man of energy, you forget the dinner!-Chi va piano

"Va sano; the Signor Conte is right-he is quite right; the poor lad must wait."

Early in the afternoon I wrote to the English doctor who was attending my daughter, briefly stating the case, and begging him to come as 800n as possible. I received an answer that I might expect him after the afternoon service, which,

as the weather was hot, began at five o'clock.

About half-past four, Amy and I left our villa, intending to go to church; but as it was still too early, we lingered on our way, unwilling to arrive too soon. A curve in the road brought us in sight of Giannetto, leaning moodily against a tree, and I went up to speak to him. I could see by the expression of his face that the strain on his nerves was very great, and thought it kinder not to leave him quite to himself; so, telling Amy that we must give up the afternoon service, I asked her if she could think of anything we could take him to hear or see that would prevent his mind from dwelling too much on the subject of his anxieties. Amy thought for a moment, and then said, "I have heard that the famous Franciscan Fra Geronimo preaches at Santa Lucia this afternoon at four o'clock; the sermon must be going on now, and it is said that the effect he produces is wonderful. Why not take him there?" I thought that at all events we might try it; so, desiring Giannetto to follow us, we took our way to Santa Lucia. The streets were crowded as we passed; all the happy-looking peasants from the country round seemed to have flocked together to enjoy the Sunday afternoon; they' chattered gaily as they strolled along, interchanging merry greetings, delighting in their well-earned holiday. A little child, with his hands full of flowers, passed us with his mother, a comely peasant-woman: the child looked wistfully over his shoulder at Giannetto; something on his face gave him a wish to comfort him, for suddenly darting back, he thrust the flowers into his hands.

We reached Santa Lucia, and found it full of people, who had thronged from far and near to hear the celebrated Franciscan preach.

The sermon was apparently half over, but I would not for worlds have missed the part of it we heard. The theme was Patience; the text, "Wait ye upon the Lord."

The face of Fra Geronimo was refined, and thin to attenuation; the large eyes hollow and sunken, but gleaming as if the very soul looked through them upon this outer world; his thin, nervous hands gesticulated incessantly; his voice, powerful and somewhat harsh, now resounded through the church, now sank to a whisper so thrilling that it penetrated to the farthest

corner.

"For what are we sent into the world?" he was saying as we entered -"for what are we here? To what end are we created? Some say, to eat and drink; some say, to make money; some say, to love. There are who say, for pleasure; there are who say, for sin! I say -to suffer. Yes, brethren; I see you turn away your heads! For what are we sent, but to suffer? Look at the infant wailing as he comes into the world; mark the career of that child. Suffering begins at once; he suffers as he grows, he suffers as he learns, he suffers as he loves; behold, he suffers as he lives, he suffers as he dies! What would you? By suffering, the world was redeemed; by suffering, heaven must be won! And wherefore rebel? I say to you, brethren, take suffering to your hearts; bid it welcome. It is the greatest blessing that can be sent to you; it will wean you from this world, and raise your thoughts, your hopes, your prayers to heaven. You are men now-suffer, and you may be saints! Look on St. Catherine, St. John, St. Peter-what were they but men and women like ourselves? Did not they, too, pass through the furnace of suffering? What are they now? Who can tell of the glory of

the Kingdom? Who can describe their robes of many colours, the jewels that adorn their brows? Behold," he cried, in a voice of thunder, bringing forward the large crucifix which stood in the pulpit"behold, and see! Is there any sorrow like unto my sorrow? Alas! the flesh is weak, and crying and wailing abound in the land-Rachel weeping for her children, and will not be comforted, because they are not. The dying wailing because they must die; the living weeping that they must live; the strong mau laments that his strength endureth not, the weak that he has not known strength; the lame man bemoaneth that he cannot walk, the deaf that he cannot hear, the dumb that he cannot speak (I felt Giannetto start and shiver). "I tell you, brethren, that for every pain endured here, a jewel is added to the crown, a joy to the heaven to come!"

The friar sank upon his knees, his face hidden in his hands. No mortal ear heard the prayer that was going up to God; but we knew that he was interceding for the multitude around him "I pray, not that ye may be taken away, but that ye may endure unto the end."

I

Slowly, and in awed silence, the crowd dispersed; and out of the dark church, from the faint smell of flowers and incense, we passed into full sunshine again. I looked at Giannetto: the beads of perspiration stood on his brow; his hands were clenched with a force that must have given actual pain. longed for the power of reading what was passing in his mind. Was it still rebellion that vexed his spirit, or had even a faint idea of the preacher's high and lofty meaning penetrated into the bitter, saddened heart? Amy was struggling with her tears.

Calm and lovely it all looked in the throbbing light, silent but for

the quiet, even plash of the sea; the air was heavy with odours from the gardens of violets and roses, and the warm scent of the sweetbay rose up as we trod the branches which had been allowed to grow too luxuriantly, almost across the path. Under the verandah, overhung with cool, shadowy vine leaves, Helen's couch had been drawn out; and there she lay, basking in the warmth, and looking better and stronger this evening than I had seen her for many a long day. The doctor had just arrived, and, with a strange feeling of anxiety and excitement, I called Giannetto, and led the way indoors.

As

The interview was not long. I had feared, he held out no hopes whatever. Dumb from his birth! who had ever heard of such being cured? The fact which seemed to debar all hope was, that the doctor found the organs of speech perfect, only the power of utterance absent. He added, "You had better unde. ceive him at once-science is of no avail here; nothing but a miracle could impart a power denied by nature."

My conscience smote me when I heard the verdict. I could not help feeling that it might have been better to have left Giannetto undisturbed, vaguely hopeful, in his village-home, rather than thus to have crushed all hope for ever.

After the English doctor's departure, I told Giannetto, as gently as I could, what he had said, adding that he should see Dr. Simon on the morrow, so that he should have more than one opinion on the matter. He stood without moving while I was speaking, and then, with a gentle, subdued manner, that went to my heart and brought the tears to my eyes, he took my hand and kissed it.

When Beppo came up to put out the lights that night, I asked anxiously what Giannetto was doing down-stairs. "He sits like a statue," was the reply. "I spoke to him; I told him the English doctors knew nothing-were ignorants -bah! one must tell lies sometimes-and I tell him the Doctor Simon, whom he will see to-morrow, is a marvel-a wonder; and I think he still hopes."

Beppo's sympathetic eyes were almost overflowing; so I did not reproach him, as perhaps I ought to have done, for still holding out delusive hopes.

The next morning M. Simon, the French doctor, called and saw Giannetto, at an hour earlier than he had appointed, and unfortunately while I was out. When I returned home I was met by Beppo at the door, with a face full of consternation-Giannetto had disappeared.

these doctors; they think if a poor fellow is of the lower class they may be as insolent to him as they like." "And Giannetto, how did he bear it?"

"Poor fellow, he ground his teeth and clenched his hands; he went off to the kitchen, took down his bundle, and walked off without so much as good-day to you! I called after him to bid him be in for dinner, for I was sure that the Signor Conte would wish to see him again; but he paid no attention, and walked straight on."

This was all I could learn from Beppo. I next went to see Dr. Simon, whom I found very much disposed to be impertinent. I could not help reproaching him strongly for his harsh treatment of Giannetto, and finally told him of his abrupt departure, and asked him what he would feel if he heard that he had committed suicide? He looked as much scared as I had hoped he would be, notwithstanding his "Ah, bah!" and I left him to digest the unpalatable idea.

I was met by Beppo in a sort of triumph, brandishing a broken piece of slate. Before leaving, Giannetto had written a few words on it, broken off the piece, and left it lying on the kitchen table. "Dear and noble Sir," were his words, "receive my thanks a thousand times; it grieves me not to see you! again. I hasten home; for the heart will not bear to wish you good-bye.-GIOVAN-BATTISTA NEN

CINI."

There was nothing to be done. I determined to make another expedition to San Jacopo before finally leaving Nice, and meantime to do my best to forget the sad eyes that constantly haunted me.

The late autumn waned into winter, and it proved a bad, wet season, Helen caught fresh cold, and for some time we were very anxious

about her. We grew tired of bustling, dusty Nice-Amy especially hated it; the perpetual sameness of the tideless sea wearied and dispirited her. It was quite a relief when, one night, a frightful storm came up; the sea lashed itself into waves mountains high, which broke roaring on to the beach; the lightning played hissing over their foamcrowned tops; and a never-ceasing roll of thunder shook the purple pall-like sky. I stood out on the balcony, watching the sea, till the rain came on, suddenly, tremendously; it fell more like the breaking of a waterspout than mere raindrenching, pitiless, tearing down shrubs and trees, turning the roads into running rivers, and the garden into a sheet of water.

I stood watching it for a long time, wondering whether it would do much harm, when it flashed across me that San Jacopo must be suffering severely, closed in as it was by rocks and sea. Before going to bed, I resolved to pay another visit to my friends there. But l'homme propose, Dieu dispose. It was more than a month before I was able to leave Nice and carry out my intention. As before, I walked there, knapsack on my back, spending about three nights on the way. The storm had done considerable damage to the main road, portions of which had been washed away, and only rudely mended to allow the diligences to run; some of the bridges appeared actually dangerous, torn and shaken as they had been by the fearful force of the swollen torrents. Seeing these signs of devastation, I became more uneasy than ever as I drew near San Jacopo.

It was on a bright sunny morning that I arrived, and at sight of me a general shout was raised by children of all sizes and ages, who went rushing off to tell the Curato