Tales of the Wonder Club, Volume II

by M. Y. Halidom

CHAPTER III.

The Three Pauls.[7]—The Artist's Third Story.

During my travels in Italy I happened once to be sojourning for some time in an obscure and sequestered Italian village high up in the Apennines, that chain of mountains which runs through the entire peninsular like the backbone of some antediluvian monster.

They are curious places, those Italian villages, with their tall, narrow houses and small windows, built up the slant of a mountain like steps of stairs. Their quaint roofs, balconies, arches, and buttresses, with at every step some rustic shrine containing a rude painting or representation of the Virgin Mary (the Madonna as they call her) or other saint. The narrow, dirty, ill-paved streets, the tumbling-down houses, from the windows of which the picturesque but dirty inhabitants may almost shake hands with one another across the road.

Then the odd nooks and angles in the by-streets that meet the stranger's eye on either hand as he ascends the uneven and slippery path-way leading to the highest point of view, which is generally crowned by some ruined feudal castle or fort built upon a rock and overgrown with ivy. They have a distinct character of their own, these mountain villages, and are as unlike as possible to anything seen in England. A mere verbal description is inadequate to give the faintest idea of their extreme picturesqueness. They require to be seen, and when this is impossible, a picture or sketch must give the next best idea of them to the mind of the stranger. I have several studies in oil-colour of these places within my portfolio, which you may look at for a moment if you like.

There, you see that it is quite unlike anything you ever saw before. Look at those figures in the foreground, how picturesque and yet how simple their costume is! Well, but to proceed: the village where I was staying, when the fact that I am about to relate occurred, was one of the sort you see here. Ah! here is a sketch of the very place, and there is the name of it written underneath. I remember that it had a certain celebrity in the country round about it, as the cathedral (!) in the chief piazza or square boasted of a miraculous picture of the Madonna, that had the reputation of turning up its eyes, and in this manner contrived to heal great numbers among the faithful who were blind, deaf and dumb, maimed, halt, or lame.

I cannot say that I ever witnessed one of these miracles, but that may have been from my want of faith; yet the tales that I heard of miraculous cures from persons of some repute, the arch-priest of the parish amongst the number, were most startling.

I had taken up my quarters in a comfortable rustic inn, not in the town itself, but on a separate hill in an isolated spot, being built in its own grounds, fertile with olive trees, which grew up the sides of the hill nearly to the door of the house.

The inn was frequented almost entirely by artists. Sometimes we were a large company, composed of all nations, when we would dine together "al fresco" under the shade of the vine which formed a verandah on one side of the house. At other times I would be left alone in the inn. The hill on which I lived commanded an extensive view of the surrounding mountains, including the township with its old ivy-grown tower overlooking all, and which appeared as if it were sliding down the mountain side.

I experienced an indescribable feeling of delight in rambling alone through this romantic scenery on a hot summer's day, beneath a perfectly cloudless sky, without a breath of wind to rustle the leaves of the shady trees, amidst a solitude like that of the desert, and a silence unbroken save by the chirping of the birds and the chattering of the cicala, or at intervals, perchance, the distant shepherd's pipe, or the wild barbaric chant of the mountaineer. With what rapture, I remember, would I step from crag to crag, trampling the bush and bramble under my feet, and startling away the green lizards in my path! Quaffing the beauties of nature at every step, the dreamy influence of the balmy atmosphere intensifying my feelings for the beautiful to an abnormal degree.

It was on one of these sultry days during my rambles that I was taking shelter from the burning sun under the shade of a wide-spreading oak, reclining lazily on the soft moss, and listening to the chirping of the grass-hoppers, when my ear was attracted by the sound of the bleating of goats, and shortly afterwards I heard the voices of two peasants which seemed familiar to me. They were discoursing together in the dialect of their own village, a very different lingo from the pure Tuscan, and perfectly unintelligible to one lately coming from Rome, yet a prolonged stay in these parts rendered it familiar to me. I recognised the voices as belonging, one of them to a goatherd who supplied me with milk in the morning, the other to a peasant who possessed a vineyard, a small barrel of whose wine I had bought the day before.

"Ohè! Antonio," cried Guiseppe, the goatherd, to his friend, "so I hear you have sold a quarteruolo of wine to the Signor Inglese (the English gentleman) who lives on the hill."

"Well, Compar,"[8] said his friend, "and what of that?"

"I suppose you made him pay well for it, eh?" demanded the goatherd.

"Well," answered Antonio, "I make my friends pay sixteen pauls the quarteruolo, but he, being an Englishman, I charged double."

"What!" exclaimed the goatherd, "thirty-two pauls for a quarteruolo!"

"Ay, and he paid me money down without haggling about the price, like one of our 'paini.'[9] These Englishmen are real gentlemen—they let themselves be cheated without wincing. Those are the sort of men I like to deal with. I was quite angry with myself afterwards at not having asked four times the sum; he would be sure to have paid me."

"Accidente! what a swindler!" exclaimed Guiseppe. "Well, they tell me these English roll in wealth; that gold is as common in their country as beans here. They say the streets are paved with it. How I should like to go to those parts, and come back with my pockets filled with the gold that these idiots throw away like dross. I wouldn't fatigue myself all day long in the mountains for a piece of 'maritozza'[10] or a dish of 'polenta.'"[11]

"Ha! ha!" laughed Antonio, "I've no doubt of it. I should like to see you with money, friend Peppe. You'd make a rare use of it."

"Per Bacco! wouldn't I?" answered the goatherd; "you wouldn't catch me sober again until the day of my death. If I could sell my milk to the Englishman at the rate you sell your wine, I'd soon make my fortune."

"Well," said Antonio, "I would try it on if I were you. Perhaps milk isn't to be had in his country."

"Perhaps not," said the goatherd, musingly. "It must be a curious country from all accounts. They tell me they never see the sun from one year's end to the other, and, indeed, how can they, when the sun is here all day? I hear, too, that the fog is so thick that you are obliged to cut it through with a knife as you go along the streets, and that the inhabitants are obliged to burn lamps all day long."

"Yes, I have heard so, too," answered Antonio, "and that they have no wine in their country. Well, upon the whole, I'd sooner live where I am."

"Ah, but the gold that is to be found about the streets," said Guiseppe, "you forget that."

"What would be the good of all the gold, if there is no wine to buy with it?" replied Antonio. "I am very well content to live by the sale of my wine——"

"At the rate you sell it to Englishmen, I've no doubt," broke in Peppe, with a laugh.

"Well, my friend, of course we all try to get what we can, where we can, and how we can," pleaded Antonio. "That's only business. I'd be a fool if I didn't."

"Well, Compar, I suppose we are all much alike in that; but don't you think that after having cheated the Englishman out of all that money, you could lend me three pauls?"[12]

"Ah, Peppe, you rascal, I thought that was coming," laughed Antonio. "What! lend you three pauls! Why, when do you think you would be able to pay me?"

"Well, I make two pauls a day by the sale of my milk and go halves with my padrone.[13] That is a paul a day for us apiece. In three days, therefore, I shall be able to pay you the entire sum. If I can manage to gull the Englishman, I may pay you sooner," responded the goatherd.

"Ah! Peppe," said Antonio, "I know you to be a slippery customer. How am I to be sure you will pay me within that time?"

"I give you my word of honour," cried Peppe.

"Ho! ho! what is that worth?" laughed his friend.

"May I die of an accident, if I don't! May the earth open and swallow me up! May the Madonna cause my mouth to fall off if I fail in my word. May——"

"There; that is enough," interrupted his friend. "Here are the three pauls. Take them, and if you fail to pay me back in three days' time—not one hour later, may all the curses that you have invoked upon yourself be fulfilled."

This was all I overheard of the dialogue. Shortly after this they must have separated, as I heard soon the voice of the goatherd in the distance, chanting in that wild strain, with a prolonged dwelling on the last note peculiar to the peasantry in the Italian mountains.

It was past midday when I rose from my mossy couch and sauntered leisurely home, where, having partaken of a light lunch, I continued working upon my picture—a large landscape—until sundown. I was at that time the only guest at the inn, and I have no doubt that mine host and his family made as much out of me as they could in one way or another, yet they were as honest as the people in those parts mostly are, and when not occupied with writing home I was in the habit of joining the family circle after supper, when they entertained me with the gossip of the village and stories of brigands, by whom the country was much infested, while I, in return for their information, related to them many things about my own country, my travels, etc. The conversation that I had overheard that morning, however, between the goatherd and his friend I deemed not of sufficient importance to relate to the family; in fact, I had forgotten all about it before I reached the inn.

The unscrupulous manner in which people cheated among these simple seeming peasantry rather amused than annoyed me. And as for the simple incident of one peasant borrowing three pauls from another, it was a fact so uninteresting to me, that I never gave the matter a second thought.

Little did I imagine that the transaction of the three pauls that I by chance overheard that morning was to be the commencement of one of the drollest waggeries that ever came within my experience.

It was more than a week after the incident that I have related occurred that I left my inn one morning to paint out of doors at the distance of a mile or so. As I journeyed along the road, laden with my painting materials, I came in sight of the goatherd's hut, built upon a hill, and though it was yet distant, I descried a figure in the act of leaving the hut, but which I could distinctly see was not the goatherd.

The figure had descended the hill, reached the road, and was then making towards me. I had now no difficulty in recognising my friend of whom I had bought the wine. He appeared to be anything but in good spirits, for he advanced scratching his head and with his eyes fixed on the ground.

This was our first meeting since our transaction of the barrel of wine, and had I been in a less good humour I might have taxed him with swindling me in good round terms, but with the fresh morning air in my face and the enchanting landscape around me, I felt in no humour to quarrel with anyone. I thought, however, I would make him aware that I knew how he had served me without losing my temper.

"Buon giorno, Antonio,"—(Good-day, Anthony)—I said, cheerfully.

"Ah! Eccellenza; buon giorno," replied he, with a sickly attempt at a smile.

"You seem a little out of spirits, eh?" said I. "Now, what would you say if I could read your thoughts?"

"You read my thoughts, Eccellenza! You joke with me."

"No," replied I; "without joking I will tell you what is passing in your mind. You have just come from the house of Guiseppe the goatherd, and you are disappointed because he has not paid you the three pauls that he promised to pay you after three days. Am I right?"

"Per Bacco!" exclaimed Antonio. "Surely your Excellency is a saint, and it has been revealed to you. How else could you have known that?"

"Does that surprise you," said I. "What would you say if I could tell you more? If I could tell you the day and the hour that you lent the three pauls to your friend? What would you say if I told you it was last Tuesday week in the forenoon, and how you first hesitated to lend the money, having some doubt as to your friend's integrity, but how, after having invoked certain curses on his own head in default of his not being able to pay, you at length yielded, and lent him the three pauls?"

"Diavolo! Eccellenza must be a saint indeed to know all that," cried the peasant, dumbfounded.

"Would you like to know more?" I asked. "At the expiration of the three days you have been regularly every morning to the house of the goatherd, expecting to receive the three pauls, and each time he has sent you away with a different excuse."

"O anime sante mie del Purgatorio!"[14] exclaimed the peasant, crossing himself devoutly. "Either your Excellency is a saint, or you have the demon within you."

"Ha! say you so?" said I. "I will even venture to prophecy that you will never get the three pauls."

"Oh, pray don't say that, Signor. Pray don't say that I shall never be paid. Why should your Excellency think so?" asked the peasant, dismally.

"Why! do you ask? Because the saints love you not," said I.

"How, Signor? Was that also revealed to you? Why should they not love me? How have I merited their wrath?" he asked, whiningly.

"By charging me twice the sum you charge other people for that quarteruolo of wine, and for repenting afterwards that you had not asked me four times the sum, as, being an Englishman, you thought to get it out of me."

"Corpo di San Antonio di Padova!"[15] cried the peasant, casting up his eyes. "Is nothing to be hid from you? Well, Eccellenza, what serves it to deny the truth, since you know everything? I am a poor man, and when an opportunity occurs for bettering myself, I am apt to do what most men do who know what want is."

"Well, my friend," said I "you will find through life that 'honesty is the best policy,' and that 'cheats never prosper,' at least, for long. For when the cheat is discovered, his reputation is lost for ever, while the honest man who sticks steadily to his labour, and puts aside his scanty earnings, not wasting them in drinking or gambling, in the end is blessed by the saints who give him fortune."

"That is most true," replied the peasant. "Eccellenza has spoken like the preacher," and seizing my hand, he kissed it, and was about to proceed on his journey.

"Stay," said I. "Would you like to earn two pauls?"

"Willingly, Eccellenza; but how?" he asked.

"Help me to carry these traps to my camping place, and carry them back again when I return this evening," said I.

Without further parley he relieved me of my burden, and we both trudged on together.

At first we walked on in silence, but after the first half-mile, to relieve the monotony of the walk, I began to question my companion as to the reception his friend Guiseppe had given him and the excuses he had made for not being able to pay his debt.

"Well, Eccellenza," he began, "you, who know everything, are well aware that I called at Peppe's house at the time appointed for the payment of the debt, and that not being able to pay me, he excused himself by saying that the goats had given so little milk, that he could not fulfil his promise as he expected, but he promised faithfully to repay me on the morrow. I called the next day, when he begged me to be patient with him, as he had lost the money through a hole in his pocket. I was annoyed at this, but called again on the morrow, hoping at least to get a portion of the money back; but no such luck. This time he pleaded that his wife had been suddenly seized with the fever, and begged me not to be too hard upon him.

"'Then take care that she is better to-morrow,' said I, 'for I want my money.'

"The next day (that was yesterday) I called again, and his wife informed me that her husband had caught the fever, and was dangerously ill. She hoped, however, that it would soon pass over, and he would be able to pay me as he had promised. I went again this morning to Peppe's house as usual for the money, when his wife came out to me with tears in her eyes, to inform me that her husband died last night. I began to lose patience, and said that, dead or alive, I meant to have my three pauls back; and off I went, cursing and swearing. It was then that your Excellency met me."

As Antonio finished speaking we had already arrived at our camping place, and I commenced arranging my painting materials. The latter part of Antonio's narrative immensely amused me, as I had both seen and spoken to Peppe that morning early when he brought the milk as usual to the door of the inn, and he never looked in better health in his life. I remember upbraiding him for putting water in the milk, and telling him not to try on his tricks with me, as Englishmen knew what good milk was, adding that if I caught him at it again, I should change my goatherd. I suppose something like a smile must have passed over my countenance at the idea of Peppe pretending to be dead, in order to get off paying three pauls, for Antonio, eyeing me narrowly, said,

"What say you, Eccellenza? You know everything. Tell me if Peppe is really dead, or whether this is also a pretence."

I put on a wise look, and said, looking him full in the face, "I know him to be alive."

"Ha! say you so, Eccellenza?" cried Antonio, starting up from his seat on the ground. "Then per Crispo![16] I'll murder him when I catch him."

"There is no occasion to do that, my friend," said I. "You will not get your three pauls back the sooner if he hasn't the money."

"I'll go to his house again, though, if your Excellency can dispense with my services for the present," said Antonio, "in the hopes of catching him; though, if he is alive, he will be away in the mountains, feeding his goats; but no matter, I'll enter the house and see for myself if the bed is empty or no."

"Go then," said I, "and return in an hour to let me know the result of your visit."

Off started Antonio, as fleetly as the wind, and before I could have thought it possible, returned without appearing out of breath.

"Well?" said I, working steadily on my picture without looking up.

"Well, Eccellenza," he began, "I went straight to the house, and tried the door, but it was locked, and there was no one within. I peeped through the window, but could not catch a glimpse of the bed. I descended the hill in a rage, when at some little distance, I saw Peppe's wife. I ran to her and told her that I wanted to speak to her husband, as I had found out that he was living. She persisted in saying that it was false, and that her husband lay dead in his bed."

"'Then let me see the corpse,' said I.

"She replied that she was not going to fatigue herself to mount the hill again to show me the corpse. That if I didn't choose to believe her, I needn't.

"'Give me the key of the house, then,' said I, 'that I may go in and satisfy myself.'

"She replied that she never trusted anyone with the key of her house, and turned away.

"I then lost my temper, and told her that both she and her husband were a couple of swindlers, who had schemed to defraud me of my money. Then she burst into tears again, and said that if I really wished to be convinced that her husband was dead, I might go to the church myself this evening, where the corpse of her husband would be lying in state,[17] and that I might hide myself in one of the confessionals, and watch all night to see if he moved at all, and that if he stirred ever so little, never to believe her again.

"Now, you see, Eccellenza, how artful women are. She hopes in that way to intimidate me and to make me believe that her husband is dead in real earnest. She fancies that I would be frightened to spend a whole night inside the church with a corpse, and that I won't go. If, then, I should call at her house to-morrow she would be sure to tell me that her husband was already buried. I do not for a moment believe that her husband will be exposed in the church all night, feigning to be dead; but, just to give her the lie, I am determined to do just as she says, and hide myself in one of the confessionals, that I may be able to tell her that I passed the night in the church, and there was no corpse to be seen."

"Do so, my friend," said I. "I am most curious to hear how this affair ends."

As we were discoursing together Antonio suddenly broke short his discourse.

"Hark, Signor!" he cried. "Do you hear? Those are death-bells that are tolling in the village. Can someone really have died, or has Peppe's wife set them tolling to impose upon me all the more? What say you, Signor? Would she carry out the joke as far as all that?"

"There is nothing like doing a thing well," I answered, evasively.

"I shall be able to find out from the sacristan for whom he has been tolling the bell this morning," said Antonio, "and if that knave of a Peppe is not dead yet, may I die of an accident if I don't worry him to the death. You must know, Eccellenza, that three pauls to us poor devils is a consideration, unimportant though the sum may be alla vostra Signoria.[18] What a conscience the man must have to try and swindle me out of what I lent him in friendship, after swearing to me on his word of honour and invoking all sorts of curses on his own head if he failed to pay me on the day he promised! Had not your Excellency positively assured me that he still lives, I should be inclined to think that he had died in real earnest, as a punishment for his broken faith."

I was amused at the word "conscience" from the lips of a man like Antonio, and the old fable of "the pot calling the kettle black" flashed across my mind. We are wonderfully alive to the weak points of others' consciences where our own interests are concerned, but are too often wanting in equal rigour over ourselves. How true is that parable in Scripture of the mote and the beam!

In order to proceed with my narrative, I must pass on to the following day. Feeling slightly indisposed from a fever on waking that morning—nothing serious, but just enough to prevent me from painting out-of-doors, as I had intended—I kept my bed later than usual, and called to my landlady to bring me a basin of broth.

As she entered my bedchamber with the steaming fluid, I noticed by the animated expression of her face that she had news of unusual importance to communicate to me.

"Oh, Signor!" she exclaimed, as she hastened to place the broth on a table beside me, "what do you think has happened in the village? A miracle! a miracle! nothing short of a miracle, blessed be the Madonna. Si Signor," she added, in answer to a smile that she observed on my countenance, "one of the most wonderful miracles that ever our blessed Virgin has deigned to vouchsafe to us, her unworthy servants. Blessed be her holy name for all eternity!"

"Well," said I, calmly sipping my broth, "another miracle! let's hear it."

"Ah! Signor, you do not believe in miracles," said the hostess; "but how will you deny this? Just hear. You may not have heard, perhaps, that poor Peppe the goatherd died suddenly of a fever, and was laid out in the church, where he remained all last night. Some robber, towards the morning, broke into the church, and would have robbed the alms-box. He had succeeded in unscrewing it from the wall and bursting it open—at least, I presume so, for how else could he have got to the money?—and was seated on the ground, counting his gains—a most incredible amount, chiefly consisting of gold. I am sure I don't know where it all came from, for only yesterday when I put in a baiocco[19] myself, the sound it made showed me that it was all but empty. Well, as I was saying, he was counting his gains by the light of the candle, placed at the head of the corpse, when our blessed lady caused life to return to the defunct, who, leaping up suddenly from his bier, seized the robber by the throat, and called aloud for help. Our honest Peppe held the sacrilegious miscreant as in a vice until the sacristan entered the church to light the candles. You may imagine, Signor, the dismay of the sacristan at seeing the corpse that had been laid out in the church all the previous evening, now resuscitated, and holding in his grasp the wretch who had attempted to defraud the church of the alms that pious souls had given to support her.

"The worthy sacristan had not recovered from his surprise when the people began to pour in by twos and threes to hear mass, all of them starting and falling back in horror at the spectacle before them.

"'A miracle! a miracle!' cried the sacristan, at length. 'Behold the Virgin has been merciful to us. Blessed be the name of the Madonna!'

"At that instant the arch-priest himself entered, attired in his robes.

"'What is this?' he cried, in astonishment, retreating several steps. 'Holy saints! was not this the corpse laid out in the church last evening?'

"Here the sacristan broke in.

"'A miracle, Signor Arciprete, a miracle! a most undeniable miracle. I caught this robber this morning attempting to rob the alms-box, when lo! it pleased the Madonna to give back life to the dead in order to save her holy church from being violated by sacrilegious hands.'

"The good Peppe, still holding fast the robber, informed the arch-priest and the congregation that every word the sacristan had spoken was true; that he had been dead, but had been miraculously called back to life again by the grace of our blessed Lady in order to secure the thief.

"'You lie! you lie! You know you lie!' gasped out the burglar, as he tried to free himself from the iron grasp of the resuscitated corpse. 'Impostor! knave! swindler,' he called out, nearly suffocated by the firm grip of Peppe.

"But his words were lost in the sensation caused by the crowd, who permitted no explanation on the part of the criminal. The guard having now arrived, he was walked off to prison amid the execrations of the crowd. The arch-priest, who, through all this scene had remained stupefied for a time, as well he might, at length broke silence.

"'There is some mystery that I am as yet unable to comprehend. I am informed by the sacristan that he discovered the burglar in the act of robbing the alms-box of the church, and the money on the ground that you all see, he avers to have been taken out of the alms-box. Now, in order to extract the money from the alms-box the thief must previously have broken it open, yet I see no marks of violence on the box of any kind.

"'Then there is another thing worthy of notice. The alms-box was emptied only last week, in order to distribute its contents amongst the poor. How comes it now, then, there appears such a large quantity of money, which, you see, consists chiefly of gold and silver, besides paper money; and that diamond ring I see, whence is that? I think it will be found that the heap of money on the ground will be too large a sum to enter into the box. If it cannot enter, how could it have come out of it?'

"'All the greater miracle,' cried the sacristan, devoutly.

"'True, true,' cried the people. 'A double miracle! Great is the power of the Madonna.'

"'Well, well, my people,' said the arch-priest, 'I own that I am puzzled beyond measure; nevertheless, as it has pleased our gracious Lady to let us find this goodly sum here in the middle of the church, it is clear that she has but one intention—namely, that the sum should be distributed for the glory of her name. Therefore, let the treasure be replaced in the alms-box for the enlargement and decoration of the church.'

"This decision of their pastor was approved of by the pious flock, and the sacristan hastened to fill the box with as much of the treasure as it was capable of containing, while still a large portion remained over. This, together with the diamond ring, the arch-priest took possession of, declaring that the whole sum should be used for the enlarging and fitting up of his church."

Having concluded her narrative, my worthy hostess perceived something like a smile of incredulity on my countenance, which seemed rather to irritate her. However, I comforted her by saying that I would investigate the matter myself, and if, after a careful and strict inquiry, I could not account for the whole matter by natural causes, I would then become as much a believer in the miracle as she was herself.

This seemed to pacify her, and she encouraged me in seeking every possible means to disprove it. Accordingly, in an hour's time I was up and dressed, and bending my steps towards the township. Part of this curious tale I had already accounted for in my own mind. That Peppe had not been dead, but had feigned to be so, that I knew. The supposed robber I concluded must be Antonio. I supposed that the latter, having discovered at length the imposition practised upon him by his companion, a quarrel had ensued, in the midst of which they had been surprised by the sacristan; but I could guess no more than this.

The affair of the treasure being found in the church completely puzzled me, and my curiosity being aroused, I set straight off to the house of the arch-priest, whom I knew intimately, to hear either the confirmation or confutation of my hostess's statement.

On passing the church in the chief piazza or square of this little town, I met the sacristan, whom, having been an eye-witness to the whole, I stopped and inquired as to the truth of the rumour that had spread so quickly throughout the village. He put on a sanctified look, crossed his hands upon his breast, and rolled up the white of his eyes, solemnly declaring that every word I had heard was true, that he himself had been an eye-witness to the whole affair from first to last.

Then, after recounting to me the whole proceedings in a long rigmarole, he wound up by calling on all the saints to open the ground under his feet to swallow him up, if what he spoke was not the truth. He then took his leave.

Now, I never did like the appearance of this sacristan. He was a young man, sallow and emaciated, with an extremely repulsive countenance and an expression of low cunning and avarice, which he sought to hide under an affectation of sanctity and cringing humility. He seemed unable to look you full in the face, though I often caught him observing me out of the corners of his half-closed eyes.

He would have been the last man in the world whose word I should have taken for gospel, and there was something in the manner in which he told his story that impressed me with the idea, that whatever mystery there might be connected with the discovered treasure, that he, in some way or another, was interested in the affair being regarded as a miracle. I therefore attached very slight importance to his testimony. In fact, I merely addressed him in the hopes of discovering some discrepancy in my hostess's narrative, being aware how much a story gains in telling; but, to my surprise, I found the two accounts remarkably consistent. A step or two further took me to the house of the arch-priest, which, being open, I entered, and was welcomed on the landing by that worthy.

"Ah! Signor Vandyke," he said—you are always called by your Christian name in Italy—"it is long since I've had the pleasure of seeing you. You do not often honour our humble township with your presence. You have been hard at work as usual, I suppose, eh?"

I replied that I had given myself a holiday for once in a way, not feeling in a humour for work, and had called upon him for the purpose of inquiring into the truth of a reported miracle in the village. Hereupon he beckoned me upstairs, made me sit down at a table, and pouring out for me a tumbler of his own wine from a huge jug, he proceeded to fill another for himself; then tapping his snuff-box, a priest's inseparable companion, and taking from it a copious pinch wherewith to clear his brain, this dignitary recited to me the whole story of the miracle, differing in little or nothing from the other accounts that I had heard of it. Knowing him to be a thoroughly trustworthy and conscientious man, I felt sure that he would not willingly deceive me; but fancying he might in some way or other have been deceived himself, I proceeded to cross-question him, though I could not find that he contradicted himself in anything.

When I asked if he could vouch for the occurrence being a miracle, he replied:

"I can only vouch for what I saw. The resuscitated corpse was holding the accused in his grasp, while I had the sacristan's word that the corpse had suddenly become re-animated under his very eyes, and had seized the burglar after he had succeeded in extracting the money from the alms-box. I must confess I am puzzled at the whole of that sum having been extracted from the coffer, when, with the greatest pains the sacristan could not replace more than half of it. I have the rest here, as you see, and with it a handsome diamond ring. That is the wonderful part, for who wears diamonds in these mountains?"

I was now perfectly sure of one thing namely, that the treasure had never been extracted from the alms-box at all, but had been found in some other manner. The testimony of the sacristan, as I have said before, weighed little or nothing with me. So far from it, indeed, that I began to see more clearly than ever that there had been some trick or imposture, at the bottom of which was the sacristan himself.

I did not give the arch-priest the result of my reflections, but restrained myself until I should obtain further evidence. We had discoursed for full a couple of hours on the subject, and when I rose to depart I told him that I was as complete a sceptic as before, as far as the miraculous character of the event was concerned, though I placed every reliance in his statement. I said I was perfectly sure of unveiling the mystery before long, and when I had done so I should at once let him know.

"And the delinquent," asked I, with my hand on the doorhandle, "where is he?"

"Locked up, to be sure; ready to be taken to-morrow to Gennazzano, there to await his trial."

"Could I exchange a word with him?"

"If you wish. I shall have to give you a line to the guard, in order to admit you. Just one moment,—here—with this pass they will let you enter."

"Thank you very much. Till we meet again—Addio."

It was now growing towards evening as I hastened my steps towards the lock-up house, where I delivered the arch-priest's note to the guard, who immediately gave orders to the turnkey to admit me. On entering the cell I found Antonio, as I had expected, pacing up and down dejectedly.

"Well, Antonio," said I, "I have come to have a chat with you and to hear all about the miracle that happened this morning."

"Ah! Signor, is it you?" cried he. "Now, was there ever an unluckier mortal on earth than I?"

"Nonsense," said I, "about being unlucky. I have come to comfort you in your trouble and to hear all about the miracle."

"Miracle! The devil a miracle," exclaimed Antonio. "They've miracled me within four walls, who am innocent as the babe unborn, whilst they have let go two of the greatest rascals in the village. It will be a miracle if I escape incarceration for life when I take my trial at Gennazzano."

"Come," said I, consolingly, "you must not look so gloomily at things. I will do what I can to get you off, but you must tell me exactly how the whole affair happened."

"Ah! that I will, Signor, and with pleasure," said he.

Walking me up and down his narrow cell, the turnkey waiting at the door with his bunch of keys the while, he began his story thus:—

"You will remember, Eccellenza, that before parting from you last, I informed you of my intention of concealing myself within the confessional of the church and to remain there all night, for the purpose of observing attentively if the would-be corpse of Peppe there laid out should make any movement or betray the slightest signs of life.

"At a late hour, therefore, when all was dark—that is to say, about three hours after Ave Maria—I entered the church, and there was my late friend attired as a corpse with a candle left burning at his head, as is the custom, you know, Signor, in these parts. I approached him, though not without a certain tremor, for to me there has always been something solemn and awful in being left alone with the dead, especially at midnight when the corpse is laid out in state in the middle of the church, with nothing but the feeble light of one candle to illumine its ghastly features.

"Nor did this feeling at all abate when I reflected, that in all probability the supposed corpse was not really dead, but only feigning to be so. If anything, I felt more terrified. However, I advanced steadily, and gazed full in the face of it. It was very pale, and perfectly motionless, and I began to think that this must be death, and that your Excellency had been mistaken in being so positive that my friend was yet alive.

"I fancied that perhaps you had seen his spirit and had mistaken it for himself in the flesh. I forebore to touch the corpse from that same feeling of awe that I have just described, and though at the time I was perfectly satisfied that he was really dead, yet I still resolved to sit up all night, concealed within the confessional, so as to be able to tell your Excellency on the morrow that I had fulfilled my promise.

"I accordingly shut myself in, and gazed steadfastly at the features of the corpse, never taking my eyes off all the time, in order to assure myself beyond a doubt whether this were really death or merely its counterfeit. I gazed long and intently, but in vain did I endeavour to discover the slightest breathing or other signs of life. Whether the dim light of one candle prevented me from seeing sufficiently well, I know not.

"All was silent as the tomb, and as I gazed in breathless suspense, hour after hour flew by, till at length I heard the old church clock toll forth the dread hour of midnight. The last stroke had hardly died away—How shall I describe to you my terror, oh, Signor?—when suddenly I heard the church doors violently shaken. You know how nervous one becomes in the dead of the night at hearing any sort of noise unexpectedly that one cannot account for. Imagine, then, my sensations, Eccellenza, if you can, when, hidden within the confessional at this witching hour of night, with every nerve on the stretch, and looking out into the solemn gloom of the church, illumined only by the solitary candle placed at the head of the corpse—when all honest peasants, with their families, were in bed and fast asleep, and the greatest silence reigned everywhere, suddenly to hear a bang and a crash at the old church doors, which soon gave way—you know how rotten they are, Signor—and there entered, cursing and swearing, a troop of—well, upon my soul, Signor, I took them to be emissaries of the arch-fiend, sent to secure the soul of the defunct.

"However, after having attentively examined their forms, which were hardly less wild than those of the foul fiends themselves, if all accounts of them be true, I satisfied myself that they were, after all, human—men of flesh and blood like ourselves. Signor, they were the brigands.

"I should say there were about a dozen of them, for I did not think of counting them, so great was my fright. They rushed helter-skelter into the church, and without as much as glancing at the corpse, seized the candle that stood burning near its head, and, striding towards the altar placed the candle thereon and proceeded to count their ungodly gains. I trembled in every limb; a cold sweat broke out on my forehead, and I felt my hair stand up, while my teeth chattered in my head.

"What would happen next? Would the Madonna send a thunderbolt to destroy these sacrilegious wretches, and perhaps myself at the same time? I quite expected something of the sort. I am sure it is quite a wonder that my hair hasn't turned white from the terrors I underwent last evening.

"Well, Eccellenza, I presume these ruffians, after having laid wait for the mail on the high road and robbed a number of poor gentlemen of all they had about them, had made off with their ill-gotten treasure in the dead of the night, and, passing through the village on their way, descried the glimmer of the candle through the chinks of the church door, and thought they would take this opportunity of dividing their spoil.

"The treasure was a goodly heap, consisting of gold, silver, and paper money, besides a few gold watches, which they all drew lots for, and a magnificent diamond ring, which the brigand chief claimed for himself.

"'Now, my men,' said he after an equal portion had been allotted to each, 'I think every man in my band has had a fair share of the booty. This ring alone I claim the right of disposing of as head of the band, seeing that it cannot be divided; yet, to show you all in what high estimation I hold fair play, and how loath I am to possess even a baiocco more than my valiant companions without deserving it, I will award this ring to the man who shall first succeed in hitting yon corpse on the nose with it, I myself taking share in the pastime, and as captain of the band claiming for myself the first shot.'

"Enthusiastic cheers greeted this decision of their chief, and the game began. The captain had the first throw, but missed. Then a second picked up the ring and also threw, but missed likewise. Then a third, with the same result, and so on, till the seventh, who, more dextrous than the rest, hit the corpse such a stinging whack on the nose that it suddenly jumped up, shook its head, extended its arms, and leaped down from the bier.

"You see, the rascal had been shamming, after all, sir, and, wearied out with feigning death, had actually gone to sleep. Now, although I was half prepared for such a resuscitation, the effect upon me was electrical; but I recovered from my surprise soon enough to enjoy the confusion of the brigands, who in their terror and dismay at what they took to be a miracle wrought by the saints on purpose to punish their impious conduct, took to their heels, stumbling over one another in their flight, and letting drop all their treasure on the ground unheeded, scampered out of the church as fast as their legs could carry them.

"I was infinitely amused at the fright and discomfiture of these lawless ruffians, and at another time should have laughed heartily at their sudden dispersion, but my rage at having been imposed upon, and the thoughts of vengeance I harboured against my false friend somewhat damped my mirth. No sooner were the brigands safely out of the church than Peppe, who was now sufficiently wide awake to comprehend the situation, after closing the church doors carefully, proceeded to spread a large handkerchief on the ground and to collect together all the gold and silver that had rolled about into every corner of the church, and which I've no doubt he thought he alone was entitled to.

"It was at this moment that I made a sudden burst from the confessional, and rushing towards him, seized him by the throat.

"'Villain!' I cried, 'your imposture is found out. Was it thus you hoped to swindle me out of my three pauls?'

"'Ah, friend Antonio,' exclaimed he, quite unmoved, 'is it you? Now I am glad that with your own eyes you have witnessed the miracle that the saints have wrought upon me in order to enable me to pay back the debt I owe to my best friend.'

"'Liar!' cried I; 'blaspheme not. Think not to impose on me again. Give me my three pauls at once.'

"'Three pauls!' he exclaimed. 'How on earth should I possess so contemptible a sum? Come, sit down here, and we will divide this goodly treasure between us.'

"Now, I knew that I had just as much right to the treasure as my friend, since it remained unclaimed, and therefore to divide it between us was nothing more than fair, nor did I thank Peppe for inviting me to take my share of it. Chance had thrown it in our way, and therefore I was entitled to the half of it.

"Nevertheless, I did not consider myself obliged to cancel my friend's debt because of the good fortune that had befallen us, but was determined that he should still pay me the three pauls out of his share when the whole should be divided, for the principle of the thing, for I am very punctilious as to principle, especially when my interests are affected.

"However, I said nothing until after we had divided the treasure equally. This being done, some debate arose as to what we should do with the diamond ring. Peppe thought he had a right to it, as he said it was all through him that the brigands had been put to flight and had left us in possession of the treasure. He even called me ungrateful and unreasonable when I disputed it with him, after having allowed me a share of the booty. I was not to be put off in this way. I told him that I had a right to an equal share of the treasure, and owed no thanks to him for the accident of good fortune that had befallen us both. As to the ring, I said that if either of us had a right to it more than the other it was myself, as he was my debtor.

"'Avaricious man!' exclaimed he, 'do you still think of exacting your miserable three pauls after my generosity in making you a sharer of the treasure that belonged properly to me? Have I not already paid you over and over again the paltry debt I owed you? If the Madonna had not brought me miraculously back to life you would have had nothing.'

"'Peace, blasphemer!' cried I. 'Do you think to befool me again with your imposture?'

"'Imposture!' he exclaimed, with an air of injured innocence. 'Why, did you not see me rise from the dead with your own eyes?'

"'Come, now,' said I, losing all patience, 'do you think that I was not sharp enough to suspect your plot from the very beginning, knowing what sort of character I had to deal with? Do you imagine I couldn't see through all your shamming—that I didn't see your breast heaving?'

"'My breast heaving! The breast of a corpse heaving!' he ejaculated. 'Strange hallucination! Trust me, my dear friend, you must have been slightly in liquor, and saw double.'

"'And do you think that I did not observe that worn out with feigning death so long, you really fell asleep,' said I, heedless of his insult, 'and that I did not hear you snore like a hog?'

"'I snore like a hog!' he exclaimed. 'My dear friend, believe me, you must have been very strongly in liquor.'

"'No more in liquor than you,' I cried, with some vehemence. 'That you were sound asleep I can swear, nor would you have awoke till morning, had not one of the brigands hit you on the nose with that ring. Then, naturally forgetting your caution, you jumped up, stretched yourself, which act of yours being sufficient under the circumstances to strike terror among the brigands, who, imagining no doubt, what you would like me also to believe—viz., that a miracle had been wrought to bring you back to life again, took to their heels and left their treasure behind them.

"'Now, you can't well expect me to believe in what you affect to consider a miracle, seeing that I have been an eye-witness to your antics from the very beginning, and as for trusting you with the ring until it shall be converted into money, that would be too much for you to expect from me, after the insight you have given me into your character.'

"'Come now, old fellow,' said he, gaily, and with most provoking good humour, 'let us have no more words about it. We'll toss up for it. Nothing can be fairer than that.'

"'I do not agree either to toss up for it or to draw lots for it, as I am usually unlucky,' I replied, firmly.

"'Then we'll settle it between ourselves as the brigands did. If I hit you on the nose with it, it is mine. If you can hit me with it, it shall be yours. Come—here goes.'

"'I object to these proceedings,' I replied.

"'What will you do, then? Will you cut it in half with a knife?'

"'Nor that either,' said I.

"'Well, now,' said he, 'you are one of the never-contented. I see you are determined by hook or by crook to keep the ring all to yourself.'

"'No,' I replied, 'I do not wish for anything that is not strictly fair. What I propose is this—viz., that I should keep the ring in my possession until you have disbursed the three pauls out of your share. Then, after the ring has been estimated by a trustworthy party and turned into money, then we will share the produce equally.'

"'Ho! ho!' laughed he, 'so that's what you are after, is it? Ha! ha! I see it all. You fancy that under the excuse of waiting for your three pauls (which I know as well as you do yourself you do not care a straw for, since you have become enriched with the half of my treasure) that I am going to allow you quietly to abscond with the ring, which may be worth as much as all the treasure put together, for what I know, never to be heard of afterwards. Well, that is a cool idea! Ha! ha! ha!'

"'I protest,' said I, 'that such a thought never entered my head.'

"'Oh, of course not,' said he, incredulously. 'Friend Antonio, it is clear that our respective mothers hatched neither of us two yesterday. I am only a poor goatherd, yet I have learnt as much of the world from watching the antics of my goats as you have in trailing and pruning your vines. We are both of us men, and we know what men are. We all have our wants, and our brains were given us to supply them.'

"'Yes,' replied I, 'in a conscientious and legitimate manner, and not to over-reach our fellow-men in the shortest and most unscrupulous way that our petty interests may dictate, to the scandal of all good saints and the blessed Madonna at their head.'

"And here I launched out into a moral strain for at least an hour, hoping to bring him round by dint of argument and persuasion to my view of the case, but finding him at the end of that time still obdurate, and in the same state of hardness of heart as before—for who can moralise with such a heathen as Peppe?—I attempted to seize the ring by force, intending to keep it until he should pay me the debt he owed me, but he was before me, and a scuffle ensued, he declaring that he would not suffer me to keep the ring in my possession, and I being equally firm in refusing to let him keep it in his without first paying me my three pauls.

"He promised faithfully to pay me the debt when he should have changed one of the pieces of money that fell to his lot; until then, however, I remained firm in my resolution. Words had by this time led to blows, and the conflict was getting desperate, when, it being now fairly morning, we were interrupted by the sacristan entering the church to light the candles on the altar.

"Starting back in wonderment and terror at what he naturally believed to be a miraculous resuscitation, it it was some time before he was sufficiently calm to hear from me the true account of the case.

"At length, recovering from his stupor, his eyes sparkled with an avaricious light at the divided treasure on the ground, and his skinny fingers opened and shut convulsively. Then gazing furtively over each shoulder, he put his finger to his lip, winked, and whispered hoarsely, 'My friends, the secret of your newly-acquired wealth is as yet only known to us three. I think you will find it to your interest that it should not be known to more, as in that case it might come to the ears of the arch-priest, who would be sure to deprive you of every penny of it, in consideration of its being found in his church. Reflect well, my friends; there is but one way to swear me to secrecy.'

"'And that is?' asked I.

"'To let me have an equal share of the treasure,' said he, impudently. 'What other way would you buy my silence?'

"We both violently opposed this proposition, considering it no less than an act of brigandage, and however Peppe and I might differ in opinion on many subjects, we both agreed that this was a piece of extortion to which we were not bound to submit. I said that I would sooner await the decision of the arch-priest, which would perhaps, after all, not be such as he—the sacristan—represented it, and Peppe swore that he would knock his dastardly brains out in the middle of the church before he would let him touch a baiocco.

"'Think again, my friends,' said the sacristan, exchanging his customary look of sanctity for one of deep cunning and malignity. 'Think again, and decide quickly. In another minute the arch-priest will enter the church to perform mass. All the inhabitants of the village will be pouring in. There is no time to be lost. Either let me have a third of the treasure, or I shall swear by all the saints to the arch-priest that I caught you, Signor Antonio, in the act of robbing the alms-box, and that the Madonna wrought a miracle before my very eyes by raising you, Signor Guiseppe, from the dead in order to chastise the burglar for his sacrilege.'

"'He will not believe thee, thou imp of Satan!' roared Peppe.

"'We shall see,' rejoined the sacristan, with a malicious chuckle, and rubbing his hands.

"At this moment the arch-priest entered, attired in his robes, and all the congregation at his heels.

"'Oh, Signor Arch-priest!' began the sacristan, in a loud voice, before the assembled multitude, rolling up his eyes and crossing himself with mock devotion, 'I have witnessed this morning a miracle with these very eyes.'

"'A miracle!' exclaimed the arch-priest and all the congregation in chorus.

"'Ay,' persisted the sacristan; 'a genuine, undeniable miracle. As I entered the church this morning to light the candles on the altar, I discovered this burglar (pointing to me) in the act of robbing the alms-box. He had just succeeded in extracting all that treasure that you see on the ground before you, and which was doubtless all of it placed in the box by our blessed Lady's own hands for the use of her holy church. For who else in our little village could have amassed such a sum, or, having amassed it, would have been willing to put it all of a heap within the alms-box?

"'Well, Signor Arciprete, just as the sacrilegious knave was about to count his unhallowed gains, lo! a miracle, such as these eyes never before beheld, and may never see again before they close for ever in peace.'

"'Well, well,' said the arch-priest, impatiently.

"'Well, Signor Arciprete mio, will you believe it? Yon image of our blessed Lady suddenly raised its arm in a commanding attitude, and with a voice of ineffable sweetness blended with severity cried out to yon corpse, or, rather, that man, who was a corpse only last night, as all good people may recollect, "Corpse! arise and seize yon sacrilegious ruffian by the scruff of the neck!" The words were no sooner out of the blessed image's mouth, when up leapt the corpse from his bier, and seizing the burglar with an iron grasp, continued to hold him until vostra Reverenza entered the church!'

"The arch-priest remained dumbfounded for a time, not knowing what to say; but just as I was about to break silence and try to exculpate myself, my voice was immediately drowned by the multitude crying out, 'Down with him! down with him! Down with the thief, the burglar, the heathen! Let him not seek to exculpate himself with lies. Hear him not; he is guilty of sacrilege! Down with the Protestant! Blessed be the holy man who was raised from the dead and the good sacristan to whose eyes the miracle was vouchsafed! Down with the Jew, the Protestant, the heretic! Away with the miscreant! away with him.'

"I saw and heard no more. Hurried away, midst the hootings and execrations of the crowd, I was flung into prison, where I have remained ever since the morning."

There was much in Antonio's story that moved me to laughter, though not a smile appeared upon the face of the narrator himself throughout the whole recital. There was an air of truth, too, about his manner that left no doubt in my mind that he had retailed the facts of the case as they had occurred without adding to or taking from them in the minutest particular.

I was then able to tell him the sequel of the story; how the arch-priest had put the greater part of the treasure into the alms-box, and, for the rest, the sum being too large to enter all of it into the box, he had taken charge of it, together with the diamond ring, and had designed the whole sum to be expended for the benefit of the church.

On hearing this he replied that he had rather that the money should be disposed of in that way than that blackleg of a sacristan should get a penny of it. He said that he was perfectly sure that the arch-priest had only so disposed of the money from a sincere belief that it had been miraculously placed in the alms-box, he himself being the dupe of his own rascally sacristan to whom he trusted implicitly.

He was of opinion that had he been allowed to explain himself to the arch-priest, his reverence would have granted him, if not his proper share of the sum, at least some portion of it. I promised him that I would lay his case before the arch-priest, and do what I could to get him liberated from prison. He thanked me, and slipping a small coin into the turnkey's hand, I quitted the cell.

It was now quite dark, so I thought I would make the best of my way home, where my supper awaited me. The following morning was rainy, and not being able to work out of doors, I resolved to call again upon the arch-priest, and finding him at home, I related to him my interview with the prisoner and the statement he gave of the case.

My reverend friend looked thoughtful for a time, shook his head, and hinted that the prisoner's veracity might not be depended on.

"However," he added, "the tale seems feasible, and I desire nothing more than that the prisoner should have justice. I will probe the matter to the bottom, and if he has spoken the truth I will get him liberated as soon as possible, and will moreover give out publicly in the church that what we had erroneously taken for a miracle was nothing more than a curious combination of circumstances perfectly natural, though strange, and that I had been imposed upon by the villainous and profane lies of my sacristan. It will require time to prove all this; meanwhile, Antonio must take his trial at Gennazzano. He left here at five o'clock this morning."

"So early!" I exclaimed. "I wanted, if possible, to prevent his going."

"You take great interest in his case," said my friend.

"I like to see mysteries cleared up as soon as possible," I replied. "I know that the love of the marvellous is so great among the ignorant in these parts, that they prefer persisting to believe in a miracle, even in the face of facts which explain it away in the most natural manner possible. This proneness to attribute to supernatural causes everything that we are unable to account for on the first glance, and to yield ourselves up implicitly to the belief of what is irrational, absurd, improbable, without first weighing thoroughly the pros and cons of the case, is one of the unmistakable signs of a barbarous and uncultivated intellect, and ought to be discouraged as a trait unworthy the dignity of human nature by everyone who has the improvement and well-being of his fellow creatures at heart."

The arch-priest smiled drily, as if he had taken my last speech to himself; then, after a pause, he began:

"No Christian man will deny that miracles have been wrought, or will dare to call in question those of our blessed Lord or of His saints. If, then, he acknowledges these, why should he try to combat the existence of modern miracles, seeing that everything is possible to the Almighty? What! Shall we limit the power of the Omnipotent, or dare to measure things infinite by our finite faculties? It would be the height of presumption for anyone to maintain that these things cannot be, or that our Heavenly Father cares less for His creatures now than he did in the days of yore."

"No wise man, Christian or otherwise," I replied, "would deny that any wonder were possible to the Divine author of the universe, the Great Source of all things wonderful. Yet science, the gift of God Himself, mind you, since He in the first place created us with intellect to see into, in some measure, however darkly, His wonderful workings, in order that we might be taught to admire them and thereby come to a more perfect knowledge of His unspeakable greatness—science, I say, reveals to us that our universal Father rules all nature by means of certain fixed laws, from which we have no reason to believe that He would turn aside for a trifle—to excite mere wonderment among an ignorant multitude by performing such a conjuring trick as a bleeding crucifix or weeping Madonna. Our Lord Himself was chary of His miracles, and when asked for a sign would often refuse; yet when He did perform miracles, they were invariably to do good, and not to excite wonderment. If many intelligent people disbelieve in modern miracles, it is because they have not come within their experience, or that many seeming miracles they have been able to explain by natural causes.

"They have been made, moreover, doubly cautious in receiving hearsay miracles for gospel from the numerous cases of imposture that have been discovered among the priesthood in all countries where the Roman Catholic religion has prevailed. Then, why should miracles only be wrought in little sequestered villages, among the ignorant and superstitious, and not in large towns, in the presence of an intelligent and investigating population? Why, moreover, should they be more prevalent in mountainous districts than in any others? Why? Save that from the topographical configuration of the country, the inhabitants of mountain villages are necessarily more shut out from intercommunication with their kind than the dwellers in more accessible regions, and consequently cut off from that interchange of ideas so necessary to the development of the human intellect.

"Because their minds thus necessarily forced into one narrow channel till the intelligence borders on that of the brute, and is kept down to that pitch by a coarse and monotonous diet, which hard labour enables them to earn but scantily, and, finally, because by intermarrying closely among their own narrow population they reproduce offspring, if anything, more stunted in intelligence than themselves—to say nothing of other natural influences which help to produce cretinism, goitre, and deformity—and thus shutting out from their poor benighted intellects their last chance of fair play.

"Ignorant by force of circumstances, superstitious because they are ignorant, naturally discontented, with a life of hard labour that barely supplies that life's necessaries, what wonder that the human mind thus stunted and oppressed by all its surroundings, should seek an outlet? That that outlet should be one that held out promises of a better time to come than they are ever likely to see in their plodding every-day life?

"What wonder that such a one should throw himself more entirely upon the comforts of the religion that his village priest holds out to him than one more contented with his earthly lot, or that, superstitious as he is ignorant, he should daily hope for some miracle to be wrought for his own special benefit? Is it too much to infer that a mind in which faith reigns supreme and reason is hushed to sleep may be deluded by its senses—that it may imagine it sees or hears anything that it desires to see or hear?

"Is this an irrational solution of the stories so common of pictures of the Virgin or other saints moving their eyes or speaking? Then just consider when the average intelligence of a scanty population is at this ebb, what temptation this holds out to the priest of the parish whose office it is to rule his little flock by maintaining order and restraining crime, to strike awe into his congregation and keep alive their fanatical faith by some pious fraud in the shape of a crucifix that bleeds by an easy mechanical contrivance, an image of the Madonna that sheds tears, or a picture that rolls its eyes!

"These tricks were known to the heathen priests of antiquity long before the introduction of Christianity, and have been repeatedly carried out since by the priests of Rome. It is to the successful delusion of these poor benighted wretches that the Church of Rome owes her vaunted laurels. These are your miracle seers! To these alone do the saints vouchsafe to perform their wonders! As for the intelligent and wise, if they go to a church on purpose to see a miracle, and come away without seeing it, they are told by the priest that it is because they lack faith, that they do not go in the proper spirit, that their natures are too material, that such sights are reserved only for the faithful, and that few are sufficiently spiritualised to behold them.

"So you see there is no way of catching a priest napping. He will always find some hole to creep out of. Like an eel, he will slip through your fingers at the very moment that you may think you have got him. Should any individual be bold enough to force his way through the wonder-gazing crowd, and publicly demolish the miracle-working image or picture and reveal to the devout bystanders the paltry mechanism by which they have been deluded, people's eyes would at length be opened, all miracles be liable to suspicion, and reason at length admitted into some share of man's being.

"But there are difficulties that beset so bold an expedient. In the first place, a man must be possessed of more than an ordinary amount of courage to face the fury of a fanatical mob whom he knows to be ready to tear him in pieces should he attempt to rob them of their darling prejudices, or dare to break one chip off their sacred wood or stone.

"Secondly, the wonder-working image or picture is generally in an inaccessible place, high up on the wall or surrounded by railings, to prevent a too close scrutiny. Thirdly, the miracle often exists merely in the imaginations of devout believers, without any aid of mechanism on the part of the priest. In this case, if any man were daring enough to step forward and openly to break in pieces the supposed miraculous image or picture, and, having done so, was unable to detect in the fragments any trace of machinery or means of imposture whatever, the fame of the miracle would then gain ground, and the daring unbeliever be guilty of sacrilege."

When I had got thus far, my friend the arch-priest drew himself up and was about to reply in a lengthy rejoinder, when he was suddenly interrupted by the servant girl of his household bursting hurriedly into the room and crying out at the top of her voice, "Oh, Signor Arciprete, have you heard the news? The vetturino of the mail has just arrived. He says that the night before last the mail was stopped on its way to Rome by a band of brigands, who robbed the passengers, consisting of six English gentlemen and others, of everything they had about them. Gold, silver, and paper money—quite a heap—besides some gold and silver watches, and, among other things, a diamond ring of great value, belonging to one of the English gentlemen. The soldiers are on the track of the brigands already, and a heavy reward is offered to whosoever shall give such information as shall lead to their discovery.

"Poor Luigi! He says that he himself was robbed of his silver watch and paper money, amounting to forty pauls, all he possessed in the world. I do hope they'll catch the nasty wretches. I myself would see them executed. Gesu Maria! What hungry wolves! But I must be off now to tell all the people in the village, or else that horrid gossip Maria Giovanna will be before me, and I always like to be first."

So saying, she bounced out of the room, slamming the door after her, and we were left once more alone.

There was a pause, and my friend was the first to break silence. The thread of his ideas had been broken by the girl's sudden entry into the room with the startling news, so he did not resume his discourse, but after a while observed:—

"I suppose you see in the wild tale of this girl a corroboration of the prisoner's statement, and a link in the chain of evidence."

"Well," said I, "it looks like it, does it not? The heaps of gold and silver, the paper money, the gold and silver watches, and, moreover, the diamond ring. It certainly looks as if the mystery were beginning to clear up."

"Softly, my friend, softly," rejoined the priest, who still grudged the event to natural causes. "Do not be rash in jumping at conclusions, for the evidence is not yet complete. Let us first satisfy ourselves that the girl's tale is true, for reports get wind about our village—one hardly knows how—without the least vestige of truth in them. I will speak to the vetturino myself, and if the tale prove true, or partly true—for, depend upon it, the story will have lost nothing in the telling—need it do away entirely with the miracle?

"For instance, suppose instead of being a band of a dozen brigands, it should have been only one brigand, and that brigand your friend Antonio himself. That he alone, laden with his treasure, and being attracted by the light of a candle that he descried through the chinks of the church door, forced his way into the church to count over his booty. Supposing this to have been the case, the miracle may, nevertheless, have occurred precisely as related to me by the sacristan."

"You are very ingenious," said I, "in suggesting an improbability in order to support your miracle, but, if you recollect, the sacristan declared that he caught Antonio in the act of breaking open the alms-box."

"That may have been a mistake caused by the excited state of his mind on the occasion. However, I will see Luigi at once, and learn from his own lips the true state of the case, for I am as anxious to get at the truth as you are."

"Then let us lose no time in speaking to him at once," said I. "The weather is clearing up now, and as I have nothing better to do, I will accompany you in your stroll down to his house."

This was agreed on; so, putting on our hats, we found ourselves once more among the dirty streets, until we reached the house of the vetturino. Here we found him in front of his own door, surrounded by a crowd of eager peasants, who were listening with avidity to the recital of his adventures.

"Buon giorno, Signor Arciprete," said Luigi, raising his hat as we approached.

"Buon giorno, Luigi," responded the arch-priest. "There is a strange tale current in the village about you and your passengers having been robbed on the high road. Can it be true."

"Perfectly true, Reverenza," was the reply. "Only the night before last we were assaulted by at least a dozen banditti armed to the teeth, and my passengers, six of whom were English gentlemen, along with myself."

"Stay," said the arch-priest. "You are perfectly sure there were a dozen of them?"

"A dozen at the very least, your Reverence, I could swear."

"Tell me," said the arch-priest, "did you see Antonio the prisoner amongst them."

"Antonio?" inquired the vetturino, in extreme surprise.

"Ay," replied the arch-priest. "He that hath been accused of robbing the church and is now at Gennazzano awaiting his trial. You will have heard the tale by this time."

"I certainly did hear a wonderful story, Reverenza, but did not know how far to credit it," replied the vetturino. "The night was very dark and I could recognise no faces.

"But, Corpi di Bacco! Antonio! Why I always considered Antonio as an honest man, a simple vignauolo who earned his bread by the sweat of his brow, and whom, for his steady plodding, the saints had awarded by granting him a better share of this world's goods than most of his fellows."

"Ay, ay," said several bystanders at once, "we all thought so, too, Signor Arciprete. Still, what we all saw with our own eyes, only yesterday morning, made us change our opinion."

The arch-priest looked thoughtful, and then enquired of Luigi if he knew anything of Peppe, the man who had been raised from the dead.

"Peppe!" exclaimed the vetturino, laughing, "ay, do I, and a greater rascal never walked God's earth. That is why I was so cautious in believing a story in which Peppe the goatherd was mixed up. I never yet heard any tale in which he figured but had some devilry at the bottom of it."

"You do not believe, then, in the miracle?"

"Not upon such testimony," replied Luigi. "I should believe you, Signor Arciprete, if you had seen it with your own eyes," he added, respectfully.

"All I can declare is," replied the priest, "that I saw the man Peppe, apparently dead, and decked out as a corpse, placed within the church upon his bier, and the morning after, as I entered the church to say mass, I saw him as alive as ever again, still in his shroud, and appearing to dispute the treasure with Antonio. As for the rest, it was communicated to me by Ricardo, my sacristan. Do you know Ricardo?"

"I do," replied Luigi, in a tone of deep meaning.

"Well," said the arch-priest, "what do you think of him?"

"Well, Signor Arciprete," said the vetturino, hesitatingly, "as he is your sacristan, perhaps you would not like to hear what I think of him."

"Speak out, man," said the arch-priest. "If I find him unworthy of his post, I shall discharge him. Come, now, what do you know about him?"

"Since your Reverence presses me," replied the vetturino, "I must confess that I have found him to be just such another scamp as Peppe the goatherd, if not worse, and, in spite of all his mock piety, I have found him to be as cunning a knave as I know for miles round. Grasping as an eagle, wily as a serpent, and withal as poor spirited as a hare, seeking to cover his knavery with the cloak of religion; imagining that no one can see through his hypocrisy."

"You surprise me," exclaimed the arch-priest; "but what proof have you of his knavery?"

"Well, in the first place," replied the vetturino, "he is in debt with almost every man in the village, myself among the number, and not in one instance has he been known to repay what he has borrowed. I have pressed him over and over again, but he always sneaks out of it by some lame excuse, even when I know he has been able to pay me. He wanted to marry my sister once, because he thought there was a little money to be had, but when he spoke to my mother about her dowry, and received for reply that she did not intend to give her daughter to one who sought her for her dowry, and that he who would marry her must support her himself, he very soon slunk off. Not that I'd have given my consent to such a scarecrow marrying my sister, even if he had been less grasping. Then, would you believe it, your Reverence, he actually had the impudence to insult my sister when he encountered her alone, as he thought, in the campagna. He little knew that I was only a short distance behind. I came upon him unawares in time to overhear part of his impertinent conversation, and I gave him such a thrashing as will make him remember Luigi the vetturino as long as he lives.

"Then, there is no doubt that it was he who picked the pocket of poor old Matteo when he happened to be drunk; everybody believes that, besides several other dirty tricks that I will not weary your patience by relating, though I could if I would. As for cheating at cards, he is quite an adept, and yet, with all this, he walks with his eyes hypocritically fixed on the ground, counting his beads and crossing himself, as if he were a very saint. But he doesn't take me in, your Reverence, however he may impose on our simple peasantry, for when a man is a vetturino, he sees other towns besides his own, and gets to know people of all sorts. I have been in Rome, and have picked up a thing or two."

"Well, enough for the present, Luigi," said the arch-priest. "I will enquire into this matter; meanwhile I intend to take a stroll with this gentleman. Till we meet again," and he waved his hand to the vetturino.

"A rivederla, Signor Arciprete," responded Luigi, raising his hat respectfully.

"You see now," said I to my friend, as we strolled together from the narrow streets into one of the main roads, "that there is some evidence to support my view of the case. I never did think much of your sacristan; his face was enough for me, but after the evidence you have just heard, methinks you would do well to rid yourself of such an ornament to your church."

"It is odd," replied my friend, "that I never suspected him of being that sort of character. On the contrary, I thought him a most exemplary young man. It is not long ago since he informed me of his ardent desire to enter holy orders."

"A fine priest he'd make!" said I, laughing. "The church has no need of him, for there are too many of his sort among your priesthood already. Not that he wouldn't be popular," I added, soothingly. "On the contrary, he would be able to manufacture miracles by the cart-load, I warrant, in order to satisfy his flock's thirst for the marvellous. He would probably die in the odour of sanctity and be canonised after his death."

"My friend, my friend," said the arch-priest, gravely, "our church is not, as you think, rash in canonising a man a saint. Our lawsuits are extremely rigid, and long—so much so, that many a holy man has been rejected as a saint on account of the insufficient evidence of his miracles."

Then he proceeded to enlarge upon the miracles of the saints of old and all the legendary lore of his religion, and thus he entertained me until we found ourselves once more at the door of his house.

"Signor Arciprete," said the aforementioned servant girl, whom we discovered on the threshold, conversing with an elderly peasant, "here is a man who wishes to speak to you in private. He says he has something to communicate."

"Show him into my study," said the arch-priest. "I suppose you do not mind my friend being present?" said he, addressing the man and glancing at me.

"No, Reverenza," said the peasant, shutting the door of the priest's study behind him, "it was only to bring you some information concerning the brigands."

"Ha!" exclaimed the arch-priest, pricking up his ears. "Proceed."

"Well, your Reverence," began the peasant, "hearing that a reward had been offered to anyone able to give such information as should lead to the discovery of the brigands, I thought I would make known what happened to me on the very night of the robbery, which I hope may prove of some use to the brigand-catchers.

"It was long past midnight when I was returning from Civitella, having purchased a hog there, which I was leading along by a string attached to its hind leg, when in the darkness I heard the sound of many voices, and upon listening attentively I recognised them as belonging to the brigands, into whose hands I had fallen twice before, and I began to be alarmed for my hog, which I made sure would be seized as a prize, and accordingly hid myself behind a tree until the whole band should have passed by. I was near enough to hear every word they said, but their voices seemed neither to grow louder nor to grow less.

"At length the moon breaking from behind a cloud, revealed to me the features of the brigand chief. He was standing erect whilst the rest of his band were squatting or lounging around him in a circle. He then proceeded to harangue them.

"I trembled from head to foot, and felt that my only chance of escaping observation was to continue rooted to the spot without disturbing the dead leaves that lay strewn at my feet, but the wretched animal, my companion, commenced grunting and squealing, as if purposely to mark my whereabouts, and I made sure every moment that the brigands would be down upon us both.

"'Hush!' I cried, coaxingly.

"'Grunt,' went the brute, louder than ever.

"'Madonna mia Santissima!' I muttered, crossing myself, 'preserve a poor man and his pig from the depredations of these marauders!'

"I know not if our good lady vouchsafed to hear my prayer, but certain it was that the brigands paid no attention whatever to either of us, so engrossed did they all seem with the oration of their chief, every word of which fell distinctly on my ear in the stillness of the night, and I must own that the tenor of it surprised me, for instead of the profane oaths, fiendish laughter, or the planning of some new daring exploit, as I should have expected from such men, I now listened to a pious discourse, filled with godly phrases such as you, Signor Arciprete, might have used yourself from the pulpit. I think I can give you almost word for word the discourse as it ran.

"'My comrades,' he commenced, 'we have for many years toiled together in an arduous and perilous profession; at war with society, wresting from the innocent and good their hard-earned substance to supply our own wants, instead of getting our own livelihood honestly and by the sweat of our brow, as God hath decreed. Oppressed in our turn by the avengers of our victims, we are hunted like wolves, and have to take refuge from our pursuers in the most inaccessible parts of the mountains, in caves, in forests and such-like secret places.

"'Rest has departed from our slumbers—for what man can rest in the fear that the vigilant myrmidons of the law with which he has lived at enmity are ever on his track?

"'Like Ishmael, our hand is against every man, and every man's hand is against us. This is the lot of the brigand, as we all know. Born and bred in danger, nurtured from the breast, not with the milk of human kindness, but by the blood of his fellow men; his childish joys, the groans and sufferings of his mutilated victims; feasting on horrors from his earliest youth, unbridled and brutal in his appetites, his highest ambition through life to be a hardier ruffian than his father before him.

"'Have we not, my friends, committed every sort of atrocity of which degraded humanity is capable? Nay, revelled in it, impiously defying that very God whom we ought humbly and reverently to thank as the Author of our beings? Let each of us look back upon our past lives and ask ourselves how we have thanked Almighty God for his innumerable blessings.

"'How have we repaid His ineffable love and care over us? Has it not been by subverting His wise laws, despising His holy ordinances, brutalising our natures, even to a degree lower than the very brutes themselves? My brethren, we may be powerful against the weak and against the law, yet there is One above us more powerful than ourselves, to Whom we shall all one day have to give an account. Let us fight no longer against God; for what is man when matched against Omnipotence. Deem it not cowardice, my friends, to relinquish a life of evil now that your souls have received the light of truth, but rather thank God for His infinite mercy in vouchsafing so great a miracle through His Holy Mother to save our souls from the bottomless pit.

"'I confess that almost from my earliest youth I never have looked upon religion as aught but priest-craft, and scoffed at all miracles as tricks of the priesthood to impose upon the ignorant and simple; but what shall we say, my brethren, to the miracle we have all so lately witnessed, or how shall we attempt to explain it away? Was it not the intervention of the blessed Virgin herself to scare us—the impious desecraters of her holy Church—from our evil ways? Could anything short of Divine power have raised the dead at the lonely hour of midnight within the very church itself, and have struck such terror into us, the hardy sons of the mountains, who never yet quailed before mortal man?

"'Tell me, my friends, if in all my wild life, in all our joint villainies and wicked enterprises, in the very face of death, if you have ever known me to lack courage before to-night?'

"'Never, Capitano, never,' cried several voices at once. 'We know your courage to be undaunted, and that there is no mortal man that you stand in awe of; but when it comes to running counter to spirits raised from the dead, or devils from hell, that is quite another sort of thing, and a man need be the arch-fiend himself to be without fear.'

"'Just so,' replied the brigand chief; 'then, since none of you are able to accuse me with a lack of human courage, you may know that my exhortation to you to repent and alter the course of your unholy lives is not the mere words of a craven soul who fears the law and seeks to shun the just penalty of his misdeeds, but those of a repentant sinner miraculously brought to conversion through the intervention of the blessed Madonna, whom, in her boundless mercy, she had deigned to bring to a sense of his wickedness, even in the very midst of his crimes.

"'Let us turn from our evil ways, oh, my comrades! Take the advice of a brother sinner, more deeply dyed in iniquity than any of yourselves, and repent ere it be too late! What can atone for all our past wickedness save the utter renouncement of our evil ways, a life of rigid penance and the entire devotion of ourselves to God? Marvel not, then, my comrades in wickedness, that you hear the man once your chief and foremost in wrong, exhort you to throw down your arms, divest yourselves of your trappings, and don the holy convent garb, in order that by a life of fasting and prayer you may endeavour to open up a communication with Heaven, and wrest your souls from the hands of the Devil. I myself will set you the example.

"'As I have been the first to incite you to evil, so will I be the first to exhort you to repentance. Follow me, all ye that have a mind to save your souls. Yet I no longer command, but entreat you for your own good, for I aspire no longer to be your chief, but to live humbly as your fellow labourer in Christ, to whom be all honour and glory, now and for evermore. Amen.'

"As the chief brigand terminated his harangue the pale grey of the morning sky lighted up the faces of the whole band, so that I could now distinguish the features of each individual and the various expressions of their countenances. Several appeared deeply affected, with tears of repentance standing in their eyes, others sullen and obdurate. Some with a look of vacant astonishment, others scowling and suspicious, or with a suppressed grin.

"Their chief's harangue seemed to call for a reply, and there was a silence of some minutes, during which period the members of the band appeared debating among themselves by means of winking and nudging as to what their reply should be, and who should take it upon himself to speak for the rest. I observed that they looked towards a sturdy brigand, whom next to their chief they honoured with the deepest veneration. To him they turned as the mouthpiece of the gang, and seemed to intimate that they would abide by his decision.

"This man, who appeared wrapt in thought, finding himself thus appealed to, and feeling that he represented the sentiments of the whole band, at length addressed his chief in these words:—

"'Signor Capitano, we are ready as ever to follow you to the very jaws of death, according to our oath. We have served you long and faithfully in all your deeds of daring and crime, and we will not abandon you now in your change of sentiment, knowing, as we do, that you are still the same brave and generous man as ever, and as such will always remain, in whatever capacity, whether as the lawless brigand of the mountains, or as a holy monk in the retirement of the convent cell; therefore, in the presence of the whole band I repeat my former vows of fidelity and friendship, and reiterate my protestations of following you through life, to the utmost ends of the earth, if need be. The discipline of our monastic life will be merely the exchanging one life of hardships for another no less hard, therefore we cannot be charged with cowardice or idleness, since there are duties before us that will call forth all the courage and endurance of our natures.

"'As for learning and psalm-singing, it has never been exactly my speciality; nevertheless, I quite agree with you, Captain, that the life we have been in the habit of leading for years past is not the best to suit us for Heaven, and I am not ashamed to say that I have long had qualms of conscience for my past misdeeds, and had resolved upon repentance at some future period, but never did I look back upon the past with such horror and remorse as at the present moment, having now been brought to a thorough knowledge of my crimes and of the bountiful mercy of our blessed Lady to us miserable sinners, as shown in the undoubted miracle that we all so clearly witnessed.

"'After having received so great a proof of the blessed Virgin's love and care for us, would it not be the blackest ingratitude to continue in mortal sin? Would it not be the most egregious folly as well, after having had Divine warning to alter our lives, still to persist in preferring death and hell to the sublime promises held out to the good?

"'Why longer delay, then, my friends? Think of your precious souls, and repent while there is still breath left in your bodies. It may not be long ere we shall be captured and executed. How shall we pass our last moments on earth, or how brook the vengeance of a just God with all our crimes upon our heads?

"'Enough, then, of pusillanimous disbelief and impotent struggling against Divine will. Let us hasten to the nearest convent, confess our sins, then, with a clean breast and humble spirit, endeavour to atone for the past by a life of penitence and prayer, that we may fearlessly meet our end as men and Christians.'

"This exhortation was universally applauded, and as every man is governed by the public opinion of the little circle wherein he lives and moves, so even those who had shown themselves obdurate and suspicious felt themselves forced to yield to the overwhelming tide of changed opinion, feeling ashamed of being left in the minority.

"The chief, doffing his hat, fell upon his knees and thanked the Most High for his conversion and that of his whole band, in which prayer all the rest reverently joined. Then rising from their knees, but with heads still uncovered, they walked on towards the convent, singing an 'Ave Maria,' by the way.

"I did not know what to make of all this, for as yet I had heard nothing of the miracle, but I had hardly reached home safely with my pig, when I heard from almost every mouth in the village of the great miracle wrought on the night of the robbery."

The peasant having concluded his narrative, was dismissed with an assurance from the arch-priest that should his revelation lead to the capture of the brigands he would be duly rewarded. Nevertheless, he informed him that he was not the person to apply to, and that he should mention the affair to the authorities.

Being left once more alone with my friend, I asked him what he thought of the man's tale, and whether or no it corroborated the statements made by Luigi and Antonio. All three witnesses bore testimony to a plurality of brigands, which seemed to me completely to overthrow my worthy friend's hypothesis as to there being only one brigand.

I confess, though, I was still puzzled by the peasant's wonderful story. I could hardly bring myself to believe in the utter and simultaneous conversion of a whole band of brigands, even though they had been terrified and thwarted for a moment in their crimes by an apparent miracle, and yet what object could the man have had in inventing such a lie, knowing, as he must have done, that he was not entitled to the reward until after the capture of the brigands.

My friend the priest suggested that possibly he might have been fool enough to expect payment beforehand, and that he had concocted this fable on the strength of it. The man was simple enough, it is true, but there was an air of truth about the manner in which he told his tale that induced me to give credit to it, strange though it appeared.

In any case, I knew that the truth or falsity of the man's statement would soon be made manifest, for the brigand-catchers, once sent off in the direction indicated by the peasant, would not fail to call at the convent and inquire if the brigands were taking shelter there, in which case the monks would be forced to deliver up their charge into the hands of justice. As it happened, the brigand-catchers had already started in search of their prey, though in quite an opposite direction.

But let us return to our landlady, who had been impatiently awaiting me, having now prepared my noon-day meal some time.

"The signor is late to-day," she said, as I entered. "I fear he will find the macaroni cold."

"No matter," I replied. "I have a good appetite, from having been very busy all the morning."

"The signor has been busy—yes? And yet I notice that he left all his painting tools at home," observed the landlady.

"True, my good woman," I replied. "The morning being rainy, I was prevented from painting out-of-doors, but I have been very busy, nevertheless."

"Indeed, Signor," she exclaimed, "what could have occupied you so much as to forget your dinner, if I may be permitted to ask?"

I expected this question, knowing that my hostess inherited the vice of curiosity, in common with the rest of her sex, in a marked degree.

"How was I occupied?" I repeated. "Why, how else than by searching to the bottom that confounded miracle you were so full of all yesterday and the day before."

"Oh, Signor, how you talk!" exclaimed my hostess, horrified. "What! do you mean to say that the Blessed Virgin has not wrought among us the greatest miracle ever heard of in these parts?"

"Well, if this is one of the greatest," I replied, "I should advise her to give up miracles for the future, for she is no hand at them."

"How say you, Signor?" cried the landlady, shocked at my levity, and crossing herself again and again. "Oh, you Protestants believe in nothing! What! Is it not a great miracle to raise the dead?"

"It would be, if it were true," I interrupted.

"If it were true!" she repeated. "How should it not be true? Have you not heard that the arch-priest himself believes it, that all the village believes it, that the good Ricardo the sacristan was an eye-witness of the miracle?"

"I must have better testimony than his in order to believe in the miraculous character of the story you related to me. However, I have since looked into the case myself and find it to be a gross piece of imposture."

"Imposture!" cried the hostess. "Impossible! Who has been imposing—his reverence, perhaps?"

"No," I said; "the arch-priest was only one of the dupes. His rascal of a sacristan was at the bottom of all the mischief. That scoundrel Peppe, too, was another prominent actor in the farce."

"What do I hear?" exclaimed my landlady; "the pious Ricardo and the holy Peppe called 'rascal' and 'scoundrel.' You surely mistake their characters."

"We are all liable to make mistakes sometimes," said I; "but I will hope, for their own sakes, that they are not as black as they appear."

"You mystify me, Signor," she replied; "but I am sure you must be labouring under a gross mistake, for as a proof of Peppe's being a holy man, he has been doing nothing but miracles since he was raised from the dead."

"What is that you say?" cried I, pricking up my ears.

"Why, Signor, you must know that as soon as Peppe left the church on the morning of the miracle he was followed by a great crowd of the faithful."

"Of the curious and the idle, you mean," I observed, interrupting her. "Well, proceed."

"Who followed him to the door of his house," she continued; "and as divers of them were labouring under sore diseases, they besought him to touch them that they might be healed. Well, very many of them went away cured; others, he said, he was unable to cure on account of their want of faith."

"The artful dog!" said I, smiling. "Now, I'll be bound to say he made all those who imagined themselves cured pay him well."

"Oh, they all gave him something, of course, from a baiocco upwards, according to their means. They tell me the worthy man has made a heap of money by his miraculous touch."

"Miraculous humbug!" I exclaimed, half-amused and half-angry at the success of such a vagabond.

"Humbug! say you still?" cried my hostess. "How can it be humbug, if he really has cured the sick?"

"Come now," said I; "perhaps you will oblige me with a list of the diseases that this new saint professes to have cured."

"Willingly," she replied.

"In the first case, there is old Margherita, who lives at the bottom of the dell, and has been suffering much from nervous headaches; he but touched her forehead, and she walked away declaring herself cured. Then there was poor old Carluccio, who goes about begging from one place to another. He suffered much from rheumatism; but having been touched by Peppe on the parts affected, he immediately pronounced himself much better, if not quite cured. Then the girl Lucia, who lives half-way down the hill, and who used to suffer from the jumps, she likewise has not complained since. Then, again, Pietro, the vignauolo, who was suffering from stomach-ache, felt himself considerably better some few hours after he had been touched by Peppe. Brigida, the daughter of old Angeluccio, has for some time been the victim of a deep melancholy. Since she received the magic touch she has done nothing but laugh and sing, Giacomuccio, the idiot boy, complained of loss of appetite, but after Peppe had touched him he went home and ate up all the maritozza in the house. Then the number of children he has cured is something fabulous; at least, so their parents say."

"Well, well, my good woman," said I; "but these are all trifles. Can you give me no great cure that he has effected, such as giving sight to the blind, causing the lame to walk, the dumb to speak, the deaf to hear, and the like?"

"One blind man came to be cured," replied my hostess; "but he, so Peppe said, had not sufficient faith, so of course no cure could be effected. It was the same with a cripple who had a withered arm, a man who had the small-pox, as well as several others. He said he could do nothing with them, as they were wanting in faith."

"I thought as much," said I. "All those whom he could not induce to believe were cured, he sent away as not having sufficient faith—the wily rascal! Now, my good woman, I really do wonder at your placing faith in such trash. If you knew as much about Peppe's character as I do, you would very soon cease to look upon him as a saint. Besides, what are the diseases you tell me he has cured? Headaches, jumps, nervousness, low spirits, want of appetite, etc.—trifles all of them.

"He was supposed by all to have been miraculously raised from the dead, and they therefore concluded that he must have been a holy man, for such a miracle ever to have been wrought upon him, and being so esteemed, they at once jumped at the conclusion that he was gifted with power to work miracles. Accordingly, all the scum of the village turns out and follows him, placing implicit faith in his power to cure them of their half imaginary complaints. They receive his touch, pay their money, and their imagination worked upon, they fancy themselves healed. This is the secret of all his boasted success, for you say yourself that in all those cases that were worth healing he signally failed."

"Be that as it may, Signor," replied the woman, "you will hardly pretend to account for the miracle wrought upon Peppe himself in that manner. How could a man be raised from the dead by imagination? I don't see how."

"You don't? Then I will tell you; listen."

I here proceeded to retail the account of Peppe's feigned decease in order to escape paying his debt of three pauls; the entrance of the brigands into the church with the spoil, since proved to have been robbed from six English travellers and others who were making their way towards Rome on that very night; the dividing of the spoil upon the altar, and the diamond ring that remained over, with which one of the brigands dexterously succeeded in startling Peppe out of the sleep into which he had fallen, by hitting him on the nose, and finally, the confusion of the brigands at the sight of what they supposed to be a resuscitated corpse.

I also related how they had abandoned the treasure in their flight, and how Peppe, taking advantage of his position, proceeded to gather together the said treasure, intending to keep it all for himself. How Antonio at this moment burst from his hiding place in the confessional, whither he had resorted in order to satisfy himself whether his friend's death were genuine or spurious. How both of them disputed the treasure, how they agreed to divide it equally, and how the diamond ring became a bone of contention. How they were surprised by the sacristan early the next morning. The sacristan's avarice, revenge, and hypocrisy. I dilated on the story, not omitting the minutest particular, and winding up with the subsequent conversion of the brigands, and letting her know upon what authority I had come to the knowledge of these facts.

The discomfiture of my hostess at hearing her darling miracle explained away by natural causes, and those, too, of so ridiculous a nature, was truly pitiable. I believe, in her heart, she wished that I had never put up at her inn, so that I might not have dispelled the sweet illusion.

Not many days after my hostess had become convinced of the spuriousness of her once cherished miracle, the brigand-catchers returned after their fruitless search, but being put upon the right scent immediately on their return, they set off at once to the convent, where they commanded the monks, in the name of the law, to deliver up the prisoners. It was, however, too late. The brigands in the meantime had written a full confession of their crime to the Pope, with an account of the miracle and of their sudden determination, in consequence, of leading holy lives for the future, and had received from His Holiness pardon and absolution, on condition that they should follow out their virtuous intentions.

The document, with the pontifical seal affixed to it, was placed into the hands of these emissaries of the law, who had now nothing to do but to retire. The brigands had been transformed into monks; so far no one had anything to say but the six English travellers, the victims in the late robbery, and who had lost no time on their arrival in Rome in informing the government of their loss, and urging the immediate capture of the brigands; having heard of the extraordinary turn the affair had taken, now impatiently demanded their money back.

Believers in the late miracle now grew scarcer and scarcer every day, the eyes of the most obstinate being now open to conviction by overwhelming evidence. Peppe had lost his prestige as a saint, and the headaches, jumps, fits of melancholy, loss of appetite, and other small evils of which his patients had thought themselves miraculously cured, came back again as before to the indignant faithful, who, armed, in a body laid siege to the house of the "soi-disant" saint, vowing to burn his dwelling over his head, if he refused to give back to each the money that under false pretences he had extorted.

There is no knowing what an infuriated Italian mob may not be guilty of perpetrating in the height of its fury; but let its rage be once drawn aside by some novel excitement or emotion, its fury will evaporate, expending its force through another channel. It might have gone hard with Peppe, if a trifling incident had not served to avert the fury of the mob when at its climax. This was the arrival of the diligence with the six Englishmen, whose pecuniary losses we have before alluded to, and who have arrived to claim their money from the arch-priest.

Trifling as this incident was, it proved sufficient to induce the inhabitants of this sequestered village to abandon their purpose, and their curiosity now being raised to its height, they relinquished their victim for a time, in order to have a good stare at the six illustrious strangers who had fallen a prey to the brigands, while Peppe, taking advantage of the general confusion, made his escape from the back door of his hut, and was soon lost to view in the thick grove of olive trees that flanked the slopes of the hill.

My story now draws towards a close. The money was returned to the owners, who were received with courtesy by the arch-priest, from whose very lips they heard a detailed account of the late miracle, and so delighted were they with the simplicity and urbanity of their new acquaintance, that they each made him a handsome present out of the money restored to them, for the benefit of his church, and perhaps as a slight compensation for the dissatisfaction he must have felt at the miracle not proving genuine.

The diamond ring likewise fell to the lot of the arch-priest, with the full permission from the donor to dispose of it as he might think fit, and after an exchange of compliments and civilities, the Englishmen took their departure.

The duplicity and avarice of the sacristan having now fairly come to light, he was dismissed, and another chosen to supply his place. Meanwhile the trial of Antonio was going on in the township of Gennazzano. Being summoned to appear as a witness, I was forced to go, and had the satisfaction of being mainly instrumental in the acquittal of my friend, who returned to his native village, where on his arrival he was carried in triumph over the heads of the cheering populace.

The sum presented to the arch-priest, together with the diamond ring, which had been taken to Rome to be estimated and converted into money, was expended by our pastor in alleviating the sufferings of the poor amongst his flock, after which there remained a surplus sufficient to purchase two silver candlesticks for the altar of San Rocco, the protecting saint of the village.

Peppe had judiciously hidden himself in the mountains until the fury of his patients had considerably abated, but Antonio discovering him one day, renewed his claim to the three pauls. I forget the excuse he made on this occasion, but I know for a certainty that the debt was never repaid during the whole of my stay in that part of the country.

Some months passed over without anything worthy of record, but the sequel of this narrative is to come. A friar, unknown to the inhabitants of our village, appeared one Sunday morning to perform mass in the Church of San Rocco. His shaven crown, bronzed skin, and high aquiline features made him an object of intense veneration among the devout congregation, as being unmistakable signs of a pure and austere life. He was a man of middle age, tall, and well knit, his beard on the verge of turning grey. The features were worn, but energetic, yet a physiognomist might have observed that the eyes were somewhat small in comparison with the rest of the face and moved rather too rapidly and furtively from left to right than was strictly necessary to complete the physiognomy of one whose life had been completely devoted to religious contemplation. His arrival had created a sensation in the village, and many who had never confessed from one year's end to the other, impelled by curiosity, flocked to the church that day to confess to the stranger monk, imagining, no doubt, that the absolution of one from afar and unknown in the villages was more valid than that of the arch-priest or any more familiar prelate.

Familiarity breeds contempt, as we all know, therefore we so often find that Roman Catholics prefer confessing to some priest or friar that they meet for the first time, and are not likely to meet again, rather than to their parish priest, to whom the most secret thought of their inner lives is already known.

Among those who flocked to confess to the stranger monk, whose majestic bearing had impressed everyone with his sanctity, were our two friends Antonio and Peppe, who, having neither of them confessed for a very long time, sought this opportunity of disburdening their souls of those sins they were ashamed of confessing to a priest of their own native village.

Antonio, to whom I am indebted for the sequel of this tale, declared to me that he experienced a thrill he was unable to account for as the friar entered the confessional; but setting this down to nervousness at not having confessed for so long, he endeavoured to concentrate his thoughts, and began what is called a "general confession," commencing with the sins of his earliest childhood down to those of recent date.

Fancying that he might have been guilty of avarice in pressing too hardly on his friend for the debt of the three pauls and of sacrilege in having hidden all night in the confessional, and afterwards quarrelling with his friend over the treasure within the very church itself, it occurred to him to relate the whole circumstance to the father confessor, not omitting the entry of the brigands and their subsequent fright at what they supposed to be the sudden resurrection of one from the dead.

Now, Antonio during the whole of this confession had his eyes fixed upon the countenance of his confessor, which he could see distinctly through the grating. It struck him from the first that the features of the monk were familiar to him, yet he could not call to mind where or under what circumstances he had seen them before. He had been racking his brain for some time past in order to recollect where he had ever met him, but to no purpose.

He observed that when he began enumerating all the peccadilloes of his early years the confessor evinced the utmost indifference, yawning every now and then, and not deigning a reply; but as soon as he began to talk about the miracle and the treasure abandoned by the brigands in their fright, he immediately pricked up his ears and changed colour.

"Eh, what?" he cried, suddenly waking out of a doze. "Just oblige me by beginning that again, will you?"

Antonio, though somewhat surprised at the monk's abrupt change of manner, nevertheless set it down to the natural interest that so extraordinary a tale inspired, and recommenced his story, detailing nicely every circumstance, especially the feigned death of Peppe; with an exact description of his own feelings at the time.

Now it happened that Peppe, being in church, and seeing his friend on his knees at the confessional, thought he could do no less than confess likewise, so, falling on his knees on the opposite side to his friend, he prepared to pour out his soul through the opposite grating, into the left ear of the father confessor, as soon as his friend should have risen from his knees.

Antonio at length having finished, and received absolution, remained a moment or two in prayer, whilst Peppe took his turn. Whatever the subject of Peppe's confession might have been, it had an extraordinary effect upon the monk. He became visibly agitated, and the muscles of his face twitched nervously.

"Then it wasn't a miracle, after all," he gasped, throwing himself back, while something strongly resembling an oath rose to his lips, but was instantly stifled. His bronzed features had become livid, and hastily giving his absolution, he hurried from the confessional.

Our two friends had remained behind the rest of the congregation, and on rising from their knees and finding themselves alone in the church, each advanced towards the other in a spirit of Christian forgiveness, and shook his friend warmly by the hand, the subject of the three pauls being dropped on this occasion.

"By the way, Peppe," said Antonio, after a short interchange of genial conversation, "did you ever set eyes on that confessor before, think you?"

"Well, now you mention it, friend Antonio, his features do seem familiar to me, yet I can't call to mind where I have seen him," answered Peppe.

"Ah!" suddenly ejaculated Antonio, "I have it. If that monk is not the head brigand whom you so miraculously scared away by rising from the dead, may I be—shot."

"Per Baccounaccio! friend Antonio, you're right," exclaimed his friend; "it is the very same. I thought I knew him all the while. Well this is strange; and we have been confessing to a brigand chief!"

"True," said Antonio; "but of course you have heard that in consequence of the supposed miracle, he and the rest of his band became converted and took holy vows, having received a full pardon from the Pope for their past misdeeds. He now performs mass, and therefore his absolution is worth just as much as that of any other ecclesiastic."

"Yes, yes; I've no doubt," replied Peppe; "but, I say, Anthony, if you had but noticed how uncommonly interested he became in the middle of my confession! That was because I confessed to him the trick I played upon you, old friend, that night. You remember, eh? Ha! ha! Well, as soon as I began to talk about jumping up from the dead, and how the brigands scampered away helter-skelter, leaving their treasure behind them in their flight, I noticed him change colour, and he grew impatient to know more. I thought it strange that he should appear to take such interest in the matter. Now I can account for his look of remorse that puzzled me so before. He is angry with himself at being frightened into turning monk by a sham miracle."

"I, too, noticed the very same thing, friend Peppe," said Antonio, "when I likewise confessed the same story. I'll lay my life that he now repents him of having turned monk. Perhaps he suspected that we recognised him, and that was the reason he hastened away so after confession. I wonder where he is now?"

The mysterious monk had disappeared; so had the two silver candlesticks on the altar. Extraordinary coincidence! Had they also vanished by a miracle?

They were on the altar when our two friends went to confess, as both of them declared. Perhaps the new sacristan had taken them away to clean after the departure of the congregation.

No; the sacristan was questioned, he knew naught but that they were still on the altar. The affair caused much gossip and surmise, and much time was lost in loud talking and angry gesticulations. The arch-priest at length appeared on the spot, and our two friends Antonio and Peppe communicated to him their suspicions—viz., that the unknown friar, whom both of them recognised to be no other than the brigand chief himself, had purloined the silver candlesticks immediately after confession, and made his escape into the mountains. Search was now made for the thief, but the day was already far spent and the monk had had ample time to reach the convent before his pursuers thought of going in search of him.

On the following day the arch-priest called at the convent in person, acquainted the monks there with his loss, and stated his suspicions. He was informed by them that the band of brigands who had only lately become converted and had entered their order, and who, up to the present time, had shown themselves most exemplary in conduct, to the great surprise of their brother monks, had suddenly decamped in the dead of night, no one knew how. They had evidently resumed their former profession, as they had left their cassocks behind them, and their arms, which had been hung up in the chapel as trophies of their conversion, had been removed.

The affair of the silver candlesticks was unknown to the rest of the order, but shortly afterwards a silversmith in Rome, to whose shop a handsome pair of silver candlesticks was brought for sale, having some scruples at receiving stolen goods, and distrusting much the appearance of the person who brought them, sent secretly to the police, who took in charge the suspected party. Now it happened about that time in the vicinity of Rome, that a certain band of brigands had been guilty of the most fearful outrages. The police were already on their track, and the capture of the suspected vendor of stolen goods subsequently led to the discovery of the whole band, which was soon identified as the same which had once received the Pope's pardon and had entered into holy orders. They were accordingly tried, condemned, and executed on the summit of the fort of St. Angelo, which is built on the ruins of the ancient tomb of Hadrian, on the banks of the Tiber.

---

By the time our artist had finished his story, and received Helen's warm eulogium on the same, the sitting had already come to an end. Dame Hearty now knocked at the door to ask if her daughter could be spared, as she found that she really could not go through her household duties without her.

"Just one moment," said McGuilp; "there, Helen, just place yourself once more as you were, and I shall have finished with you for the day. Just one more touch."

The artist then began working rapidly for some ten minutes, as if his life were at stake, when suddenly throwing himself back in his chair, as if exhausted after some stupendous effort, he exclaimed: "There now!"

These magical words were the signal for Helen's liberation, and now both mother and daughter placed themselves behind the artist's chair and proceeded to criticise his work.

"Oh my! what a love of a pictur'!" exclaimed Dame Hearty; "and how exactly like our Helen. Oh, if ever! Well I never! I do declare," etc.

"And how you have improved it this sitting! Why, last time I thought there was no more to do to it, but now it is life itself."

"You flatter me, Helen," said McGuilp; "for I assure you that the portrait is still in a most crude and unfinished state."

"How say you?—still unfinished?" cried Helen. "Well, if you go on at that rate, by next sitting I shall expect to hear it speak."

"Come, Helen," said her mother, "we must be off, for we have no time to lose. Another time, when we have less to do, I shall be most happy to let you assist the gentleman to finish his pictur'," and curtseying to McGuilp, she led her daughter out of the room, while the painter was left to the uninspired operations of cleaning his palette and brushes, and putting his studio in order previous to joining the other members of the club.