Imatges de pàgina
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The Luck of Ladysmede.-Part 1.

Burgh's house by stealth, as it would
seem, and demand of us to take the
charge of him; we only ask to be
assured that you have the right to
do so."

"Suppose I were to say he is my
own child?" said the Italian, still
bending over him.

"It were a shame and scandal for you to say so," said the prior.

"Pardon me, good father; the shame and the scandal, if it be one, lie in the sin, not in the confession. For these things I care little; and were I minded to tell a falsehood, the Church would give me easy absolution in so good a cause. But enough-let me crave of you to put me ashore here by Swinford Mill, and we will relieve you of our presence. There are Christian men who will give us a night's shelter, if only for the boy's sake; and there must be other cloisters within reach less cautious in their charity than St Mary's of Rivelsby. Fare-you-well, holy fathers; go your ways home; fast and pray; be zealous for Holy Church's dues; sing masses for the dead, by whom ye have your wealth, and spurn from your doors the living who claim your charity. Even so did they of Jerusalem who knew not the day of their visitation. Let us go-we will trouble you no more."

But while he spoke, the boy, whether frightened at something in his language, which, calm as it was, conveyed even to his childish comprehension the idea of anger and bitterness-or understanding enough of the conversation to know that it concerned the disposal of himself had caught the abbot's dress with one hand, and as the Italian drew back hastily towards the stern of the boat, the little tight-clenched grasp became plainly perceptible to both. Though staggered by the sudden jerk, he only clung the tighter to support himself. Abbot Martin was struck by the silent and it might be unintentional appeal. Kind-hearted as he was, and with a mind not slightly influenced by the superstitions feelings of the age, which was ready to trace in what we call the commonest accidents of life the tokens of supernatural encourage ment or warning, this sudden claim

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of sanctuary made by an infant hand had more force with him than all the priest's bitter and impatient pleading.

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your words are rude; yet it may be Stay," said he, "Father Giacomo, that you mean honestly by the child. that I must say so-to trust those We have but little cause-pity it is be near of kin to Sir Godfrey-still amongst whom we find him. If he more, if he be his son, as we may well suspect-we know the risk which we incur in meddling in this matter. But were I well assured that it were a question of harm coming to the little lad," and here the abbot's hand it in his own-"had I any pledge that had found that of the boy, and clasped what you say is true, my life for his, but I would keep him safe in Rivelsby."

;

Italian, "that he is either Sir God-
"You cannot know," said the
frey's child or kinsman; I tell you I
have full right to ask and to act in
his behalf as I see cause, and that I
had I never asked favour at your
see urgent and pressing cause, else
hands, to place him for a while in safe
and honest keeping. More than this
I cannot and will not tell. Your
I do them and you more justice, it
house thinks evil of me, Lord Abbot
may be, than you do me.
your brotherhood were worth to me
the wealth nor all the prayers of
Not all
bitterness in his tone, but it was the
one of his smiles." There was still a
the prior was somewhat touched;
bitterness of humbled pride. Even
there was a human feeling locked up
had strict charge of the key.
even in his selfish heart, but caution

your sincerity?" he asked.
"What pledge can you offer us of

replied the Italian, "and you have
"I have offered you all I have,"
refused it; shall I put myself in ward
at Rivelsby as a hostage for my good
faith?"

"Saint Mary forbid!" said the

prior.

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Anathema!" added Brother Si

mon, who had awakened to some com-
prehension of this last proposal.

"I feared I might be hardly wel-
come among you, even as a prisoner,"
said the priest in his blandest tone.
"But I have neither lands nor gold to
put in trust, nor friends to answer for

me; and it would be presumptuous to offer you my prayers."

"Swear that you, having the lawful custody of this child, seek now to place him, for his own safety, in the cloister of St Mary."

"Swear!" said the priest: "when ye mistrust a man's deeds, will his oath serve to assure you? But I will swear; what oath soever may be most binding in your eyes, holy monks, I will take most readily. Shall I swear by the tears of St Mary Magdalene, of which one drop, as I have heard,miraculously extinguished the fire which once broke out in your infirmary or by the sacred bones of St Quintin, which your abbot Osgar, of pious memory, in spite of all the precautions of the good brothers of Michamstede, succeeded in carrying

off from

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'Peace, scoffer!" said the prior; "I well believe all oaths were alike easy from such lips."

But the Italian threw off his mocking tone, and, as if suddenly recollecting himself, said, "Pardon, my fathers; perhaps we hardly think alike on all such matters: let there be no fresh offence between us on that score. The oath which I take I will keep at least in this matter; and it happens that I bethink me of one which, if it might be even less sacred in your eyes than, as you are pleased to judge, some of your cloister language is in mine, nevertheless my Lord Abbot here, by his leave, will hold to have some weight even on the lips of such as me.' He leaned forward, and drawing the abbot a little apart from the rest, whispered in his ear, as it seemed, scarce more than a word; then raised his hand, and with a low calm voice, in which at least there was neither jest nor mockery, said, so that all might hear him, "I swear!

Abbot Martin started as though it had been the word of doom. An exclamation half burst from his lips, and he made a movement as if he would have grasped the priest by the arm. But he was not a man of violent emotions, and he recovered his usual calm and unpretending dignity of manner.

Enough," said he to the astonished monks, addressing them, as it seemed,

VOL. LXXXV.-NO. DXXI.

rather than Giacomo; "I am satisfied with his word; I take the charge of this boy so long as need require.' "It seems scarcely well counselled, my good lord," began the prior.

"I take it upon myself; if any thing herein bring blame or loss, I hereby declare it done of my own sole act and deed, and I will do all that in me lies to bear the brotherhood harmless."

The monks were silent. Jealousy, astonishment, curiosity, were all too strong for words. Seldom had their present superior shown himself so independent of their counsel or their wishes; never, on so seemingly slight a cause, had they seen him so moved. The Italian bowed his head. "In good time," he said, "for here is Swinford Mill; here, if it please you, let us part." And while the abbot gave the necessary order, he drew the child close to him, and whispered with him for a few moments in the stern of the barge. The parting was very calm and quiet on both sides. If there were tears in the child's eyes, the increasing darkness hid them, and he made no outward complaint or lamentation at being left alone among strangers. His companion had prepared him, doubtless, beforehand for this termination of the interview; and when, after a close embrace, he led him back and placed his hand again in that of the abbot, he did not tremble as he had done in the chamber at Ladysmede. When the barge was brought to the mill-bank, and the Italian, with a few words of courteous farewell, which the monks returned but shortly, prepared to land, the abbot rose, and seemed half inclined to follow him. Leaning over the side of the barge as the other stepped ashore, he spoke a few words low and earnestly, which to the rest of the party were inaudible.

"the He

"Addio!" said the Italian; boy will be safe with you.' turned, and was soon lost to sight in the thickening mists of evening.

The barge continued its way. Abbot Martin had made room for the child beside him, and after a few words of kind encouragement, asked him his name.

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My name is Giulio," he answered. Giulio de Burgh ?"

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"Giulio is my name," the boy repeated, without seeming to understand the second question.

The abbot made no further inquiries, but wrapped his little charge safe from the night air in a warm furred cloak which the priest had left for him. The child leaned his head confidingly against the shoulder of his new friend, and remained perfectly still and silent, as though he slept. The rest of the party preserved for some time the same embarrassed silence which had prevailed since their superior's sudden compliance with the Italian's proposal; and nothing was heard but the measured chant of the fishermen, the dash and ripple of the water, and the groaning of the oars in the rowlocks as the barge swung heavily against the stream round the many bends of the river as they neared the abbey.

They were in the last reach, and the lights from the long row of conventual buildings were gleaming cheerily in the water before them, when the prior broke the silence.

"If Sir Godfrey hears, as he surely will, that we have this boy here among us, he will be sorely wroth; if he have any claim to the disposing of him, right or wrong-which I do not care to ask-he will spare neither force nor fraud to make it good. Far be it from me to question our reverend father's judgment, but I would we knew where this will end."

"There need be little fear, good brother," returned the abbot, "of its coming to Sir Godfrey's ears, so we but keep our own counsel wisely. Old Hubert's silence may easily be bought; as to Roger and the rest, they will have enough to marvel at in the priest's having been on board at all, and will never dream that he had any companion. It is easy enough for us, if we will, to take the child with us when we land, without their knowledge. Good brother," he continued, addressing himself to the sacrist, 'you are reported to have a stout arm at quarter-staff; a kind heart I know you have; it needs but to throw this cloak over your shoulder, and you may carry him up through the gate at this hour, and none be the wiser."

66

The weight of Andrew the sacrist's cudgel had been felt by more than one misdemeanant amongst the dependents of Rivelsby, and was an argument which he was said to have used with some success in settling with a refractory forester who had long objected to pay the church her dues. His kindness of heart, however, was a virtue which he certainly was not wont to parade, and to which his brother monks would scarcely have been so ready to bear testimony. The abbot's compliment on this point fell, therefore, upon the more willing ears. He accepted the proposed office with a wonderfully good grace, and proceeded at oncefor they were now close to the watergate-to make the needful arrangements.

"Art asleep, little one?" he asked, lowering his voice to a kindly whisper, as he prepared to move the boy from the abbot's side, where he was still closely nestled.

Giulio did not answer, but felt for his new guardian's hand, and slightly pressed it, in token that he might be trusted to be silent and discreet; and when his slender form had been raised to the proper position, and wrapped so cunningly as to add but very little to the outline of his bearer's stout proportions, even had there been light enough to have distinguished them, he joined his arms round the monk's neck to support himself with such a loving clasp, as to make him give the abbot credit, from that time forth, for very remarkable penetration, in having detected a weakness in his character on the point of tender-heartedness of which he had been wholly unconscious himself. Those little human fingers, with their strange touch, had a

wonderful power of feeling into the secrets of these men's hearts.

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Why, what a morsel it is!" said the sacrist; "he is scarce as heavy as the mass-book. I feared I might have been asked to carry the excellent sub-prior. Do you see to him, Master Wolfert, that he steps ashore as becomes his dignity; if he plump into the river hereabouts, it may cost us some pains to get him out of the mud."

Following carefully the abbot's

steps, and with one of the brethren walking close at his side, so as in some degree to conceal his figure, the monk carried his novel burden safe and undiscovered up the river walk, and through the arched gateway which led into the court of the monastery. Thence he was led up into the abbot's chamber, where, for the first time, the brethren found light and leisure to examine more closely the little stranger who had been so suddenly thrown upon their protection. He might be about seven years old-a slight fair boy, whose large blue eyes had more than a child's intelligence, with a grave and thoughtful sadness which might have been their natural character, or might have seemed to tell a tale of early suffering; and it was an expression of the same kind about the lines of the mouth, always painful in so young a face, which alone would have prevented the wellcut features from being pronounced beautiful. He bore the curious gaze with which his new protectors scrutinised him with wonderful self-possession, and only a very slight flush rose into the thin pale cheek. Much as they might long to know something of his history, all felt it would be unkind to question him then. There hardly needed even the few kind words with which the abbot sought to gain the boy's confidence to assure him that he had fallen into kindly hands. Their very curiosity was in his favour. Be he who or what he might, and whatever trouble his strange coming might bring with it, it was an event in the life of the cloister. There was an unconscious sympathy between the child and the recluse. The one was as ready to welcome the object of a novel and pleasing excitement, as the other had been to find in every new face a friend. It might be, too, that in both the tendrils of the heart had found as yet but few natural props to cling to, and were striking wildly out, it mattered not in what direction, to seize on any chance support that offered. The prior, indeed, was not among them; he had taken his leave of the party at the gate, protesting, as far as reserve and silence could protest, that he washed his hands altogether of a proceeding in

which his own opinion had been so little consulted. Brother Simon had wisely found his way to bed; but the rest still stood round the little Giulio with looks of eager yet kindly interest, until the superior gave him in charge to his chaplain, with instructions to the master of the novices for the refreshment and rest which he needed.

"And bid the good father place him for this night, if it may be, in some chamber apart; to-morrow, say that I will see to his lodging myself." And with a kindly spoken blessing he dismissed his little guest, and the monks withdrew.

He was still pacing his chamber slowly when Wolfert returned from his errand. After ascertaining that his orders had been duly executed, he took up his breviary and sat down. Either he was engrossed with his devotions, or at least he was indisposed for conversation. Once or twice he rose, and, walking to one of the windows, looked out into the starlight over the long low flats. The student chaplain had opened his ponderous volume, and, partly because it was his habit, partly because he would gladly have been favoured with somewhat more of his companion's confidence, sat late into the night. The bell went for midnight lauds, but Abbot Martin's seat in choir, contrary to his wont, was vacant. Wolfert found him still sitting, breviary in hand, when he returned; and when, after scarcely venturing to bid his superior a reverent good-night, he laid himself down at last on his own pallet, which, according to custom, was set in one corner of the abbot's chamber, it seemed long to his weary eyes before the light which burned there was extinguished. Not even curiosity could keep the young monk from sleeping; but twice, before the day broke, he started from his rest, as he thought he heard first the Italian's voice, and then the abbot's, calling him. The last time he felt sure his ears had not deceived him. It was Abbot Martin's voice, and he was calling, but not on Wolfert. Whether the name which broke from his lips were that of holy saint or sinful mortal, it was one never heard before within the walls of Rivelsby.

ITALY: HER NATIONALITY OR DEPENDENCE.

AN Empire which is peace has threatened Italy with war. An Emperor who has allied himself to despotism in France, seeks the sympathy of liberty abroad. The boasted champion of law and order is ready to throw Europe into confusion. The man whose armies crushed the Roman Republic in 1849, is now, in 1859, eager, at the call of national independence, to overthrow the Austrians in Lombardy. We shall not attempt to reconcile these anomalies with honesty of purpose; we shall not stop to inquire whether Louis Napoleon be the fitting instrument for the execution of these pretentious designs our object is simply to expound the difficulties of the Italian question, to show how little the Italian people are fitted for free institutions, and how greatly corrupt governments are the natural product of decaying nationalities.

It were indeed fortunate were the difficulties of Italy merely Austrian. But from north to furthest south, continued and hitherto unallayed troubles have ever rendered Italian politics proverbially perplexed. We need scarcely say that in Naples, between Ferdinand the King, and the Lazaroni his subjects, constitutional liberty has found a natural issue in despotism of the lowest form. In the States of the Church the Pope is notoriously insecure in the Chair of St Peter; the exchequer is little better than bankrupt; France and Austria are openly contending for the prey; while the gates of Rome itself are beset with malaria and bandits. Tuscany was for some years subsequent to 1848 in occupation of foreign troops, while some minor states, nominally Italian, would seem to enjoy, as incident to their weakness, a doubtful compromise between despotism, anarchy, and foreign intervention. Coming to Sardinia, of late years deservedly the new-born hope of national independence, we are met by fresh perplexities. The constitution does not pay its way, the people find that it costs too much, that it is a luxury beyond their means. The priests, moreover, are plotting against

a progressive power which threatens their Church with innovation. Rome and Turin are at open variance. Reaction is thus pending on the one hand, while from the side of the lower but still potent populace is raised the clamour of republic and revolution. It were a sign of strength were the King, the Constitution, and the Ministers willing calmly to await the success which reasonably might reward so noble an experiment. But impatiently, as at the present moment, to rush into unprovoked antagonism, to call in a neighbouring power to aid in an enterprise otherwise obviously hopeless, would seem as the last struggle of a man who feels there is little to lose, and that his only chance remains in wreckless venture. Again, we repeat, it were well for Italy were Austria her only difficulty. When France shall have crossed the Alps, it were indeed fortunate were Austria the only foreign conqueror holding Italy in subjection. The perplexities of Italian politics are already sufficiently great, but when the power of France shall be felt from the plains of Lombardy to the Campagna of Rome, then the complexity of French politics, the insecurity of French dynasties, will be added to those of Italy. When the despotism which rules in Paris shall be extended to Venice and Milan, then may the Italians once again arm for a war of independence. Thus, then, the admitted difficulties besetting Italian politics, if not insuperable, are certainly little likely to be lessened or removed by French intervention.

We know not by what title the Emperor of France, the destroyer of the Roman Republic, would set up his self-constituted mission for Italian regeneration. If he seek the amelioration of existing Italian governments, so do we. If, in the cause of European order, he insist on the necessity of urgent reforms, so do we. But if, still further, he threaten great organic changes; if he presume to promise to Italy nationality, unity, and the return of past greatness, we do not hesitate to say that he ceases

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