science: he must be something still more dangerous. It was time to cast away her fear and speak with courage.

"Sir," she said, "I know not how you have obtained the knowledge of my name. What accident may have revealed it to you it is not in my power to say, but this, at least, I know, that your delusion must be very great if you suppose that I have ever addressed to you a single line."

66

Oh, deny it not," exclaimed Anatole. "Do not deprive me of the sweetest hope that ever swelled my bosom."

He unfolded the letter and read:

"You have not appealed to me in vain. Yes! I did not fail to observe your respectful devotion at the Louvre, when, as you tell me, you did not dare to speak. Neither were those glances thrown away which I already knew you directed to me at the theatre. I saw you also when, as you remind me, we drove away. Imagine, then, my joy when Lisette, my faithful femme de chambre, placed in my hands the precious lines which told me I was beloved, I whom

"Stay, sir!" interrupted Bianca. "If not yourself the insolent author of what you appear to read, you are the victim of the most wicked fabrication that human being ever conceived. Show me that paper!"

Bianca spoke with so much pride and dignity that Anatole, quite humbled, submissively placed the letter in her hands.

With glowing cheeks Bianca read it through.

"The wretch," she said, contemptuously, "who wrote what is here had not, after all, the courage to forge my name. Some circumstances of my life are known to the writer, but they might easily have become known to any one. From whom did you receive this letter?"

"From a man named Antoine," replied Anatole, "the confidential servant of Monsieur le Marquis de Saverne; he had it, as he assured me, from your own maid Lisette."

"There are no such persons," said Bianca, coldly. "It is a trick, at my expense, to rob you of your money."

She threw the letter on the table.

66

'Now, sir,” she said, "you may go."

"Not, Mademoiselle," cried Anatole, throwing himself on his knees before her "not till I am forgiven. I love you, Mademoiselle de Gournay, though I have been fatally wrong in supposing my love was returned. Forgive me for that, as well as for the conduct which led to this explanation."

In what manner Bianca might have replied to the prostrate artist it is useless to conjecture, for just as she was about to speak the door opened, and two persons entered the room.

Both were elderly men. In one of them, Anatole, who turned his head as he heard the noise of their approach, beheld his uncle: in the other, notwithstanding his mean attire, Bianca recognised Monsieur de Saverne.

"So!" exclaimed the Marquis, casting a furious glance at Anatole, who hastily rose from his knees, but addressing Bianca-" so, Mademoiselle, it was to meet a lover that you fled from my protection. I might have supposed as much!"

Monsieur Simonet said nothing, but angrily shook his fist at his nephew.

Pained as Mademoiselle de Gournay was at the equivocal situation in which she was placed, her spirit rose above her embarrassment.

By what right, sir," she said, "do you presume to follow me here? Was it not enough to outrage me beneath your own roof, but you must venture upon my chosen privacy, and again insult one whom you have so basely, so cruelly wronged ?""

"The right I use," replied the Marquis, "is the right delegated to me by your father, of whom," he added, turning to Anatole's uncle, "I am, as I told you, the nearest relation."

"Your authority, Monsieur le Marquis," said Monsieur Simonet, bowing, "is unimpeachable. Even if this young lady had not established herself in this hotel under a false name-a grievous infraction of the Code-she is still amenable to a heavy penalty for avoiding your jurisdiction."

"I am ignorant, sir," said Bianca, haughtily, "who you may be that take upon yourself to deliver legal opinions, and pronounce upon my conduct; but be assured that, whatever its formalities, the law of France will never shelter itself beneath them for the purpose of oppression. And for you, Monsieur de Saverne, beware how you speak of delegated rights to me, who now know the full extent of your villany. It was, indeed," she continued, with bitter scorn, "a well-planned scheme to lure my father to a distant prison that you might the safer practise on me!"

At the word "prison" the Marquis started, as if something had suddenly stung him. How had Bianca learned his secret? Nevertheless, he tried to speak, but before he could utter a syllable Anatole broke in.

"Mademoiselle," he said, "I owe you indemnification for the trouble I have caused. I offended without intention; permit me to atone for my offence. I have heard enough, Monsieur," he continued, approaching the Marquis, "to satisfy me that you have committed acts which degrade not only the rank you hold, but-in however humble a degree-the name of a Frenchman. Yet your unworthiness shall not afford you the means of escape. I take upon myself this young lady's quarrel, and demand that you make reparation to me for the infamy of your conduct towards her."

"Anatole!” cried Monsieur Simonet, "have you lost your senses? Do you know that you are speaking to the Marquis de Saverne-to the richest nobleman in France ?"

"Were he," returned Anatole, "fifty times a marquis and fifty times richer, I would only so much the more repeat what I have already said. You have heard me, Monsieur de Saverne there can be but one reply." "It must be made to me!" cried a voice from behind.

At this interruption every one looked towards the door. The speaker was Hubert Gurney, who at that moment rushed into the room.

"Gentlemen!" exclaimed Bianca, "I beseech you to be calm. Contempt is the only punishment for that man."

Yet even Bianca's words would have failed to control the impetuous young men, on each of whom the Marquis alternately cast his eyes, gleaming with vindictive fury, but another cause arrested them. On a sudden the ashy whiteness of his cheek gave place to a flush of preternatural red -he raised his arm as if to strike him who was nearest, but in the act of doing so the coup de sang mounted, he staggered, and fell senseless on the floor.

NAPLES AND THE NEAPOLITANS.*

THE generality of "forestieri" who dwell at Naples imbibe exceedingly erroneous ideas with regard to the institutions of that country. They give publicity to these ideas with an assurance which has all the more weight as their conclusions seem to be founded upon carefully collected data. Nothing is more common than to hear Neapolitan institutions spoken of with contempt even in cases where least deserved. But the fact is, that the more these institutions are examined, the more wise and provident will they be found to be. The legislature would appear to have retained everything of which experience has proved the utility of the many different systems of government and administration that have been put into practice at Naples, more especially all that could present solid guarantees to a people jealous of its rights, firm in the support of order and progress, and anxious to keep themselves within the bounds of a political moderation, which by no means excludes activity of life or industrial and commercial prosperity.

Organisation of high administration, organisation of justice and of public instruction, and financial and commercial organisation, appear quite as complete as in other countries. Unfortunately, this grand total of decrees, laws, and institutions, crowned by a constitution in 1848, has lost its tiara-suspended, we are told, for the time being, not abrogated. If you look closely, indeed, at this grand constitutional edifice, which, seen at a distance, appears so imposing, you will soon perceive that the soldiers who mount guard over it do not do so in the interest of the indwellers, for it is a wilderness, but that they are there to prevent intrusion.

When a few honest or liberal minds disclaim against this perversion of institutions, or interference forces itself on foreign governments from mere shame at standing aloof while such legal enormities are being enacted in the face of the boasted civilisation of the nineteenth century, the government of the Two Sicilies has an answer ready. "These verdicts, which you make a crime of, have been given by a court constituted upon a vigorous interpretation of the Code Napoléon. The judges, it is true, are particularly devoted to the king; but is such devotion only praiseworthy in the instance of senators and councillors of state ?"

"There is no reply," M. Théodore Vernes says, "to so conclusive a remark, except to admit that the kingdom of Naples is one of the best monarchies possible, and that everything that is in it is also for the best!"

The law punishes administrative frauds with heavy inflictions, yet such are so common at Naples that they appear to have passed into the daily habits of the people. From the highest functionaries down to the pettiest employé, a chronic venality has invaded every corner of society. The fact is, that wherever there is universal demoralisation, there is corruption in high places. The Orient used to monopolise with Russia the worst reputation in this respect: it took the moral world by surprise to find

Naples et les Napolitans. Par M. Théodore Vernes. Paris: Michel Lévy Frères. 1860.

Austria deeply involved in the same miserable category. Yearly we see the same state of things becoming more rife in financial circles in our own country; happily we have had no examples of such in government offices, but we have among contractors: witness the Galatz preserved meats, one of the most sordid manifestations possible. If in this country we have not such glaring moral delinquencies as in others, we have that which works quite as mischievously in retarding progress, and that is a responsibility so largely divided, a system of governmental supervision so inextricably confused, and a consequent wastefulness of so prodigious a nature, that it may be fairly estimated that not one-half of the moneys originally voted for certain purposes-say, the strengthening of our land forces, the giving efficiency to our navy, or the construction of defencesever reaches its real destiny. It would require a modern Hercules to cleanse this Augean stable of legalised misappropriation, but when will he appear? It is the order of the day in political economy, as it is in religion, to let matters take their own course.

It is to be remarked, in considering the national character of the Neapolitans, that populations of most diverse origin have successively invaded the country and superposed themselves upon the primitive tribes, influencing and modifying to a considerable extent the institutions, manners, and religious tendencies of the people. In the radius of Naples alone we meet with descendants of eight or ten races. Thus at Pozzuolo there are traces of an Arab colony, and at Nocera, long occupied by Saracenic mercenaries in the service of the kings of Naples, Arab words and an Arabian pronunciation can be still detected. Many Norman words attest the long possession of Salerno by those hardy adventurers. In like manner certain sonorous expressions in use among the lazzaroni attest to their Spanish origin; the French alone have left fewer traces than any other people, but there are still some descendants of the refugees from the Sicilian Vespers to be met with.

The physiognomy of this mixed population is full of originality, especially in the lower classes. Habitually thoughtless and vivacious, the latter seem to have no one care beyond idleness and dissipation. With them there is neither public opinion nor ambition. His intellectual, or even his spiritual life, gives no more concern to your lazzaroni than do his daily food, his clothes, and lodgings. His home is the street, and his comforter is the sun.

The Neapolitans have had a parliamentary and constitutional government conferred upon them on two different occasions, but they have never failed with such a people to give way before the traditional rule of despotism. The constitution was first suppressed by Ferdinand I. in 1823, and, once more resuscitated, it was again suppressed by Ferdinand II. in 1848. M. Gondon published an inquiry in 1857 into the causes which led to this failure, and he attributed it to probably its just cause-the total want of political education among the masses, and their utter ignorance of political rights. Any one not versed in the past, and more especially the mediaval, history of Italy would say that, with the exception of Piedmont, perhaps there is not a realm that is ripe to receive a constitution in the whole peninsula; and this is the fallacy of M. Gondon, who attests as much in the development of his views, and arguing upon the moral, intellectual, and physical prostration brought about by a pro

longed and unmitigated despotism of Church and State, would also insist that such a despotism is the form of government best suited to the Neapolitans, and, indeed, to all Italy. One evil having entailed another, it might as well be argued it is better to sustain the former as best suited to the mischief it has engendered.

In the mean time, despotic governments and theocracies are always ready to avail themselves of principles of this description. The people, they say, have shown their political incapacity and inaptitude; they have been tried and have been found wanting; they are too ignorant to take a part in the administration; there is nothing for it, then, but to confirm that state of moral and intellectual nonentity which most approximates their condition to that of the beasts of the field. Mr. Gladstone has said of the Neapolitans, that there is not a milder people in all Europe, nor one that is more capable of attachment and of control. This in face of the fact that might be historically adduced of some forty revolts or insurrections; but, then, these have never surged to the surface till the neverending progress of confirming the prostration of the people has gone so far that nothing remained but to rise, or to be smothered without an effort, without even the pangs and convulsions inseparable from a physical as well as from a moral and intellectual death.

The case even with the aristocracy is very little better. Possessing palaces that are likewise museums, they yet have not only little taste for the arts, but also as little for literature; almost an elementary education is neglected, and, in consequence, the serious aspects of life are entirely cast aside for the most frivolous pursuits. M. Vernes compares their condition, aptly enough, to that of the French nobility under the "grand monarque. They themselves believe that they can best prove their devotion to their king by their swords, and the influence which, as great lords, they possess over those around them, than by being transformed into incompetent legislators. Happily, he adds, two centuries have gone by since it was supposed that the nobility had nothing else to do than to be incessantly dealing "de grands coups d'épée," or wasting their time in the ante-chambers of sovereigns. He admits, at the same time, that the priests and the ruling powers leaving them nothing to do, nothing can exceed the urbanity and politeness with which they do the honours of their museums and their palaces. There are, even among the nobility as among the middle classes, the germs of a better future. The disciples of Poerio are by no means so few as is generally imagined, and they only await that circumstances shall be favourable to emancipate themselves from the incubus which weighs upon all alike. Unfortunately, the system of degrading oppression is followed up with a pertinacity that never belies itself, or even suffers a moment's aspiration after a better state of things. There are only two establishments that the king really interests himself in: one is an institution for the education of young Chinese-for there are fewer inconveniences likely to arise in giving instruction to the Chinese than to the Neapolitans; the second is a brotherly institution for burying people gratuitously. Rather than be disturbed in the uncontrolled enjoyment of his despotic rule, the benevolent sovereign of the Two Sicilies would probably prefer seeing all his subjects under the sod.

The chief influence that abets this melancholy state of things is the