He was looking gloriously black, so sleek and well-ordered, not in the least as if the long journey had fatigued him, or disconcerted him. After permitting himself to be admired for a few moments, he opened his wings to assist himself up the rock down which he had come. His left wing had been clipped, so he could not easily fly, and his body was too heavy to enable him to pass up any height without his wings to bear him on. At no moment had Ricciotto felt himself so lonely as this, when his friend the raven seemed determined to go away and leave him. Come, Cecco!" he said winningly, imploringly pulling a handful of grass to offer him, and feeling in his one pocket, in the forlorn hope that a crumb of bread might have been left in it come back, Cecco mio! — and Poor lad! it was in vain he stopped to find a tempting bribe to offer his friend; but it brought before him as a fact how absolutely friend. less he had made himself how much poorer he was, in truth, than that bird, who, requiring less for its support than a child requires, had that little within its reach, without either toiling or spinning. But Cecco hopped on; and then Ricciotto thought that he, too, would climb the crag, and try to catch him. That would have been a wild feat of courage, for Cecco had a long, sharp beak, and made those remember him who had once roused him into pecking them. While Ricciotto turned to choose the place from which he should begin to climb, he lost sight of Cecco. He could hear him clucking with glee, but he was no longer to be seen. This roused Ricciotto's curiosity. Cecco often took journeys by himself; but now why had he taken this one? Was he disgusted at the closed shop, and had he come to remonstrate with his master, or was be seeking his master? ciotto that he must find standing-room somewhere, before he waited to think, or admire, or even rejoice. With caution he raised himself by his arms, till he could make a step up the dark-blue, weather-beaten crag to a tiny landing, where some sort of stonecrop had made a home for itself. Once there, though there was only room for one small foot, the main difficulty was over. Being a mountain-bred boy, often used to drive goats up the hills, he was accustomed to emergencies, and well understood when to trust himself to drop a few feet, and when to slide, and how to balance him self, and leap. So, though the place would have been impossible to a city lad, or ordinarily clever gymnast, to Ricciotto it presented no unconquerable difficulties, and in a very short time he had followed Cecco, and found himself in Ludovico's den, at the top of the highest peak in all that range of mountains. "Madre di Dio !" said a woman's voice. It was Grazuccia, awaking suddenly, full of fear. "Che diavolo!" said Ludovico, putting his hand instinctively on his revolver not knowing whether he had been betrayed. "Oh," said Ricciotto, picking up his hat, which in fact had made more noise in coming down to earth than he himself had, "if I had but known, I would have brought Diana!" "And why have you come?" said Ludovico; "for certainly you were not invited." "I did not see you - I only saw Ninettina," said Ricciotto, “and Cecco." 46 Ah, that Cecco! I shall kill that bird!" said Ludovico angrily. "Who is with you? and where do you come from ? and what made you come?" Don't kill Cecco," said Ricciotto. "I'll soon go back again." "I wonder you did not break your neck, Ricciotto climbed well, and had got that I do!" said Grazuccia; who now some thirty feet higher up the divided was wide awake, and smoothing her glossy cone when he found that he had come hair beneath a common yellow cotton upon a secret haunt not seen from below handkerchief which she had tied over her - the cone was partly hollow. Cecco had head, and which made her look smaller gone down into it, and was gravely watch- and paler and older than she had ever ing the slumbers of his playmate and mis-seemed before to the boy. She was a tress, little Ninetta. This was such a surprise, that for a few moments it stopped all sensation, and the little lad could only hold on to the edge of the rock, and look at the sleeping child below. But pain soon tells us when our bodies will no longer be neglected, and aching shoulders and arms warned Ric neat little woman of thirty, never very handsome, but remarkably sympathetic in countenance, voice, and manner; a trustworthy friend, good housekeeper, and good nurse. "Who is he?" said Ludovico. " I know him quite well. I know him, but can give him no name." "It is the boy who brings in the hay for the mule, from Giuseppe Piattolini," said Grazuccia. "So it is," said Ludovico, relieved. Ricciotto looked into his face with won der, and an involuntary feeling of sadness. It certainly was Don Ludovico, and yet it was not the very same man who, at the top of the serious, earnest business of life, had ever kept a smile playing about his mouth, and light words to suit all passers-by, foaming like the crest of a wave. Now he was languid and feverstricken; the face, usually so splendidly bronzed by weather and health, was pale and yellow; and his eyes, sunk deep, glared from chalky white surroundings, lacking lustre and intensity, though bright and dry from the fever that scorched within. He was so thin, too, and his active, busy hands hung nervelessly at his side, and he sank back on his pillow as if thankful to rest - too weary to give attention, even to his surprise. "You find him changed?" said Grazuccia, noticing the boy's face, and silent examination. mind, she fetched her oil lamp, and got out some coffee, to prepare a simple breakfast for Ludovico. She had arranged the queer home very conveniently, considering all things. A canvas had been spread out, and some matting also, to keep off the sun and night air in some measure; and beneath this rude awning a lot of spoglie (or leaves of the Indian corn) had been heaped up to make a bed, some sacking and blankets had been thrown over the leaves, and some pillows, in beautifully white linen cases, were also provided for the sick man and sleeping child-though Grazuccia herself had only slept seated at his side, wrapped in a cloak, her head against the rock, on purpose to keep her so lightly asleep that any movement of his should awaken her. She was very quiet and quick in her movements; ground her coffee (at which Ludovico groaned with protesting patience, his poor head was so racked with pain). Then she found water, and filled her bright little pot, and put it over the lamp to boil; but then came a difficulty -cautiously she peeped in, to see if the oil was all right before wasting a match to kindle the flame, and she found that the lamp was nearly empty. Then she turned to her great wicker-cased flask of oil, and saw that it had been overturned, and that the precious oil had slowly trickled over a piece of rock into the grass and sand, away and away; the flask having so fallen that it was actually tipped up, and not a tablespoonful remained, even in the great buiging side. "Dio santo!" said Grazuccia. “Misericordia!" che disgrazia! what a terrible misfortune! Ah, you young dog, that is your doing! What omens of grief, of pain, and trouble have you brought! Dio mio! Dio mio! what shall I do?— what shall I do? eh, Dio! che disgrazia!" | Ricciotto said not a word - he knew well what the loss this upset of oil was to Grazuccia, and he also knew of the import as an omen that in all Italy the spilling of oil means misfortune, or sickness, or even death; and so is feared, almost prayed against, as if it were the evil itself, rather than a mere sign or prognostic of harm. "Diamine!" said Ludovico, who was supposed to have some close relation with the power he so frequently invoked, he had so much opposition in his character scolding often for trifles that others cared nothing for, and laughing at matters that had caused his wife real distress and anger. "Dost thou grudge thy floor a little polish, and thy flask a moment of repose?" he asked, with as much of a laugh as his wretched body would allow. "Oh, Ludovico!" said Grazuccia, out of patience, "tell me one thing, how shall I get thy coffee without heat? and how can thy poor head wait till I get more oil to fill the lamp? If I had only seen it roll over, I could have saved enough; but who could have expected to see that boy here? and how could I think of any thing but surprise, when he tumbled over like a stenterello, as he was?" "Let the flask repose in peace," said Ludovico. "I too will try to repose in peace, if you will permit me to do so, and will keep an eye on our unbidden guest. I do not want coffee, my Grazuccia; if it is for me only that you fret, you may well 'cease to regret." "But I do not want you to repose in peace as if you were dead, I want you to have your coffee, and feel really better," said Grazuccia. If you only would go home, where we can live like Christians, and have proper fires and proper food! Ludovico drew his cap lower upon his brow, and shrugged his shoulders beneath his blanket, as he settled himself in patient contempt for these useless lamentations, disdaining a reply. Perhaps the pazzo has not gone back to town yet," said Grazuccia, a smile breaking over her anxious face. "Look here, you Ricciotto! just get down there through that hole, and down the rough sort of steps, and feel along till you get to the bushes (and mind you don't break them), but get into the open and look about if you see the pazzo." "Cavaliere Giorgio?" said Ricciotto. "Yes, yes! quick now, and tell him I want to speak a word with him!" So Ricciotto, up in this forsaken corner of the world, found himself again at work at his old business of running errands. He did not wait or hesitate, but scrambled through a small opening that had been made in the side of the quarry, and only partly filled in; a few minutes, and he was in the air again, and seemed to be looking over the back of the Wounded Dove on to the dome of the cathedral, only it seemed so small and distant. He was still looking to see where he was, when some one spoke. "Are you taking the air to get an appetite for breakfast, my fine young man?" "I was looking for you," said Ricciotto, turning quickly round, and meeting the sharp eyes of the young man known familiarly as the pazzo, or madman. "And did you expect to see me on a rainbow, or a sunbeam, or hanging in midair?" "No," said Ricciotto; "Grazuccia told me you were close here. But I was looking to see where this place is, and to see the sun, too." "And now you have seen all, where are you going?" "I don't know," said Ricciotto. "You had better come along with me," said the pazzo; and he got up, and put his hand roughly, but not unkindly, on the boy's shoulder. Ricciotto looked up at him. Though his clothes were much torn, he was a good-looking man, weather-beaten, and burnt deep brown and red; his features were regular, and his throat and chest as brown as his face and hands. He had brilliant eyes, that gave sudden, quick glances, and yet could fix on an object with great force and pertinacity, making those feel uncomfortable who happened to be under his gaze. His hair curled in ringlets over his forehead and round his head; and his beard, which was cleft in two on the chin, had the points emphasized by the addition of the long ends of the moustache, which, turning back so as to show the well-formed mouth and white teeth, fell over in long curves at the ends, such as one sees in old paintings of St. John when he was young. Ricciotto felt some confidence with him, and told him of the misfortune with the oil, and also how it was that he had upset it. "Per Bacco! but you are an unlucky young rascal!" said the pazzo, at length; then he turned, and with great care pushed aside the scanty bushes that grew near the small passage up which they had to go to reach Grazuccia. When they got in, they found that Ninetta was awake. Her mother had dressed her, and smoothed her long hair, drawing it tight away from her face, in a long plait behind. Her father lay watching her, with a yearning tenderness in his face that gave more anxiety to those who saw it than any other signs of his illness, evident as they were. Others concerned his body, and were caused by the expos. ure and deprivation he had endured; but this told of his heart-sickness, and the combined longing for rest and questioning with his soul whether it was quite right to wish to forsake so sweet and helpless a thing, together with the pain that came upon him at the mere idea of part- | hat. "He wants his coffee," he whispered ing from her, the brightest hope of his low to Grazuccia. personal life. "I'll get you some hot water," said the pazzo, with sudden determination. There, give me the coffee pot. I and the youngster will manage it somehow. Poor little chap! Come on, diavoletto with the cherubic countenance!" "And he can't have it," groaned the Grazuccia had done wisely in bringing poor little woman, her affectionate anx her there, for it was almost the only anti-iety turning her into a sort of wild cat. dote that remained to quiet his passionate I could kill that boy," she said fiercely, regret. The smarting and aching with under her breath. which he was forced to acknowledge that the selfishness of ordinary men made the sacrifices of patriots of no avail, the disappointment in finding that, for his own part, his courageous adherence to ideas for the elevation of the masses, for the protection of the timid, and the attainment of mental and moral liberty, were lost to those who ought to have benefited by them, and he himself a fugitive to avoid being a prisoner in defence of his unselfish aspirations. Now that he was ill she spared him these remonstrances; only in her prayers reminding the good Father of all that she had remonstrated, and it was no fault of hers that her husband belonged to the New Italy party, and so offended his fellow-countrymen. Grazuccia looked round as the pazzo and Ricciotto came near, and then she rushed at once into the account of the spilling of the oil. Ludovico was really too ill to bear the worry of any talking or altercation; and, with closed eyes, permitted Grazuccia to fan him, bathe his forehead with vinegar, and whisper prayers for him, not giving a sign whether he heard or felt, except by the miserable self- abandoned groans. Ninetta, meanwhile, watched her mother and father, and was thankful to Cecco for his amiable attentions in hopping about her, and inviting her to be amused, and occupy herself with him. "It is a risk," said the pazzo when he and Ricciotto again got clear of the den, and were out on the mountain-side. "All these weeks no one has seen a thing or guessed where my castle is to be found; and to light a fire is to attract notice. Never mind, never mind! What does it matter? Who cares?" "Who is to see?" asked Ricciotto. pazzo. "Who will that be?" asked Ricciotto. "Those we do not wish to find us," said the pazzo. "Celestina could not see from her "It must have been the very devil him-home," said Ricciotto. "Do you think self that was in that bird, and sent him" she could?" (pointing to Ricciotto), said Grazuccia; and as she generally was a pious soul, and careful with her words, it proved to both the pazzo and Ludovico how much she had been disturbed. 'Nay," said Ludovico, with an effort at the lightness of his old healthy self. "It was La Ninetta's good angel, who took the moment when she was sleeping to fetch her a playfellow!" "A fine playfellow indeed!" said Grazuccia, who had her pride, and was careful with whom her dainty little maiden spoke or played. "I wish he could go back where he came from, if he could only forget that he has been here!" "Ah me! ah me!" groaned Ludovico, with the weary fretfulness of exhaustion. This roused Giorgio, the pazzo, who came near him, and fanned him with his "I don't know where she lives. There, there that is enough for the present. No one in the city could see the flame from here -a spark like this, too!" There were not many pieces of dry stick to be found about, so the pazzo had to cut a few branches, which, being green, were difficult to kindle. It was a work of time to get up a fire; but they did it at last, and a long streak of smoke, black as ink, rose from behind an angle of the rock, straight up to the sky. "There!" said the pazzo, as the water boiled, and he poured it into the coffee. biggin triumphantly. "Unless it's the day for a fatigue march, I doubt if any one will be the wiser;" but as soon as he had placed his little coffee-pot in safety, he pulled the fire to pieces (astonishing the beetles and lizards, which were already there is of me! a bit ragged, that's all." peeping out to see the sunrise), by throw- | friends; and you see, here I am, what ing hot glowing branches and twigs out upon the rocks, to die out in sparks, or smoulder away, sending their faint odor up to the clouds, which seemed lingering to receive it, just over their heads. Ludovico was thankful, and revived a little when he had drunk his coffee, and seen Grazuccia and the little Ninetta at their simple breakfast by his side. They offered some coffee, little as there was, to the pazzo, but he refused steadfastly. Then Grazuccia gave him the key of her house, and many directions as to what he was to bring. "And how I shall do till night, without oil to light the lamp and warm his broth, I don't know," she said at last. "Come as soon as you can, bnt run no risk for him." "Well understood," said the pazzo. Then he started, and found Ricciotto waiting a few yards down, not quite knowing what to do, and also feeling hungry. The young man looked into a long old basket, which he carried on his back when he went down into the town, and finding a piece of coarse bread, cut it in two and gave half to Ricciotto. "If you see Diana," said Ricciotto, "mind you give her some water!" and then he told the pazzo all that had happened, and how Diana could not be persuaded to leave the house. "Per Bacco!" said the pazzo, and he laughed and rubbed his hands, and, for the first time, chuckled so fiercely that Ricciotto was afraid of him. And where are you starting for, eh?" he said at last, having settled some question in his own mind to his satisfaction. "I don't quite want to say good-bye," he added, looking down at the little lad. "That's very good of you," said Ricciotto; "but I came up here to be away from men, till I, too, am grown up. I saw some goats and kids on a hill over there yesterday, and I thought I would try to find them, if they belong to nobody." "That is well," said Ricciotto thoughtfully; and he stood quite still, watching the young man down two angles of the mountain path, and wondering at him. "I wonder why he said he has no friends, when he does so much for Grazuccia? Perhaps she pays him, though. I wonder whether paying a person keeps him from being a friend?" thought Ricciotto. "I wish he would come back again! י! Then, remembering that Grazuccia had been angry with him, he started for the next ridge of hills, wishing to get away before she remembered him, and also hoping there to make friends of some wild goats. Poor little lad! From The Contemporary Review. EDMUND BURKE. MR. JOHN MORLEY, who amongst other things has written two admirable books about Edmund Burke, is to be found in the preface to the second of them apologizing for having introduced into the body of the work extracts from his former volume conduct which he seeks to justify by quoting from the Greek (always a desirable thing to do when in a difficulty), to prove that though you may say what you have to say well once, you cannot so say it twice. A difficulty somewhat of the same kind cannot fail to be felt by every one who takes upon himself to write on Burke; for however innocent a man's own past life may be of any public references to the subject, the very many good things other men have said about it must seriously interfere with true liberty of treatment. Hardly any man, and certainly no politician, has been so bepraised as Burke, whose very name, suggesting, as it does, splendor of diction, has tempted those who would praise him to do so in a highly decorated style, and it would have been easy work to have brought together a sufficient number of animated passages from the works of well known writers all dedicated to the greater glory of Edmund Burke, and then to have tagged on half-adozen specimens of his own resplendent rhetoric, and so to have come to an apparently natural and long-desired conclusion without exciting any more than usual grumble. |