miracle; and the viceroy passed the night in agonies of uncertainty and trepidation. While the duke was quaking in the castle, Masaniello's power was rising higher every hour. He was already, indeed, in everything but name, the governor of Naples. The proud and beautiful city was at his feet. The haughty cavaliers of Spain durst not wag their fingers; for the number of his followers was now at least a hundred thousand. His throne of timber in the market-place was surrounded by battalions of armed men, ready to carry out his slightest orders. Beside him, at a table, six clerks were constantly em ployed in writing out his edicts. One of these proclamations, which is recorded, shows that Masaniello possessed, like all born leaders, a falcon's eye for details. The nobility were ordered to walk out without their cloaks, monks to put off their cassocks, and ladies to wear no skirts that swept the ground; for in all such garments arms might be concealed. The law courts were shut up. Criminals of every rank and station were dragged before that strange tribunal at which Masaniello was both judge and jury. In one corner of the market-place a gibbet was set up; and the course of justice was of the admirably swift and ready kind which characterized the judgment-seat of Minos. Sempre dinanzi a lui ne stanno molte; Vanno a vicenda ciascuna al giudizio; Dicono e odono, e poi son giù volte. So vast was the first change in Masaniello's fortune! Two days had sufficed to raise him from the task of mending nets and hawking mullets, to a throne as absolute as Zim-Zizimi's. The viceroy was secure within the castle; but the castle was kept in a close stage of siege. No provisions could pass in; and the duke, and the scores of lords and ladies who had found refuge with him, were beginning to feel miserably in want of meat and poultry, fruit and wine and snow. A spy brought word that Masaniello was preparing a new list of palaces to be set in flames that night. The duke's mind had been wavering; he saw no hope in holding out; these tidings turned the scale; and he gave way. It was the afternoon of Tuesday; Masaniello was sitting on his bench of judgment, when a packet from the viceroy as put into his hand. He tore it open re the crowd. It contained the true ment of the privilege; and in a letter accompanied the parchment, the pressed his willingness to grant, without reserve, the prayer of the most faithful people. The populace received the news with raptures of delight. It was rapidly ar ranged that the viceroy, with the chief officers of state, should meet the people on the morrow in the Carmine Church, when the treaty should be ratified on oath, and a solemn service held in celebration. The insurgents were still kept under arms. But to all appearance the revolt was at an end. The remainder of the day passed quietly. All the city, in joyful anticipation, looked forward to the morrow. But this spirit of contentment was des tined to be roughly broken. Masaniello's chief subalterns were Genovino, a fierce old monk, and Perrone, the captain of a crew of bandits who had their dens among the gorges of Vesuvius. The latter, who had joined the cause in the confident belief that his five hundred desperadoes would enjoy a thieves' paradise among the treasures of the palaces, had been bitterly deceived, and was at heart a traitor. His opportunity was soon to come. That night he had an interview with the duke of Maddaloni and his brother, Don Carafa. From that meeting the bandit carried off a heavy bag of gold. Nor was the treasure paid for nothing. Judas had received the price of blood. It was agreed that on the morrow, during the ceremony in the church, and in full view of the spectators, Masaniello should be shot dead. The morrow came. At noon the great Church of Our Lady was crowded to the doors. Perrone's bravos, to the number of three hundred, were scattered here and there among the crowd. A gorgeous canopy had been set up before the altar, above the crimson cushions of the viceroy and the bishop. Masaniello was standing on the altar steps, a bare sword in his right hand, surrounded by a host of lords and cardinals, conspicuous, among robes of scarlet and tunics laced with silver, by his fisherman's shirt and his cap without a feather. The viceroy had not yet arrived; but the music of his bugles could be heard approaching. This was the moment on which the conspirators had fixed. Perrone suddenly held up his hand; and from different parts of the church seven carbines were instantly fired point-blank at Masaniello. Two of these were so near him that the flash of the explosion singed his blouse. The others struck the altar at his side. Yet, wonderful to state, not one of the seven balls so much as grazed him. The bandits had relied with confidence A more terrific spectacle of warning has seldom made the blood of men run chill. on the fall of Masaniello, and the confu- to the market square and set up in its Two hundred poles were set up in a circle about Masaniello's throne; the corpses of the traitors were beheaded; and soon the fierce head of a bandit grinned on every pole. Two poles, higher than the rest, were placed before the platform, and left vacant. One of these waited for the head of Maddaloni; the other, for the head of Don Carafa. The duke bad taken refuge in the Monastery of St. Efrem. A spy warned him that his hiding place was discovered. He stole out of the convent in a monk's gown and cowl, mounted a swift horse, struck the spurs up to the rowels, and galloped for his life to Benevento. He was just in time. The crowd, failing to find him in the convent, burnt his palace to the ground, and turned in search of Don Carafa. The plot had failed; Masaniello was stronger than ever. His escape was regarded by the people as a miracle. At the time of the attempt he had happened to be wearing, suspended by a ribbon from his neck, a coin, on which was stamped the image of the Virgin. It was plainly to this talisman that his life was owing. Henceforth he was regarded with a double honor, as the champion of the people and as the favorite of Heaven. All thought of the privilege had, for the time, been driven from men's minds. It was evening when the viceroy, who had shut himself up again in Castel Nuovo, sent out a letter to disclaim all knowledge of the plot. He was probably sincere; for the duke, had he conspired against an enemy, was more likely to have planted a stiletto in his back than to have shot him in the open. His protest was accepted. Masaniello returned word that he proposed to ride next morning to the castle, and to have some private conference with his Grace about the public weal. That day marked the height of Masaniello's power. As soon as it was known that he proposed to ride in public through the city the people prepared for an ovation. The houses were decked as for a day of festival. Garlands of flowers and myrtle branches strewed the streets, and twined round every balcony and doorway. Gorgeous arras, tapestries, and banners of rich stuffs, hung out of all the windows; and every point of outlook, on window, roof, and balcony, was alive with eager The don was less lucky than his broth-gazers. The procession started from the A monk from the convent of Zocco- Carmine Church. First came a band of lanti was seen stealing towards the gates of Castel Nuovo. He was seized, and a note found sewn into his sandal. It was from Carafa to the viceroy; he was hiding in the convent; and he implored the duke to send a guard, with cannon, to protect him. The convent was instantly attacked. Carafa, in a friar's frock, sprang out of a window, rushed into a cottage, and crawled under a bed. The woman of the cottage made a signal to the crowd; and in a moment Carafa was dragged out, and hacked in pieces. His head was borne in triumph er. heralds, waving flags and blowing silver bugles; then troops of mounted soldiers, glittering in coats of mail; and then a company of boys and young girls, gaily dressed, with baskets in their hands, tossing a shower of flowers before the hero's horse. Masaniello had, that day, put off his humble garb; and the people with delight beheld their leader in a suit of silver satin, a hat with a gay plume, and a sword bestarred with jewels, prancing upon a steed as white as snow equipped in gold and azure. Behind him came the carriage of the cardinal, and the sedan of his chief counsellor; and the cavalcade moved slowly to the castle, with the splendor of the pageant of a king. Masaniello was received at the castle gates by the captain of the duke's guard. He alighted, and attended by the cardinal ascended the steps towards the entrance. In front of the portico he turned, and in a loud voice charged his followers, that if he failed to reappear within an hour, they should burst with fire and sword into the castle, and demand the reason. At this hint of treachery the people shouted fiercely. Masaniello, as he turned away, drew out of his breast a scroll of writing. It was the parchment of the privilege. And at that sight, more eloquent than words, the great crowd roared again. Whatever treason Ponce de Leon might be hatching-and the suspicion did him no injustice he received his visitor with the most gracious smiles. It was agreed, without a word of cavil, not only that all taxes should be taken off, and that a free pardon should be granted to all rebels, but that Masaniello should maintain his men in arms until assent to the agreement could arrive from Spain. Finally, with many assurances of his esteem, the viceroy pressed his enemy to accept the rank of Duke St. George, at the same time hanging round his neck, with his own hands, a chain of massive links of gold. Masa niello, having gained his ends, professed himself the duke's most humble servant; and in this pleasant comedy the time slipped fast away. Presently a roar was heard outside the castle. The hour was over; and the people, mindful of their pledge, were preparing, without more ado, to burst in at the gates. Masaniello, with the duke beside him, came out into a balcony before the palace. At the sight of their leader safe and sound the people broke forth into long and loud huzzas. The sight was one which might have swelled with pride the heart of any king. Masaniello was not loth to show the duke some token of his power. He called for cheers; and the vast sea of heads below them roared in succession at the names of Our Lady, of the king, of the Duke of Arcos, of the cardinal, and of the most faithful people. When the shouting was at the loudest, Masaniello laid his finger on his lips; and in an instant there was the silence of the grave. Finally, he bade the crowd disperse; and forthwith, as if by miracle, the Largo was left empty. The duke could hardly trust his eyes as he surveyed the scene. The cardinal had invited Masaniello to reside in his own palace; and, in the cardinal's carriage, he drove thither from the castle. Throughout that night the bonfires blazed, the guns thundered, and the bells pealed merrily in all the steeples. And Masaniello's power was at its height. At its height, during two days, it remained. His men were kept in arms; and he ruled the city like a conqueror. It had been arranged that the ceremony which Perrone's plot had broken off should be renewed on Saturday, the 15th of July; and on that day, amidst a scene of pomp and splendor, the privilege was ratified on oath before the altar of the great cathedral. And now the old monk's oracle was half fulfilled. Masaniello "had attained to kingly power." Was the latter half of the prediction now to come to pass? - was "his empire to be brief, and his fall sudden "? A strange and awful answer was at hand. The Duke of Arcos was nursing in his brain a scheme of vengeance which, for ingenious and inhuman villany, would have been heard with rapture by a crew of Dante's fiends. This scheme was now mature. That night, after the proceedings in the church, he arranged a splendid supper at the castle, at which Masaniello and his wife were the chief guests. There, either in a glass of wine, or, as others say, in a ripe fig, Masaniello swallowed a strange poison, which had been compounded by the duke's physician, Don Majella. This drug was not intended to take life; its effect was more terrific; it was of the nature of "the insane root, which takes the reason prisoner." The victim, when he sat down to the banquet table, was a man of great and striking powers of mind, pre-eminently cool, wary, resolute, and sagacious. When he rose up from it he was a madman. The effect of this atrocious scheme was soon apparent. The supper ended; the guests departed; and nothing unusual was observed. But early the next morning the people in the streets were startled at the spectacle of Masaniello, in a ragged shirt, and with a stocking on one leg, running at full speed towards the castle. At the entrance, he demanded audience of the viceroy; the guards, who knew him, durst not bar his passage; and he made his way into the duke's presence, crying aloud that he was starving. The false and smiling Ponce de Leon looked upon his handiwork with glistening eyes. Food was brought; but the wretched man would Several hours were spent in fruitless search. All traces of the fugitive had vanished. Nor was it till late in the afternoon that he was seen again. It was about five o'clock; the service in the cathedral was drawing to a close; the cardinal was preaching to a vast assembly; when a ghastly, ragged figure, with wild eyes and matted hair, was descried upon the steps of the great altar. The figure carried in its hand a crucifix, to which, at intervals, it muttered and gestic now touch nothing. A new whim had seized him; they would go, the duke and he together, to Posilippo, and spend the day in pleasure. The duke eluded the proposal on the score of pressing business; and Masaniello sailed alone in the duke's gondola. Forty boats of minstrels came behind him. Crowds of gazers, lost in wonder, watched his progress from the shore. During the voyage he amused himself by flinging handfuls of gold coins into the water, and shouted with laughter, as the sailors dived to fetch them. Atulated. It was some time before the Posilippo, he ordered a rich feast to be ghost was recognized. But it was Masaset out; and it is said that before the niello. boat's head turned at evening towards Naples, he had drunk twelve bottles of lacryma Christi, the rich and giddy wine which ripens only on the ranges of Vesuvius. Reeling with the effects of wine and poison, he was taken to his bed. The next morning he was raving. He called for a horse, and with a bare sword in his hand, rode furiously about the streets, slashing at all who ventured to oppose him. At length, he found his way to the seashore. At sight of the sea he threw himself from the saddle, and shrieking out that he was in flames, rushed, dressed as he was, into the waves. But all the waters of the ocean could not quench the fire that burnt him up. As soon as he emerged, he broke into fresh freaks of violence. He swore that he would fire the city; he hurled himself, sword in hand, upon the bystanders. His own friends were forced to seize and overpower him, to bind him with a chain, and to lead him to his house, where he was placed under a guard. The plot had been most cunningly contrived. There was nothing to excite suspicion; for the madness of the victim was easily ascribed to overstrain of mind and body, to days of ceaseless vigilance, and nights without repose. Masaniello might now be murdered almost with impunity; not as a rebel to the State, but as a dangerous madman. Four hired men were ready to put a finish to the work of treason. Their names were Michael Angelo Aidozzone, Andrea Rama, and Carlos and Salvator Cattaneo ; the last two, brothers. Early on Sunday morning these four men repaired, with carbines in their hands, to Masaniello's house. They looked in at the door; but, to their surprise, the object of their search was nowhere to be seen. His guards were asleep; his chain lay on the floor. The madman, by whatever means, had gained his liberty, and disappeared. The cardinal went up to the intruder, and, with great tact and management, induced him to be led away into the adjoining convent. He went calmly; for his violent humor had given way to a strange apathy, and he was now as docile as a child. He had not many minutes left the church when the four assassins entered it together. They soon learned what had occurred. Attended by a small band of their own party, they followed the track of their prey into the convent. I am Masaniello had retired alone into a quiet quarter of the cloisters. He was leaning from a window, and looking out across the waters of the lovely bay, over which the wind of evening was now beginning to blow coolly. The sound of footsteps roused him. He turned round quickly, with the words, "Who wants me? here." Before he had time to speak again, or to make any movement of defence, the four assassins raised their pieces and fired upon him in a volley. All four shots took effect. He fell back, dying, against the stonework of the window, and sank thence to the ground, with the faint cry, "Ah, ungrateful traitors!" Almost before the words were spoken, the rattle was in his throat. In another moment he was dead. Salvator Cattaneo threw himself upon the body, and severed the head from the shoulders with a knife. A spear was brought, the head was fixed upon it, and the band of conspirators, bearing it aloft, rushed out into the streets. Nothing could illustrate more strikingly the tremendous power which the dead man had wielded than the sensation which was excited by the tidings of his death. The news spread like wildfire through the city. His own followers seemed struck with stupor; his enemies went wild with fierce delight. One band rushed forth into the market-place, and took down from their place of infamy Carafa's head and foot. Another hastened to the convent, sought | the bier was placed upon a lofty car, and out the headless body of their enemy, and drawn by coal-black horses through the haled it by a rope out of the cloisters. streets. Five days before, along that very The viceroy left the castle and rode to the cathedral, where doubtless he gave thanks to St. Gennaro for having blessed his plot. Soon all the horde of smaller tyrants and oppressors began to crawl in swarms out of their cellars, caves, and convent cells, to feast their eyes upon the sight of the head of the terrible fisherman going up and down the city on a pole, and to have a kick at his carcase as it was dragged along the kennels. At length the head was fixed upon a spike above the gateway of the Holy Spirit; and the body was hurled into a ditch near the Nolana gate. Such was the fall of Masaniello. But it was his fate to illustrate, beyond example, the mutability of human things. And the last scene of the strange drama was not yet. The great mass of the people still revered the name of their deliverer. The savage violence of his madness had troubled and estranged them. But his death struck them with consternation; and in a few hours nothing was recollected but his greatness. Night had not come before tens of thousands were murmuring his name with blessings, and calling upon each other, with tears of shame and rage, to remember all they owed to Masaniello. The hearts of his enemies, which had been thrilling with delight, began to feel a chill; and soon their bands, which had been going up and down so gaily, vanished like mist before the gathering of the multitude. That night, preparations were set on foot for a burial worthy of a people's hero; and before morning all was ready. The corpse was taken from the ditch into which it had been thrown. The head was brought down from the pinnacle above the gate, and fastened to the shoulders by a thread of silver. The body, washed and drenched with perfumes, was laid, clothed in a vestment of white linen, upon an open bier, and carried to the Chapel of Our Lady, where it was placed in front of the great altar. A crown was fixed upon the head, and a sceptre set in the right hand; and thus, in pomp and splendor, as at the burial of a king, the corpse of Masaniello lay in state. For many hours the crowd continued to stream past the spot; a rain of flowers fell ceaselessly upon the body; and the tolling of the bell, and the mournful music of the organ, were mingled with the constant sound of weeping. At length, when the sun was sinking, road, the hero of the hour had passed in triumph, amid the blaze of banners and the shouting of the crowd. Now, black hangings drooped from every window; faces dark with sorrow crowded both sides of the way. Before the hearse a thousand priests, in stoles of white, walked with censers in their hands and crosses lifted; behind it, muffled drums and trumpets played a solemn march. Then came a company of men-at-arms, with spears reversed and colors drooping; and then thousands, and tens of thousands, of the people. The solemn pageant wound its way through all the quarters of the city. At length it turned again towards the church. The organ broke forth into the last majestic service of the dead. A stone was lifted in the marble pavement; and there, with more than royal splendor, amidst the blaze of torches and the strains of solemn music, the dark house closed forever above the dust of Masaniello. From The English Illustrated Magazine. A SECRET INHERITANCE. BY B. L. FARJEON. BOOK THE SECOND. XXIII. IT was not till at least an hour afterwards that I remembered the promise I had given to Emilius. Carew still slept, and had not stirred from the position in which I had found him. Two or three times I made a gentle effort to remove from beneath his hand the papers I had found in the secret drawer, but as my design could not be accomplished without violence, I abandoned it. There was no doubt in my mind that he had read them, and his tenacious hold upon them denoted that he had formed some strong resolution with respect to them. With the intention of fulfilling my promise to Emilius, I softly left the room. Mrs. Carew, sitting in a room above with Mildred, heard my movements, and swiftly and noiselessly glided down the stairs. In a low tone I made her acquainted with what had passed between me and Emilius, and I perceived that she was not unprepared for Emilius's demand for an interview. When I repeated to |