future Marquis, but they had little love to give him, and chilled by rebuffs his timid attempts to gain their affection. They were shocked and amazed to find that this peasant-reared noble had none of the feelings of his class, and that all his sympathies were with the people. How could they make a courtier of a youth who one day found courage to charge his father with neglect of duty towards the peasantry of his estates?

What chance was there of this degenerate Monghidoro ever shedding new lustre on their name? Had he not replied to his mother's suggestion of the advisability of retrieving the family fortunes by winning the favour of his sovereign, with the blunt remark that it would be more honourable to diminish the household, sell horses and carriages, and retire to the old castle in Mugello, or even to the farm at Pietra Mala! The poor lady nearly fainted on hearing this atrocious proposition, and she mourned with increased bitterness the untimely end of her brilliant Carlo, who had possessed every sentiment proper to his rank.

Certainly the dead man's shoes were no easy fit for Saverio. He was an odd mixture of shyness and independence, gentleness and pride, knowledge and ignorance. Half peasant, half mystic, neither his manners nor his bearing fulfilled the requirements of Florentine saloons. He was none the less a social failure for having studied many of life's problems on the crags of Monte Beni. And at times, when roused to anger, there was a strain of ferocity in him, which some people thought to be derived from his nurse's assistant, the white goat.

Plainly the sole way to utilise this unornamental Monghidoro was to sell his name to the highest bidder. So a family council was called, and it was resolved to arrange a matrimonial alliance suited to regild the family escutcheon. With the aid of Bishop Venanzio a fitting bride was soon found; but it needed all that astute prelate's powers of persuasion to convince Saverio that he was not morally bound to celibacy. However, that objection once disposed of, he was ready to submit to his parents' decision. He was formally presented to the chosen lady, exchanged a few stammering words with her in the presence of a roomful of relations, and then notaries and milliners were set to work on the wedding preparations.

All went smoothly until the moment came for the signing of the contract. But when that document was read over to him, and Saverio heard the customary stipulation that he was to take his wife for a daily drive to the Cascine, his face changed and he broke out in open and decided revolt. With an impetuosity in startling contrast with his usual submission, he declared his willingness to accept all the other conditions set forth to provide his wife with an opera box and to allow her every privilege of her rank, but refused to escort her to the crowded Cascine. No! Not for the fairest bride in Italy would he be subjected to that torture!

There was fury and consternation in the Monghidoro halls, still greater fury and consternation in the palace across the Arno, where candles were already lighted, guests arriving, and the bride dressing for the important ceremony of La Scritta. Fashionable Florence was in an uproar. A 19th century version of the old Buondelmonti and Donati feud seemed on the point of breaking out. No similar scandal had ever before stained the records of the Monghidoro clan. The bride's family cried aloud for vengeance. But persuasion and menace alike failed to bring the astonished culprit to a sense of his guilt, and in the midst of the storm he quietly took flight. Time passed, no trace of him could be found, and parental anger soon merged in despair.

At last, after many months, his hiding-place was discovered. He had taken refuge in Lombardy with a brother of his old preceptor, Don Giacomo, with whom he had always maintained a close correspondence. He was forgiven, and on learning that his destined wife was safely married to another man (who had no objection to daily drives in the Cascine), was easily persuaded to return to his home.

And now the family began to smile upon him, for by reaction, perhaps, after the hardships suffered in concealment, he took his place among the golden youth of Florence, and plunged into all sorts of fashionable follies. He seemed to have inherited his brother's violence of temper, and one night, at cards, quarrelled with and challenged a noted swordsman. The affrighted Marquis flew to the Pitti and besought his Sovereign's interference. Accordingly, the Grand Duke prohibited the duel, and placed both parties under arrest in their own dwellings.

The Marchesino Saverio fretted and fumed, but had to submit to the decree. A month's imprisonment within the gloomy walls of the family mansion was no light punishment to one reared in the mountains.

IV.

THAT winter the upper floor of the palace chanced to be occupied by a Scotch artist and his family. They were gentlefolks: had come to Florence provided with unexceptionable references and letters of introduction to the Marquis, and the rent they paid was a welcome addition to that nobleman's narrow means.

What more natural than that Saverio should employ some of his enforced leisure in visiting these friendly foreigners? They were sociable people, and made their host's son heartily welcome. Their drawing-room, with its blazing fire, its flowers, books and sketches, was a pleasant exchange for the sombre, chilly saloons downstairs, where, save on gala nights, the Marquis shuffled about wrapped in a fur cloak, shaking his nose over the bad times in general and his son's iniquities in particular, and the Marchioness sat yawning on a high sofa with a scaldino on her lap, languidly gossipping with her

confessor or with the veteran cavalier who for thirty years had carried her fan and waited on her steps.

The Scotch artist was an intelligent man, with an eager interest in all things Italian; his wife was cordial and kindly, and of the two bright, sweet-voiced, laughing daughters one was decidedly charming. In their genial atmosphere the prisoner's impatient moodiness speedily passed away. This was his first experience of simple, unconstrained intercourse with young people of the other sex. His old aspirations returned to him as he answered his host's inquiries on the condition of the Tuscan peasantry, or sat by the piano listening to the younger daughter's Scotch songs. He had never been so happy in his life; the days passed with lightning speed, and by the time he was a free man his heart was captive. He was passionately, vehemently in love with the younger daughter, pretty Miss Margaret, and she had let him see that his love was returned.

As he never did things by halves, he immediately informed his father that he had chosen a bride for himself.

Again the palace echoed with sounds of wrath. There was really no peace with this terrible Saverio! One scrape followed another!

'He was born to disgrace us!' raved the Marchioness, tearing her hair. The Marquis raved also, in fact, every Monghidoro above ground cried Anathema; and the shades of their ancestors were invoked to avert the degradation of alliance with heretic and untitled aliens. But the young Marquis braved the storm with resolute calm, and respectfully stated that if prevented from marrying his Margaret, the Monghidoro line would end with himself. The Scotch family removed to another street, and Miss Margaret justified her lover's constancy by vowing that she would wait fifty years for him.

In the midst of the discord and discussion the old Marquis-long ailing-fell ill and died. Saverio became lord of his own fate as well as chief of the house, and six months afterwards, was a happy bridegroom. His Margaret wanted neither diamonds, nor opera box, nor drives in the Cascine. She had a lofty ideal of life's duties, strong enthusiasm united to practical energy and sense. Her refining influence softened the rough edges of Saverio's nature, expanded his powers, and helped him to translate into realities his vague dreams of reform and philanthropy. They passed their honeymoon at Pietra Mala, and the old castle in Mugello, went about among their people, studied details of administration and called unjust agents to account. The wife's Scotch thrift proved a precious dowry, and enabled her husband to clear his estates sooner than the piled up gold of a luxuryloving bride.

They made their town abode in the upper floor of the gloomy palace, leaving the Dowager Marchioness in full possession of the piano nobile, and the first heavy expense they indulged in was the building of comfortable cottages and schools for their labouring folk. Steadily and undismayed they pursued their reforms, though their

course was by no means strewn with roses. And, like many other reformers before and since, our philanthropic couple encountered the fiercest opposition from those for whose benefit they worked. For the ignorant peasants were slow to understand that their lord's innovations were not new devices of oppression, and were stirred to fury by the improvements made in their primitive agriculture. Saverio and his wife literally risked their lives in the cause. Once a shower of bullets crashed through their bedroom windows in the old castle at Barberino, and riddled the curtains a few inches above their heads. Another time they were fired at as they passed through one of their own woods. One of their narrowest escapes happened in this wise. They were driving from Florence to one of their estates when the fancy took them to take a short cut on foot across the hills. Accordingly the maid and valet left with the carriage continued the journey comfortably ensconced in their master's seats. A few minutes later shots were fired from behind a hedge, both servants were wounded and one of the horses killed.

But undaunted by this Irish warfare, Marquis and Marchioness never swerved from their righteous purpose. Their lands became the best managed in Tuscany, their peasants the most thriving and grateful. Their married life was a perfect union, all the closer perhaps because no children claimed a share of their love. And although their childlessness was a sorrow keenly felt, it was bravely borne. If home interests were thereby narrowed it allowed wider scope for their altruistic energies. They were father and mother to the children of their poor, and at the call of patriotism, Margaret cheerfully watched her lord go forth to fight for Italy in 1859.

The Marquis survived his valiant helpmate for many years, and consecrated his grief by devotion to works begun at her instance. His model school of agriculture and the orphanage dedicated to his wife's memory, are both flourishing institutions, and carried on in strict accordance with their founder's intentions.

His

But Saverio was never the same man after this bereavement. public labours remained unabated, but his private life was sad and solitary to the end. Whenever he allowed himself a brief holiday from parliamentary duties and philanthropic cares, he would fly to his country house at Pietra Mala. He used to say it was the only place where he could rest. Perhaps because it was rich in memories of past happiness; for there all his wife's old servants lived at ease, and the horse she had ridden, now freed from saddle and bridle for evermore, passed tranquil years in meadow and stable. On every visit to his old haunts, until a few months before his decease, he never failed to make the ascent of Monte Beni, the red-flanked mountain whereon he had dreamed his boyish dreams, and vowed to live a virtuous life and die a virtuous death.

His modest soul counted back-slidings rather than achievements, but surely in Heaven's eye he had nobly fulfilled his vow.

LINDA VILLARI.

454

CAMEOS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY.

CAMEO CCXIV.

1629-1637.

MONEY WITHOUT PARLIAMENT.

THE death of George Villiers did indeed remove the object of the nation's hatred, but it could not but leave a strong feeling on the part of King Charles, that the persecution begun in Parliament had been the real cause of the murder of the man he best loved; and that the Commons never met without attacking the Church and Crown, and hindering him from fulfilling his engagements to foreign powers, and thus bringing their nation into contempt. It was their wrangling that had left, first his sister and then the Rochellois, unaided, and yet they talked of their devotion to the Protestant cause.

On their side, the leading party held that they had every reason to believe that their grants of treasure would be squandered and misapplied, and that they were bound to avail themselves of the opportunity of asserting their rights, and obtaining security against exaction. Also, they were bent on putting down the Catholic spirit, I which they viewed as Arminianism and Popery.

They had, however, lost two allies, Sir Thomas Wentworth and Sir John Saville. These gentlemen seem to have felt that the resistance was becoming disloyalty, and to have been disgusted by the virulence of the country party' as it was called. They had been reconciled with the Court, and each had received a peerage. The cry was that they had been bought over, more especially as Viscount Wentworth shortly became Lord President of the North; but his character throughout contradicts this theory, and makes it plain, that though he was ready to stand up to the uttermost for the lawful rights of Englishmen, he did not choose to see the Crown deprived of what he held as its privileges. Always a thorough churchman, he was also the staunchest supporter of Charles against the aggressions of the Commons. For aggressions they certainly might be called, in the sense that there was only the faintest precedent for any such claims, and the rights adduced were rather those of manhood, intelligence and education, than any that could be proved to have belonged to the freeholders and burgesses of England or their knights of the shire as such. It was said that Pym, in his anger at what he held to be desertion, said to Wentworth, You are going to leave us, but we will never leave you while your head is on your shoulders.'