cousin to the Assemblies, which were then in | had one son, an only child, who died when he high vogue. General Pollexfen was absent from Bath when his wife arrived there. He had been called up to London by some lawyer's business, and calculated upon being absent three weeks. It so chanced, however, that the business was concluded sooner than he expected, and that he returned to Bath without announcing his was about fifteen. It was an overwhelming affliction, and was the one mortal shadow on their happiness. They died within a few weeks of each other; their honors and estates passing to a distant branch of the family. THE ASS OF LA MARCA. I. THE HOG-BOY. N the year 1530, a Franciscan was traveling coming. He went at once to the Assembly, and foot in the papal territory of Ancona. He was proceeding to Ascoli; but, at that time, the roads were bad, where there were any roads at all, and after wandering in what appeared to be was walking through the rooms in a chafed and irritable mood (having that night discovered the treachery of the beautiful actress, which had long been known to every body else), when a voice struck his ear which caused him to turn sud-a wilderness, he lost his bearings altogether, and denly. He saw, near at hand, a dignified and beautiful woman, who reminded him of some one he had seen before. She turned away on perceiving him—it was Mary. She had recognized her husband, and, scarcely able to stand, she took the arm of her cousin, and reached the nearest seat. Her husband, forgetting every thing else in his impatience to learn who it was who had thus startled vague recollections, went hastily up to the Master of the Ceremonies, and desired to be introduced to-his own wife! By some fatality, the Master of the Ceremonies blundered, and gave the name of Mary's cousin. This mistake gave Mary courage; for years she had dreamed of such a meeting, and the fear of losing the opportunity nerved her to profit by it. She exerted herself to please him. He had been rudely disenchanted from the graces of fine ladies, and was in a humor to appreciate the gentle home influence of Mary's manners; he was enchanted with her, and begged to be allowed to follow up the acquaintance, and to wait upon her the next morning. Permission was of course given, and he handed Mary and her cousin to their chairs. came to a stand-still. A village was visible in the distance, but he was unwilling to proceed so far to ask his way, lest it might prove to be in the wrong direction. While listening intently, however, for some sound that might indicate the propinquity of human beings-for the scrubby wood of the waste, marshy land intercepted his view-he heard what appeared to be a succession of low sobs close by. Mounting a little eminence a few paces off, he saw a small company of hogs widely scattered, and searching with the avidity of famine for a dinner; and rightly conjecturing that the sounds of human grief must proceed from the swineherd, he moved on to the nearest clump of bushes, where he saw on the other side a boy about nine years of age, lying upon the soft ground, and endeavoring to smother his sobs in a tuft of coarse moss, while he dug his fingers into the mud in an agony of grief and rage. The good father allowed the storm of emotion to sweep past, and then inquired what was the matter. Why were you crying then?" "Because they have been using me worse than a hog: they have been beating me—they never let me alone; always bad names, and worse blows; nothing to eat but leavings, and nothing to lie upon but dirty straw!" I 66 Mary was cruelly agitated; she had not suf fered so much during the ten preceding years; the suspense and anxiety were too terrible to endure; it seemed as though morning would never come. Her husband was not much more to be envied. He had discovered that she resembled the woman he had once so much loved, and then And for what offense are you used thus?" so cruelly hated-whom he married, and desert- "They say I am unhandy at field-work; that ed; but though tormented by a thousand fancied am useless in the house and the barn; that I resemblances, he scarcely dared to hope that it am unfit to be a servant to the horses in the stacould be she. The next day, long before the law-ble; and that I can't even keep the hogs togethful hour for paying morning visits, he was before er. They are hogs themselves-they be! I was her door and obtained admittance. The resem- clever enough at home; but my father could not blance by daylight was more striking than it had keep me any longer, and so he sent me to be a been on the previous evening; and Mary's agita- farmer's drudge, and turned me out to the-the tion was equal to his own. His impetuous appeal-hogs!" and the boy gave way to another pas was answered. Overwhelmed with shame and repentance, and at the same time happy beyond expression, General Pollexfen passionately entreated his wife's forgiveness. Mary not only won back her husband, but regained, with a thousandfold intensity, the love which had once been hers-regained it, never to lose it more! sionate burst of grief. The Franciscan endeavored to soothe him, and talked of submission to Providence; but finding he could do no good he inquired the name of the village. 66 Montalto," replied the boy, sulkily. Montalto? Then in what direction lies As coli?" "Are you going to Ascoli?" demanded the hog-boy, suddenly, as he fixed a pair of blazing eyes on the Franciscan's face in a manner that made him start. "I will show you the way." continued he, in a tone of as much decision as if | received the habit of a lay-brother, and was set he spoke of some mighty enterprise; and leaping to assist the sacristan in sweeping the church and to his feet like a boy made of India-rubber, he led lighting the candles. But at leisure hours he through the scrubby wood of the common, kick- was still busier with the dust of the schools, and ing the hogs aside with a fierceness that drew a the lamp of theology. The brethren taught him remonstrance from the good father. This seemed the responses and grammar; but he never ceased to have the desired effect. His manner softened to teach himself every thing he could get at; so instantaneously, He spoke in a mild, low voice; that in the year 1534, when he was only fourteen, answered the questions that were addressed to he was permitted to enter on his novitiate, and him with modesty and good-sense; and aston- after the usual probation, to make his profession. ished the Franciscan by a display of intelligence He was, in short, a monk; and in ten years he rare enough even where natural abilities are de- had taken deacon's orders, been ordained a priest, veloped by education. It was in vain, however, and graduated as bachelor and doctor. Felix the that he reminded his young companion that it hog-boy was now known as Father Montalto. was time for him to turn; the hog-boy seemed fascinated by the father's conversation, and always made some excuse for accompanying him a little further. "Come, my son," said the Franciscan at length, “this must have an end, and here we part. There is a little trifle which I give you with my blessing, and so God speed you!" "I am going further,” replied the boy, quickly. "What! to Ascoli?" II. THE ASS. The world was now before the Ancona hog. boy. In his boyhood he had suffered stripes and starvation, herded unclean animals, and almost broken his heart with impotent, and, therefore, secret rage. In his youth he had been the patient drudge of a convent, and passed his leisure hours in persevering study, and the accumulation of book-knowledge. But now he was a man, ready for his destiny, and in the midst of troublous times, when a bold, fierce, and fearless character is sure to make its way. No more secret sobs—no more cringing servility—no more studious solitude. Montalto threw himself into the vortex of the world, and struck out boldly, right and left. An impetuous and impatient temper, and haughty and dictatorial manner, were now his prominent characteristics; and these, "A monk! Oh! wouldn't I? Only try united as they were with natural talent and solid "Ay, to Ascoli-or to the end of the earth! Ah, father, if you would but get me something to do—for I am sure you can if you will; any drudgery, however humble-any thing in the world but tending hogs!" "You forget my profession, my son, and that I am powerless out of it. You would not become a monk yourself?" me!" "To be a monk is to toil, watch, and pray; to live meagrely, to submit to innumerable hardships" "And to learn, father! to read-to think! O, what would I not submit to for the sake of knowing what there is in books!" The boy spoke with enthusiasm, and yet with nothing of the coarse impetuosity which had at first almost terrified his new acquaintance. The Franciscan thought he beheld in him the elements of a character well adapted for a religious order; and after some further conversation, he finally consented to take the stripling with him to Ascoli. They were now at the summit of an eminence whence they saw that town lying before them, and the village of Montalto hardly discernible in the distance behind. The father looked back for a moment at his companion, in some curiosity to see how he would take leave, probably forever, of the place of his birth. The hog-boy's hands were clenched as if the nails were imbedded in his flesh; and one arm, trembling with agitation, was stretched forth in a fierce farewell. When he turned away, the blazing eyes again flashed upon the Franciscan's face; but, in an instant, they softened, grew mild and tearful, and Felix -for that was the lad's name-followed his patron meekly into the town. Their destination was a monastery of Cordeliers, where the ex-hog-boy was introduced to the superior, and pleased him so much by his sensible answers and modest demeanor, that he at once acquirements, soon pointed him out for congenial employment. The rising monk was seen and understood by the Cardinals Carpi and Alexandrino; and by the latter he was appointed Inquisitor-general at Venice. Here was fortune for the poor trampled boy of Ancona! But to rest there was not his purpose. A little of the tranquillity he knew so well how to assume, or even the mere abstinence from violence and insult, would have retained him in his post; but, instead of this he became harsh, stern, and peremptory to a degree that outraged every body who came near him, and carried out the measures he determined on with an arbitrary vehemence that bordered on frenzy. The jealous republicans were astonished, but not terrified: the liberties of their strange tyranny were at stake: and, at length, the Venetian magnates rose like one man, and Father Montalto only escaped personal violence by flight. And so he was a martyr to the cause of the church! And so all eyes were drawn upon him, as a man ready in action, and inflexible in will. He was now invited by the Cardinal Buon-Campagno to accompany him to Madrid as his chaplain and inquisitorial adviser, the cardinal being sent thither as legate from the Pope to his Catholic majesty. Montalto's was ar office both of power and dignity, and he acquitted himself in it so zealously, that on the legate's recall he was offered all sorts of ecclesiastical honors and preferment to induce him to settle in Spain. But the monk had other aspirations. The news of the death of Pius IV. had reached Madrid, and Montalto's patron, Cardinal Alexandrino, would doubtless succeed to the papal throne. He would want assistance, and, what is more, he could repay it; and Father Montalto, rejecting the Spanish offers, hastened to Rome. He found his friend, now Pius V., mindful of his former services, and perhaps flattered by the reputation which his protégé had made in the world. He was kindly received, and immediately appointed general of his order. And now the ci-devant hog-boy set to sweep the church anew, but in a different way. He no longer troubled himself with theological controversies, but punished his contumacious opponents. In four years after the accession of the new Pope he was made a bishop, and handsomely pensioned; and in the year 1570 our adventurer was admitted into the College of Cardinals. Montalto was now fifty years of age, when the will is at its proudest, and the intellectual nature smiles at the changing hair and its prophecies of physical decay. It might be supposed that the fierce inquisitor ripened into the stern and inflexible cardinal; but no such process of development took place. And truly it would have been somewhat inconvenient as matters stood; for his new associates-ranking with kings, every man of them, hog-boy and all!-were the intellectual flower of the time, deep and sagacious statesmen, immersed in a game of policy of which the tiara was the prize, and qualified for the lofty contention not more by their talents than by the blood of the Medici, the Caraffa, the Colonna, and the Frangipani, that flowed in their veins. The wild nature of Montalto appeared to be awed by the association into which he had thus been elevated. It seemed as if a vision of his stripes, and his hogs, and his besoms came back upon him, and he walked gingerly along the marble floors of the Vatican, as if alarmed at the echo. He became mild, affable, good-natured; his business was over in the world; he had nothing more to do than to enjoy. Why should he concern himself with intrigues in which he could have no possible interest? Why should he permit even his own family to disturb his dignified repose? One of his nephews, on his way to Rome to see his prodigious uncle and claim his favor, was murdered; but the cardinal, so ready in former days to punish even crimes of thought, interceded for the pardon of the assassin. The relatives who did arrive at the Mecca of their pilgrimage he lodged at an inn, and sent them home to their families the next day with a small present, telling them to trouble him no more. The only promise he made for the future was that, by-and-by, when old age and its infirmities came on, he might, perhaps, send for one of them to nurse his declining years. Time wore on, and his patron, Pope Pius V., died, and was buried. This was a trouble as well as a grief to our cardinal; for, being obliged to enter the conclave like the rest, he was asked by one and another for his vote., How should he vote? He did not know whom to vote for. He was an obscure and insignificant man-he was; and the rest were all so admirably well-fitted to be Pope, that he could not tell the difference. Besides, this was the first conclave he had been in, and in a path so much loftier than he was accustomed to tread, he was afraid of making a false step. He only wished he could vote for them all; but, as it was, he entreated them to manage the affair without him. And so they did; and Cardinal Buon-Campagno being elected, assumed the papal crown and the name of Gregory XIII. As for Montalto, he grew more meek, modest, and humble every day. He lived frugally, even meanly, considering his rank, and gave the resi due of his income to the poor. He submitted patiently to all sorts of insults and injuries, and not only forgave his enemies, but treated them Iwith the utmost tenderness. At this time a change appeared to take place in his health. Violent internal pains destroyed his repose; and, although he consulted all the doctors in Rome. and took physic from them all, he got no better.. His disease was not the less lamentable that it was nameless. He grew thin and pale. Some said he took too much medicine. He leaned heavily on his staff. His body was bent toward the ground: he seemed like a man who was looking for his grave. Public prayers were offered up in the churches for his recovery: and sometimes with so much effect, that he appeared to be a little convalescent. At such intervals, being humble himself, he delighted to converse with humble persons-such as the domestics of cardinals and embassadors; and, above all things, auricular confession, if it had not been the sick man's duty, would have been called his hobby. He confessed every body he could bring to his knees: his mind became a sink through which constantly poured all the iniquities of Rome. His brother cardinale smiled at these weaknesses. The poor man was doubtless sinking into premature dotage. They gave him in ridicule a name, taken from the muddy wastes of Ancona, in the midst of which he had been picked up by the stray Franciscan: they called him THE ASS OF LA MARCA. III. THE POPE. Time wore on in this way, till at length Gregory XIII. died. The event took place at a perplexing moment, for never had the College of Cardinals been so completely torn asunder by conflicting interests. There were three powerful parties so singularly well-balanced, that each felt sure of being able to elect the new Pope, and the poor Ass of La Marca, who was once more obliged to join the conclave, was half-distracted with their various claims. All they cared about was his vote; but that was important. They were compelled, however, by tradition, to go through the form of consulting him from time to time; and the cardinal, though never giving way to impatience, was pathetic in his entreaties to be let alone. According to the custom of this solemn council, each member of the holy college was shut up in a separate room; and the messengers always found Montalto's door bolted He would reply to their eminences, he said, the THE ASS OF LA MARCA. moment his cough abated, the moment he felt | oners to be manumitted in all the jails of Rome; On this announcement the new monarch came instantly forth from his cell, leaving behind him his staff, his cough, his stoop, his pains, his infirmities, and his humility! He advanced with an erect figure, and a firm and dignified step into the midst of the conclave, and thanked their eminences for the honor they had conferred upon him, which he would endeavor to merit by discharging its high functions conscientiously. As he passed from the sacred council the vivas of the 'Long live the Pope!" they people rent the air. cried: "justice, plenty, and large loaves!" "Address yourselves to God for plenty," was the anI will give you justice." swer: 44 64 be cheaply visited by a brief imprisonment. This parvenu pope treated with other monarchs with the unbending dignity which might have been looked for in the descendant of a line of kings; and in some cases-more especially that of Spain-he exhibited the uncompromising sternness of his character. But where the interest of his policy was not involved-where the actors in the drama of life moved in circles that had no contact with his-he admired with all his impulsive soul a masculine and independent spirit. So far did he carry his admiration of our Protestant Queen Elizabeth, who was his contempo And he kept his word: ready, stern, severe, inflexible, impartial justice! He was impatient to see the triple crown; and before preparations could be made for his coronation, he caused the bauble to be produced, and placed on a velvet cushion in the room where he sat. The bauble? It was no bauble to him. It was the symbol of Power, just as he was himself the personification of Will. It was the thought which had governed his whole life-which had blazed even in the un-rary, that one might almost fancy the solitary conscious eyes of his boyhood. With what memories was that long gaze filled-with what resolves. The room was crowded with spectres of the past, and visions of the future, that met and blended in one homogeneous character; and as Pope Sixtus V. rose from his chair, he felt proudly that there rose with him—within him-throughout him-the hog-boy of Montalto. monk day-dreaming of those times when even popes were permitted a mortal bride. He is said to have given her secret intimation of the approaching Armada of his Catholic majesty ; and when the head of the Catholic Queen of Scotland rolled under the ax of the executioner, he is described as having emitted an exclamation of fierce and exulting applause at this memorable exhibition of will and power. The dissimulation which was so remarkable a And so Sixtus lived, and reigned, and died—a trait in this remarkable character was now at an end, and only the fierceness, sternness, and in- stern, strong spirit of his day and generation, domitable will of the man remained. He felt leaving a broad trail in history, and a lasting himself to be placed on a height from which monument in the architectural stones of Rome. every thing beneath him appeared on one level. In the biography of common men, who are swayed The cardinals, with their ancient blood and ac- by changing currents of passion and circumstance, complished statesmanship, were no more to him it would be vain to attempt to explain actions and than the meanest drudges in his dominions; and reconcile inconsistencies, as we have done here, when they first attempted remonstrate at his pro- by viewing all their doings, and all the phases ceedings, he answered them with such withering of their character, with reference to a leading disdain, that the proudest of them quailed beneath principle. But Sixtus was governed from his his eye. He told them distinctly that he was not birth by one great thought, though fully developed enly their spiritual head but their temporal king, only by the force of events-a thought as obvious and that in neither capacity would he brook any in the hog-boy of Ancona, or the drudge of the It was the Cordeliers, as in the monk Montalto, the inquis interference with his authority. custom, on the accession of a pope, for the pris-itor, the cardinal, and the pope. . A THE LEGEND OF THE WEEPING STRANGE story was once told me by a Levantine lady of my acquaintance, which I shall endeavor to relate-as far as I am able with the necessary abridgments-in her own words. The circumstances under which she told it were peculiar. The family had just been disturbed by the visit of a ghost-a real ghost, visible, if not palpable. She was not what may be called superstitious; and though following with more or less assiduity the practices of her religion, was afflicted now and then with a fit of perfect materialism. I was surised, therefore, to hear her relate, with every appearance of profound faith, the following incidents : There is an old house in Beyrout, which, for many successive years, was inhabited by a Christian family. It is of great extent, and was of yore fitted for the dwelling of a prince. The family had, indeed, in early times been very rich; and almost fabulous accounts are current of the wealth of its founder, Fadlallah Dahân. He was a merchant; the owner of ships, the fitter-out of caravans. The regions of the East and of the West had been visited by him; and, after undergoing as many dangers and adventures as Sinbad, he had returned to spend the latter days of his life in his native city. He built, accordingly, a magnificent dwelling, the courts of which he adorned with marble fountains, and the chambers with silk divans; and he was envied on account of his prosperity. the governor! And yet, he has a sagacious nose" (the Orientals have observed that there is wisdom in a nose)—" and a beard as long as my back! Yeh! yeh! what a wonderful sight to see!" Fadlallah Dahân stopped, and retorted, smiling, "Yeh! yeh! this is the woman that blames an old man for not marrying a young wife. Yeh! yeh! what a wonderful sight to see!" Then the woman replied, "O, my lord, every pig's tail curls not in the same direction, nor does every maiden admire the passing quality of youth. If thou wilt, I will bestow on thee a wife, who will love thee as thou lovest thyself, and serve thee as the angels serve Allah. She is more beautiful than any of the daughters of Beyrout, and her name is Selima, a name of good augury." The friends of Fadlallah laughed, as did the young men who followed in their wake, and urged him to go and see this peerless beauty, if it were only for a joke. Accordingly, he told the woman to lead the way. But she said he must mount his mule, for they had to go some distance into the country. He mounted and, with a single servant, went forth from the gates the woman preceding-and rode until he reached a village in the mountains. Here, in a poor little house, he found Selima; clothed in the very commonest style, engaged in making divan cush ions. She was a marvelously beautiful girl, and the heart of the merchant at once began to yearn toward her: yet he endeavored to restrain himself, and said, "This beautiful thing is not for me." But the woman cried out, "Selima, wilt thou consent to love this old man?" The girl gazed in his face a while, and then, folding her hands across her bosom, said, "Yes; for there is goodness in his countenance." Fadlallah wept with joy; and, returning to the city, announced his approaching marriage to his friends. According to custom, they expressed civil surprise to his face; but, when his back was turned, they whispered that he was an old fool, and had been the dupe of a she-adventurer. But, in the restlessness of his early years, he had omitted to marry, and now found himself near the close of his career without an heir to inherit his wealth and to perpetuate his name. This reflection often disturbed him; yet he was unwilling to take a wife because he was old. Every now and then, it is true, he saw men older than he, with fewer teeth and whiter beards, taking to their bosoms maidens that bloomed like peaches just beginning to ripen against a wall; and his friends, who knew he would give The marriage took place with ceremonies of a magnificent marriage-feast, urged him to do royal magnificence; and Selima, who passed unlikewise. Once he looked with pleasure on a moved from extreme poverty to abundant riches, young person of not too tender years, whose seemed to merit the position of the greatest lady parents purposely presented her to him; but hav-in Beyrout. Never was woman more prudent ing asked her in a whisper whether she would like to marry a withered old gentleman like himself, she frankly confessed a preference for his handsome young clerk, Harma, who earned a hundred piastres a month. Fadlallah laughed philosophically, and took care that the young couple should be married under happy auspices. One day he was proceeding along the street gravely and slowly-surrounded by a number of merchants proud to walk by his side, and followed by two or three young men, who pressed near in order to be thought of the company, and thus establish their credit-when an old woman espying him, began to cry out, "Yeh! yeh! this is the man who has no wife and no child-this is the man who is going to die and leave his fortune to be robbed by his servants, or confiscated by than she. No one ever knew her previous history, nor that of her mother. Some said that a life of misery, perhaps of shame, was before them, when this unexpected marriage took place. Selima's gratitude to Fadlallah was unbounded; and out of gratitude grew love. The merchant daily offered up thanks for the bright diamond which had come to shine in his house. In due time a child was born; a boy lovely as his mother; and they named him Halil. With what joy he was received, what festivities announced the glad intelligence to the town, may casily be imagined. Selima and Fadlallah resolved to devote themselves to his education, and determined that he should be the most accomplished youth of Bar-er-Shâm. But a long suc cession of children followed, each more beautiful |