The good and devout juvenile clergyman felt, of course, an interest in every one who formed a portion of his congregation, and when this intelligence reached him-when he reflected on the fervour, and then on the retiring demeanour of the young lady, who, in addition to her other virtues, sought to conceal her loveliness from the knowledge of mankind, he felt that it was peculiarly incumbent upon him-if possible-to console her in her grief, and to strengthen her by his exhortations to persevere in the path of piety.

With this view he called to see mother and daughter; but was unable to obtain an interview, as both ladies assured him in a nice note-neatly folded, but slightly defective in its orthography-they were, as yet, unfitted, one by illness, and the other by overwhelming grief, to receive visitors; but requesting their good pastor (if he could spare such a sweet book from his library for a few days) to oblige them with that particularly exhilarating volume-"Harvey's Meditations."

Poor Augustus Barton! From that day forth, it was observed that he seeemed to pray for and to preach at no other persons in his little chapel, but the two dolorous dark-dressed strangers. He became inoculated with their sorrows. From that day forth, he walked as slowly and solemnly as "the man with the plume" at a funeral; looked as grave as "a mute," and spoke in the sepulchral tones of "an undertaker." In his case the bow of Cupid was covered with crape, and its arrows feathered with weepers. Like Narcissus he was in love with a sad-looking shadow. His future destiny was plain to the simplest of his congregation. All felt convinced that so soon as the veiled mourner should choose to shew her fair young face, she might calculate upon an easy and certain victory over the pining Augustus.

Mrs. Pucker was exceedingly mystified, and greatly displeased at all these doings. The soul of candour and plain dealing in all she ever said or did, she could not understand these two gloomy, masked, and immured ladies-always veiled-never venturing abroad-perchIng themselves apart in an English chapel, in an out of the way French town-"cocking their caps, as the young one was doing, and no mistake, at a young unmarried clergyman, and that clergyman having a good fortune, and as unpractised in the ways of the world as if he were still a child."

Mrs. Pucker saw there was a mystery in the proceedings of those strange women; and wherever there was a mystery, it was her firm conviction that there also must be wickedness plotting, to do some mischief.

What was to be done? that is, what could she do, supposing her suspicions were correct? It was obvious Augustus Barton was about to make a fool of himself. Who were these women? Both came from London. She was sure of that, for the Maire had seen their passport, and one of them was undoubtedly very beautiful -a remarkable girl in one respect, for her eye-brows and eye-lashes were of inky blackness, whilst her hair was light auburn. Who was she? An Italian,

as her accent declared her to be; or a Scotch maiden, as her name-M'Sly-would shew her to be?

What was she-Mrs. Pucker-to do? Something, at all events. And in order that she might determine what that something should be, she would at once order from England to Varech her nephew Jack of the 11th Hussars, "because Jack," as she said, "knew every body in London who was not worth knowing,-from Lord Look-on, who commanded in the Crimea, down to little Billy Stumps, who rode the wining horse at the last Derby."

Mrs.

The letter for "nephew Jack" was written. Pucker saw a crisis now approaching, and therefore the letter was couched in very urgent terms, fully explaining all particulars to Jack, why he was wanted, and why "ordered" to come without a moment's delay.

Upon the succeeding Sunday the two veiled strangers were in their usual seats in the private chapel of the Rev. Augustus Barton-seats that fronted the pulpit of the reverend gentleman; but it was remarked of these two"the observed of all observers"—that the old lady in the veil appeared to be more than usually feeble; that she came tottering down the chapel leaning heavily on her daughter's arm, and that the veiled daughter seemed to be if that was possible-more devoted to and more anxious about her precious parent than usual.

Deep sighs were heaved by the tender-hearted divine as he looked upon this touching scene. The religious. feelings of the mother urging her, despite her weakness, to be one of his congregation; the filial piety and affection of the daughter, as she thus upheld her failing parent, and sustained her in the performance of her devotions.

The service of the day was about to commence..

The Rev. Augustus Barton had ascended the readingdesk. He was about to open his book, when his eyes, as usual, were directed towards the veiled strangers. He paused-then jumping down the steps, exclaimed: "God bless me! the old lady is fainting!"

66

At the same instant the young lady screamed : My mother! my beloved mother! Help help! dear, good, Mr. Barton! help! my adored mother is dying."

The old veiled lady fell from her seat on the floor, and as she did so, the young lady, in the wildness of her grief, and the distraction of her agitation, not only raised her black veil, but flung off her black bonnet, and large black mantle; and, in so doing, presented to the astonished gaze of the Rev. Augustus Barton a marvellous specimen of feminine beauty, to which grief seemed to impart additional charms.

Never, it was believed by the Rev. Augustus Barton, had Varech before seen a young girl possessed of so many personal attractions as were then unexpectedly presented to its view.

The fear and agitation which were pourtrayed in the sweet face of the stranger did not, in the estimation of Augustus Barton, mar its beauty in the slightest degree, whilst the nymph-like figure, now that she had flung away her wide black mantle, was in a low evening dress, and therefore became exuberantly displayed in exquisitely graceful attitudes, as the devoted maiden sought to revive by her caresses her beloved mother

"Oh! my kind, dear, dear Mr. Barton!" exclaimed the young lady, apparently insane with grief, and therefore not to be considered as conscious of what she was saying: "Oh! come! come! my dear, my saint-like Mr. Barton, and by your prayers, restore to life my adored mother."

"Yes! my dear angel! my enchantress! command your Barton-your slave-your lover-your destined husband," said poor Mr. Barton, really not knowing what he was saying.

"Restore my mother-my dearest Mr Barton-and my hand and heart are yours for ever," sobbed the lovely young lady in the low evening dress.

"I say, Mrs. Pucker, is it allowed to clap one's hands in a church, as if you were in a theatre ?" said a sharp, low, rough voice in the midst of this tender

scene.

"What do you mean, Jack?" said Mrs. Pucker, in the same loud tone of voice.

"I say that young girl there that is play-acting with the parson is doing the thing a deal better here than ever she could perform a part in the Haymarket."

"Have you seen that girl before, Jack ?"

"Seen her! a thousand times. She was first seanymph last season in the ballet, at the Italian opera house. Holloa! VIRGINIA Gallotti!”

It was marvellous-it was more than marvellousit was absolutely miraculous, how at the mention of that name, the old lady at once recovered, sat bolt upright in her seat; and how, at the same instant, the young lady hurriedly resumed her bonnet, veil and mantle, and taking the old woman by the hand, said

"Come, old girl, Varech is no longer a place for either of us to stop in. What a make-sport and a spoil-sport you are, Jack! I heard you one night behind the scenes telling your friend, Lord Look-on, of this bathing village, and of its innocent, unlicked numbskull of a parson. It was from you, then, I took the idea of entrapping him into a marriage. I had no notion you would have come here to expose me. I suppose that old busy-body, your aunt, Mrs. Pucker, sent for you. Good-bye, Jack! all is fair in love and war, you know. Happy to see you when you return to London, Jack, and make you better acquainted with this old ladymy dresser at the theatre-Mother Dobson.

IV.

These specimens much suffice to show how diligent and untiring is Mrs. Pucker in her superintendence over all visitors, who, like herself, owe allegiance to Queen Victoria. These specimens may, too, be considered as sufficient to demonstrate why it is that no one from the British Isles can venture upon becoming a resident in Varech, unless with her sanction and approval.

I was for some time doubtful as to my own reception; because I fancied that a person who could tell of the humble apartment looking upon the back-rooms of Bouverie-street, was one whose presence would not be welcomed into the magnificent saloon in Varech.

I made a great mistake in forming such an opinion.

Although I had not seen her when I lived in Bouveriestreet, she had frequently observed me, and at once recognised me.

But what is her story? How account for so great and so extraordinary a change between her poverty in 1835, and her riches in 1858?

Enough for the present to say, that Mrs. Pucker has been "a deceased wife's sister;" that the wealth she now distributes with a liberal and a generous hand, is hers by right of marriage. Her untiring industry as an embroiderer-her youth, almost her life sacrificed in the effort to maintain the bed-ridden husband and infant children of her deceased sister-attracted first the attention and then the admiration of her employer, a rich dealer in the city. He chose the thrifty manager of the bed-ridden brother-in-law for a wife; and bequeathing to her all his property, confided to her generous care the future welfare of his and her young kinsfolk.

Such has been and such is Mrs. Pucker-a womau of many virtues, and with one great and glaring defect -an untiring tongue. At none of her waking moments can it be said she is like to Epicone, and "has brought a wealthy dowry in her silence."

How are we to deal with such a character? To censure, or to absolve it? The world which loves hypocrisy, which deals tenderly with frivolity, and winks at vice, when vice is gold-plated, will never tolerate a loud-voiced old lady who hates shams, detests humbugs, and will-" stand no nonsense."

ROME:

A GLANCE AT ITS PRESENT STATE, WITH A FEW NATIONAL REMINISCENCES.

BY M. HAVERTY.

THE Social aspect of Rome at this moment, is as singular as its political situation is unprecedented. Its dense population is composed of elements as heterogeneous as ever were held together in one body politic. Internally it is a volcano which might at any moment burst into open eruption; externally it is a model of decorum and tranquillity. Its floating accession of foreign visitors has never been so small at this season of the year; and hence the hotels are empty, the art-galleries deserted, the painters and sculptors idle, and the unhappy workers in conchiglia and mosaic almost starving; but on the other hand, the Italian population has not for many years been more numerous. A great many disaffected persons linger by choice in the city, awaiting some indefinite prospect of a convulsion, and thousands who have suffered by the revolution in other parts of Italy, and who are attached heart and soul to the Pope's government, have flocked to Rome. In the throng of wayfarers whom we meet in the streets, the ecclesiastics are scarcely so numerous as they used to be; and unless when groups of students, chiefly belonging to the foreign colleges, proceed to or form lectures at the Propaganda or the Sapienza, or when processions of the poor Ca

puchins accompany the dead to their last resting-place, they are seldom seen abroad in large numbers.

But the most singular feature in the social aspect of the Eternal City, is its vast foreign garrison. Now, indeed, it may be said, "the Gauls are in the Capitol," and not only in the Capitol, but in every strong place and thoroughfare, and almost in every house of Rome. Not only have the castle of St. Angelo, and the principal barracks been given up to the French army of occupation, but a large portion of each of the great monasteries, and in some cases, the entire of religious houses and palaces of the nobility, have been converted into military quarters for their accommodation. It is not unusual to see groups of barefooted friars and of French soldiers collected at different gates of the same convent, or at opposite sides of the same gate; and when the tambours and trumpeters of the various French regiments assemble an hour after Ave Maria, in the Piazza Colonna, to sound the evening retreat, all Rome echoes with the thunder which they create. In a word, the strategic occupation of Rome by the French is most complete; but while the city is thus as it were filled with French soldiers, while we meet them in every caffé and at every step in the principal thoroughfares, it is impossible not to be struck by their admirable demeanour. Never was there military discipline more perfect than theirs. Sober and peaceful in their conduct; cheerful, good humoured, and unreserved in their manner; polite and affable to all; many of them even religious, they offend neither man nor woman, and exhibit none of that bravado so often indulged in by the powerful, who undertake the protection of the weak.

Besides those of the French army, a variety of military uniforms are now to be seen in the streets of Rome. A certain portion of the Pope's Italian army still remains, and is undergoing a re-organisation which was sadly required. The men are more easily distinguished from the French by their darker complexions, and by an air of unsoldierlike indolence, than by their uniforms; and in moving through the streets, they exhibit less regard than their Gallic allies for the feelings or convenience of the bourgeoisie. Their value for the defence of the city would apparently be small indeed. Then there is the legion of the Franco-Belges, whose grey, zouave uniform is becoming every day more frequent in Rome. This new force is composed, as its name indicates, partly of Frenchmen and partly of Belgians; but it is mainly recruited from the ranks of the legitimist party in France, who have flocked to the Pope's standard with a zeal augmented by the dubious character of Louis Napoleon's policy towards the Holy Father. Scions of the most noble houses in France have entered this legion; men of the rank of count and marquis have not disdained to serve as non-commissioned officers, or even private soldiers; and the whole corps would appear to be composed of young men of education and gentlemanly bearing.

Nor must we overlook the bright green uniform of St. Patrick's brigade, of which some thirty men or more still remain in Rome, admittedly as the nucleus of a

corps, and possibly of a permanent one, yet to be formed in the Pope's service. The late Irish brigade in Rome was hastily called into existence, and during its brief career, laboured under many disadvantages. Agencies most hostile to its success were actively at work from the beginning, and with the smallest amount of preparatory drill, almost withont any time to inure it to military discipline, it was placed in the very foremost ranks in battle; and then, too, under circumstances so hopeless, against numbers so overwhelming, and with so much Italian treachery and Swiss cowardice to dishearten it, on its own side! Yet, in a position so trying, the conduct of these raw Irish recruits was worthy of veteran soldiers; their steadfastness and bravery won the applause of their general, and are questioned by no one; and on the whole, it may be truly said that they were not unworthy of the country which sent out the famous "Brigade" of old. The few men in green," who still remain in Rome, are active, good-looking fellows, soldierlike, and well disciplined, nor are there, we believe, braver men in the garrison. We had the pleasure of seeing them to great advantage not many weeks since, when they were mustered in the nave of the Church of St. Agatha, and exhorted in beautiful words of advice and encouragement, by his Grace the Most Rev. Dr. Dixon, Primate of all Ireland, then on a visit to Rome; the professors and students of the Irish Collage being at the same time assembled round the altar of that ancient church, and several other Irishmen, lay and clerical, being present.

We

A discussion of the "Roman question," either in its political or religious aspect, might be considered out of place in these pages, but there is at least, no reason why we should not describe what we have witnessed as travellers, or tell the impressions made on us as ordinary observers. We cannot avoid a passing word upon this parade of foreign soldiery, which makes the Eternal City so unlike what it used to be-on this army of occupation, and this flocking of French, Irish, Belgian, and other volunteers to the standard of the Pope. all know that the object of all this is to protect the Holy Father, as the sovereign of a certain temporal principality; to protect him, in fact, against two sorts of enemies against external aggressors, who have no ground of warfare except such as the highwayman has against the traveller; and against the disaffected section of his own subjects. The one set of foes pretend that they would make Rome the capital of "United Italy," and the other simply want to overturn the existing government; but as to "United Italy," it will be found a fiction; nor is Rome apparently fitted by nature to be the capital of a great modern empire; while the turbulent faction among the Romans themselves is far from comprising either the largest or the best portion of the people. Those men who go about the streets of Rome, or lounge in its coffee-houses, muffled in large cloaks, and carrying stilettoes in their coat-sleeves or their bosoms; those half-educated men who never enter a church, who regard religion as a bugbear, and who love intrigue and secret societies, are to a

man disaffected. They are a class who, in any country, would dislike the existing government, but to whom the government of Rome is doubly obnoxious, identified as it is with the dreaded restraints of religion. Were they in our own country, where priests have no temporal power, they would nevertheless detest them; how much more so then must they feel exasperated under a rule in which a priest is at the very head of temporal authority! All these men carry on the business of their secret societies with impunity in Rome. They all recognize each other, they collect every where in small groups, and are organised by a committee. They all voted the other day the so-called "plebiscitum," to make Victor Emmanuel their king. Nor was this any secret to the Roman police, who, however, have seldom distinguished themselves by their diligence either in preventing crime, or detecting its perpetrators. The proceedings are also known to the French authorities in Rome, but these, conscious of their own ability to crush any attempt of the revolutionists, look upon the latter only with silent contempt; and while the disaffected are encouraged by this forbearance, by the success of the revolution in their neighbourhood, and by a secret hope that the French Emperor may yet abandon the cause of the Pope; the Holy Father, on the other side, is placed in such a position that he cannot introduce the reforms which he would willingly concede, and in which his paternal heart would really keep pace with all that is desirable and practicable in the popular demands.

An eminent Irish barrister, and member of the British legislature, who has more than once favoured the world with the results of his observations in Italy, bas, in a recent production, given us a vivid description of the classic wilderness which surrounds Rome. "When I stood on the campagna," he writes, "I thought I was transported to a desert You may imagine a city in the centre of a vast plain; not a house, or tree, or fence, or anything visible save a solitary peasant mounted on a shaggy pony, with a long wooden spear in his hand, driving a buffalo before him. All the grandeur and splendour of the campagna of ancient Rome are gone.

În the days

of Augustus, the aqueducts watered it-fertilized it— but they are broken and prostrate; their ruins attract your observation and wonder; all the splendour and richness of imperial power have vanished, and the campagna is a waste." These words were clearly written with a view to shew what desolation had been produced by the papal system of government; and the learned and eloquent author thus proceeds :-"Have you any conception of the horrors of a summer in that place? At the time of the cutting of the harvest in the environs of Rome, a scene of suffering is presented. The malaria encompasses the unfortunate mountaineers, who descend to save the harvest and earn a pittance for their children; a Roman citizen never ventures on the task. The reaper is infected with the disease, and in all probability dies; and thus there is a greater number of patients in the hospitals in Rome during the summer than at any other season of the year."

From this we are probably expected to conclude that

the popes are also responsible for the malaria; and so no doubt the class to whom these words were addressed by Mr. Whiteside, do imagine: but the next sentence dissipates at least that charge; for it is added that if Hannibal did not march against Rome during the time the malaria prevailed, it was because he knew he would lose more men by disease than by battle! The malaria, then, was as deadly in Hannibal's time as in our own; the campagna was in fact always insalubrious, notwithstanding the numerous small towns which existed in remote antiquity along its borders; and no human industry, no wealth nor enterprise, will ever be able to convert that pestilential plain into a healthful garden. As to the long lines of broken arches which form so grand a feature in that scene of desolation, we should remember that modern science has discovered more convenient modes of conveying water than by those ancient Roman aqueducts; and Mr. Whiteside, in his admiration of ancient hydraulics, has omitted the fact that modern Rome, through the munificence of her popes, and the ingenuity of her engineers, happens to enjoy better water and a more copious supply of it than any other city in Europe. Her public fountains send forth rivers of the purest water, and jets of the same play into marble basins in the yard of almost every house in the city.

Twelve hundred years ago, when Rome was abandoned by the Emperors, its temporal sovereignty, as a result of their desertion, devolved upon the sovereign pontiff. Iconoclast viceroys, Exarchs of Ravenna, Counts of Tusculum, and other petty and semi-barbarous tyrants, in the dark and gloomy ages which followed, did all that lay in human power to destroy the Imperial city. Its helpless population clung for protection to the successor of St. Peter, who alone in all the world stood up manfully for the injured people, and in virtue of his spiritual anthority which all recognised, alone defended the helpless against the spoiler in those lawless times. But for the popes of that day we should, no doubt, have some modern Layard excavating for the doubtful ruins of Rome among her seven nameless hills, as in another Nineve her vestiges might be as obscure as those of her predecessor, Alba Longa, or of the more modern Tusculum. The power so freely given and so well deposited was recognized, confirmed, extended by the Christian emperors of the West, and the States of the Church were soon clearly defined and established as an independent principality. Where then is the dynasty so ancient, or founded in so much justice, as that of the elective sovereigns of Rome? Even Mr. Whiteside, as a lawyer, cannot help admitting that "so far as law is concerned," the Roman territory is the pope's "by right,” and that to deprive him of it would be an act of robbery.

:

But besides the right of dominion, and that right which is involved in the fact, that to the popes modern Rome owes its very existence, there is a still more sacred right— a right arising out of the mission for which the temporal sovereignty of the popes was established and maintained, -out of its necessity for the free exercise of their

spiritual authority; and so fixed has this right become in the opinion of the Catholic world, that were revolution successful at this moment, and Pius IX. expelled from the Vatican, the fait accompli would be regarded by Catholic Christendom as only a temporary sacrilege, which should, and unquestionably would, be wiped out as soon as possible.

The papal government has been truly designated as sui generis; it can never be wholly assimilated to any of the civil governments of Europe. It is one in which religion and its interests must always predominate over temporal concerns. It may be too patriarchal, or if you will, too medieval, to suit the tastes of modern illuminati. There has been too much of the "laissez faire" way about it; too much mercy, and tenderness towards evil-doers. The stern dictates of justice too easily yield to the relentings of pity. Yet is not all this the very thing that is to be expected from a system in which a religion always merciful, constitutes the most essential element? But if the governing power in Rome be sometimes too moderate, it happens, unfortunately, that the governed are an indolent, unenterprising-shall we say effete?-race, into whom it appears a hopeless task to infuse anything like energy. Religion, and its hand-maids, the fine arts, have maintained a degree of refinement in the character of the modern Romans, but there is nevertheless much truth in the remark, that they are only "half civilized." There is a cry for secularising the executive; yet if this were entirely possible, it would still be, apparently, the very worst thing that could be done in the present state of society there. The Roman laity are the most unfit for active duties of any of the same class in Europe. Education of the highest order is offered to them gratuitously; indeed education is almost forced upon the humbler classes, yet, strange to say, few profit by it to any great extent except the clergy. This is strikingly illustrated in the contrast between the lay and the clerical employées of the government; the former of whom are vastly more numerous than the latter, notwithstanding the outcry raised on the subject by a hostile press. Some departments are, we should suppose, wholly in the hands of the laity, such as those of the police and the customs; and as it is with these departments that strangers are most apt to come in contact, they have unhappily too many opportunities of experiencing the insolence and imbecility of the lay underlings; while, did the occasion offer, they would find the ecclesiastical functionaries, in their own proper departments, clearsighted, active, obliging, and just.

One amelioration has assuredly been effected within the last year in Rome. The Swiss incubus has we trust been exploded. Introduced originally to form a mere body-guard, the Swiss mercenaries distinguished themselves in past times by their fidelity, and often by their bravery; but by degrees they crept into many places of power and emolument, and at length Swiss influence pervaded almost every department of the state.

This influence was brought to bear, with all the jealous hatred of rivals, against the Irish and other

volunteers who entered the Pope's service last year; and on this occasion, strange to say, Italians, whether disaffected or otherwise, and Swiss, seemed to make common cause. The mind of even the Papal minister of war was poisoned by Swiss intrigue, but when the day of trial came, the Swiss bubble burst, and it was found that incompetency, cowardice, and dishonesty were its chief ingredients. Such things will evermore occur under any system too much confidence is liable to be abused; but although a Swiss guard is still retained at the Vatican, it is to be hoped that the Swiss influence will never again recover its former power in Rome.

From these things, to which a traveller cannot possibly close his eyes in Rome, and which to a Catholic are so full of interest, we turn to others more congenial to the spirit of the Hibernian Magazine, and upon which a recent journey to the Eternal City has enabled us to say a word or two. We refer to some things in particular, which to an Irishman visiting Rome, if he have the smallest ingredient of nationality in his nature, are. scarcely less interesting than the monuments of art and classic antiquity for which that city is above all others celebrated. Thus in the northern aisle of the ancient church of St. Agatha de' Gothi, annexed to the Irish college, he will find the mural monument which encloses the heart of Daniel O'Connell-that heart which loved Ireland so well, but which the dying Liberator himself bequeathed to Rome, towards which he was journeying when death overtook him at Genoa. The monument, which is a relievo in white marble, by the eminent Roman sculptor Benzoni, the friend of Hogan, is, as our readers are aware, the munificent tribute of Charles Bianconi to O'Connell's memory. In the upper part of the work, an allegorical group represents the seated figure of Erin mourning over a funereal urn, while an angel appears and points to heaven as the home to which the spirit of the illustrious man over whom she weeps has fled. This portion is in high relief, and immediately beneath it is the inscription; while the lower part of the monument consists of a bas-relief representing O'Connell refusing to take the anti-Catholic declaration at the bar of the House of Commons in 1829.

While toiling up the steep side of the Janiculum the Irish traveller approaches a spot associated with some of the most sorrowful memories of his country's history. Near the summit of the hill stands the church of St. Pietro-in-Montorio, from the terrace in front of which the finest panoramic view of Rome, and of the Campagna, with its frame-work of hills, is obtained. In the cloister adjoining the church is the spot on which, according to tradition, the Prince of the Apostles was crucified, and on which stands a famous gem of architecture-the small circular temple erected by Bramante for Philip III. and Ferdinand IV., kings of Spain, to commemorate the event. But although these things, and the many works of art within the church be most important objects of the traveller's admiration or veneration, it is not for them that we now invite the Irish pilgrim to the spot, but to visit two grave