to be so fond of, among the coral-fishers. Ugh! there she stands, la donnaccione!'

It is impossible to give the full effect of this purely Italian word, as the lad used it, accompanied by a meaning shrug it implied all that was ugly, contemptible, and abhorrent in female nature. I looked at her to whom he applied it. She was a tall, thin woman, certainly the reverse of beautiful; but yet the time might have been when the roundness of youth softened her large, strongly-marked features, and the benign influence of a happy and loving heart made them almost pleasing. We should not judge harshly of any one. I almost pitied her when I saw the expression of wild sorrow in her dark eyes, how they were strained to distinguish the distant white sails, that looked like floating sea-birds in the bay.

She creeps along, that no one may see her: she is ashamed, and well she may,' moralised the lazzarone'that poor Bertina there is happier than she. I wonder if they see one another?'

Apparently they did not, for Bertina sat under the shelter of a sand-hill, with her face buried in her lap, and the sister of Ippolite seemed to see nothing but the vessel that was bearing to labour and danger the youth who had been her darling for so many years.

At last the white sails disappeared, and Guiditta turned to leave the beach. Bertina also rose up, and the eyes of the two women met. The younger one was weeping bitterly; at the sight, the passing softness which had come over Madona Guiditta was changed into anger. How dared a mean peasant girl even to weep for her brother? She cast on Bertina a look of the bitterest scorn and jealousy, and swept away, leaving the poor maiden humbled to the dust. The young vine-dresser waited until Ippolite's proud sister had passed out of sight, and then crept away, to toil and to grieve for her lover.

Many a time during the summer that I stayed at Torre del Greco, a vague interest led me to follow the steps of both Ippolite's sister and his betrothed. Very winning was the latter, with her gentle beauty, her patient toil, her faithful love, which found a brief reward when, every fortnight or three weeks, the boats put in from the fishery, and Ippolite leaped on shore for a few tender words, a few half-weeping caresses, which lightened his labour, and made him seem to suffer less from the hardships of the coral-fishery than those who had no loving aim to reach at last. Still, they were young, and love alone is happiness. My heart clung more to that lonely woman, whose only refuge was her pride. Erring as she was, I pitied Madona Guiditta more than I did those whom she had caused to sufferfor who knew what bitterness might have drunk up the fount of love, which so rarely runs dry in a woman's heart! She had sinned; but who is it that the angels in heaven weep over-the injured righteous, or the

sinner?

My little lazzarone, Pietro, met me occasionally on the sands, and presuming on the easiness of an idle man, often began to talk-chiefly about those in whom I took an interest as his quick perception soon found out, and of which his natural cunning took advantage. Many a stray soldo did the young scapegrace wile out of my pockets by his stories about Madona Guiditta and the pretty Bertina-how the father of the latter had been a young man well-to-do in the world, but had ruined himself by his extravagance-and how Guiditta's father had helped him, and would have done more for him, had he not married Bertina's mother, a low servant girl. I did not believe the half of what Pietro told me, and yet I wished it had been true. I put together the disjointed fragments, and framed a little romance-the romance of a dreamer. It half atoned for the harshness of that desolate woman, and so I cherished it, for I would ever fain believe in the best side of humanity.

The feast of San Michele is the time when all the coral boats come on shore, whether fully laden or not;

and the fishery ended. No threats will induce the sailors to work another day after that blessed time of relief has arrived. The continued hard labour, the want of sleep, and the bad food, which are the unfailing portion of the coral-fishers, took effect in time even upon the youth and strength of Ippolite Sacchi. His bright and hopeful eye grew dim; and when, about a month before the feast of San Michele, his boat put into shore, I saw that a great change had come over him. 'It is the last voyage, indeed the last,' I heard him whisper to his betrothed, as the same evening they came down to the boat together. A little more patience, Bertina, dearest, and I shall have earned the money, and then we will be married. With your care, I shall be quite strong against the vine season comes; and tending the grapes will be delicious-quite like play-after working at the coral-fishery.'

Alas, alas! that you should have to work at all, my Ippolite!' answered the girl, kissing his delicate hands, now hard and embrowned by labour. 'Oh that I had the strength of a man, that I might work for you! It breaks my heart to think that I am the cause of all this-I who would give my life to save you one care.'

I was a fool-I know I was; and yet there was something in that girl's love that made my eyes run over. I hid myself behind the hillock where they sat, and watched her as she laid his weary head on her shoulder, and parted his long damp hair: I could bear it no longer, but crept away

'Love's pain is very sweet.'

Why is it that we envy and long for even its sufferings, rather than the desolation of its utter absence?

On the eve of San Michele, all the other boats crowded into the harbour of Torre del Greco like a swarm of white butterflies-all except the little vessel of Ippolite Sacchi. I was down on the beach, mingling with the crowd. I did not see Bertina there; for the vintage season had already begun, and the young vine-dresser could not spare an hour from labour, not even for the sake of love. I was rather glad that she was absent: it would have been a sore pain to that tender heart to witness all the happy greetings, while she herself had to endure the bitterness of suspense. At the time, no one thought anything of this temporary delay in the arrival of one boat; but as the night passed, and the feast of San Michele dawned, while the little bark was still absent, many from the town of Torre came down to the beach with fear and anxiety in their countenances. There were other anguish-riven hearts besides that of Bertina.

All that day I looked in vain for my little Mercury of good or evil tidings-Pietro the lazzarone. He had quite disappeared from his accustomed haunts. I watched the various merry groups and processions, halffestive, half-religious, which hailed the return of the coral-fishers; but in the midst of all, my mind often reverted to the poor Bertina, sorrowing unseen, perhaps alone and unpitied; and more often than even to her did my mind revert to the vineyard on the side of Vesuvius, where one more wretched still abided. I had an idea that Pietro's absence was in some sort connected with these two; and it was a positive relief to me when, at the close of the day, I saw him traversing the beach with a restless haste that contrasted strongly with his usual lounging gait.

'Good news runs fast, Pietro,' said I: 'where are you carrying yours?'

The lad turned round and made his usual salutation; but the broad stereotyped smile of a Neapolitan lazzarone contended with an expression of sorrow, which made him look comical in the midst of his evident grief. | The signor's condescension would almost turn bad news to good,' he answered, with an attempt at his usual cajoling. But it would not do: the poor lad had a heart in his bosom beneath those paltry rags, and the tears stood in his black eyes as he added, 'Oh, signor, do not

stop me; I am going to poor Bertina with the news about Ippolite Sacchi!'

• What news? Is the boat come?' 'Alas, no, signor! But a fishing-smack has brought the news that it was seen three days ago foundering in the midst of a storm off the Barbary coast. There is little hope that poor Bertina will ever see her betrothed again.'

And you are going to tell her so?'

'No one else will; and she may bear it best from me -for Ippolite always liked me he was always kind, for I was an orphan like himself-and she knows I would have done anything on earth for him.'

And where are you going to find her, Pietro?'

At the church. She is sure to be at vespers, praying for him, poor girl. Good evening to the signor!' And Pietro scampered on, his bare brown feet hardly leaving a trace in the sands.

I could not control my own steps; insensibly they brought me to the church: I had kept Pietro in sight until he disappeared at the door. Then I felt in my very heart what was passing within; I almost heard the scream of that widowed maiden, as his terrible news met her ear. Yet I could not prevent myself from entering the church.

It was almost empty. Throughout the day many happy hearts had poured out their thankful orisonsfor in Catholic countries religion is mingled with every passing event of daily life-but these had gone away: it was only mourners who came to pray and weep. Through the sombre twilight, which always reigns in foreign churches, I saw one figure kneeling-no, less kneeling than prostrate on the floor. I knew it was Bertina, and that she had heard all. Pietro was not beside her; he was advancing with an angry vehemence towards another worshipper at a little distance a woman covered with a hood. The lazzarone touched her dress, and she drew it away, as if from contamination. But in another moment a shriek, wild as that I had expected from the patient, mute, sorrowing Bertina, disturbed the quiet of the church. Pietro had told Madona Guiditta of her brother's fate. It struck her like a thunderbolt: she fell on the marble pavement half insensible. A century of agony and consciencestricken remorse must have been comprised in that one moment.

When Madona Guiditta lifted up her head, Bertina had risen from her knees. The two women looked at one another for an instant, and then Ippolite's sister opened her arms; the girl threw herself into them, and all pride, all enmity was forgotten-one common grief had united them, one all-sanctifying love for him who was gone. Ippolite's sister and his betrothed went away together; the elder mourner leaning on the arm of the younger, guided by her, and seeming to look to her with all the helplessness with which an aged mother clings to her child. The proud woman was completely shattered by the blow.

I turned homeward, moralising, after my usual habit, on what I had seen. How often it is the stern rod of affliction which strikes the rock, and the waters flow! And who shall say that the hand which deals the stroke is not a merciful one? It was so now for both those desolate ones. Yet that poor Ippolite! Well, let us not ponder too much on these things, but look to the end of all.

What has become of Madona Guiditta and Bertina?' I inquired of Pietro, when, after an absence of some time, I met him on the beach.

The lad broke into a broader smile than ordinary. Oh, they are living together in the beautiful vineyard. Madona Guiditta is growing quite fond of her poor brother's pretty bride the Virgin pardon her sins! But if the old wretch had come to her senses a little sooner, poor Ippolite would not be feeding the fishes off the Barbary shore, nor Bertina pining her life away, as I know she is, though she smiles and looks cheerful for the sake of her lover's sister. A fine sister indeed! no

more like Ippolite than'-a brilliant idea crossed the mind of the young beggar-' than this ragged old jacket to the beautiful new one which I could buy if the signor would only give me a few soldi.'

'At the old trade again, Pietro,' I said, trying to look angry, while a slight movement made the coins jingle in my pocket, and reminded me that the bitter equi noctial winds were just beginning to blow, and the lad's brown skin peeped out at the holes in his shadowy apology for a coat. It is a sin to encourage idleness,' whispered Prudence, but Compassion put her sweet lips to my ear, and murmured, 'How hard were poverty and orphanhood combined!' Somehow, Pietro got the soldi.

'So, Madona Guiditta is really kind to the poor girl?' I pursued.

'Oh yes, signor; as kind as such an old creature can be. At first she seemed as if she could hardly bear to look at Bertina, but now she sits whole hours watching her; and I have often peeped through the vines, when they were sitting together, and seen Madona Guiditta take Bertina's head between her two hands-ugly brown withered hands they seemed beside those soft cheeksand look into her face, muttering to herself for minutes together. The old woman may well look too; for poor Bertina's was once the prettiest face ever seen, and the very image of her father's, who was the handsomest fellow in Naples, people said. But the Signor Inglese can take little interest in these things.'

I nodded, but did not farther detain my young informant. As I walked on, it was with a thoughtful spirit. Another leaf in the great tablet of the human heart had been unfolded before me through these unconscious revelations. They set me pondering for a long time. As we advance in life, we philosophise where we once used only to feel. I was on the boundary of the two crises, and my meditations savoured a little of both. As the winter drew on, I began to experience the weariness of an aimless life. The subsiding of the passing interest which the little episode I relate had given me perhaps increased this feeling. My strolls about Torre seemed to have a painful uniformity, so I projected a journey up the mountain. Perhaps some vague remembrance of Bertina, and of the vineyard on Vesuvius, which seemed a very paradise to the little lazzarone, was the unconscious reason of my choosing this direction for my peregrinations. If so, the same chance led me thither; for one day, at the commencement of a sudden storm, such as are peculiar to the region, I found myself seeking shelter at a dwelling which fully answered Pietro's description.

While I speculated on this, the door opened, and I was courteously welcomed in by a voice which I knew well, though it was the first time its accents had ever been addressed to myself. I soon found myself sitting face to face with Madona Guiditta and Bertina. Little did either know how well the stranger had read the hearts and the destiny of both. I watched them eagerly. A change had come over Ippolite's sister; the harsh lines in her face had melted away. When she looked at, or spoke to Bertina especially, there was a sweetness in her countenance that made me remember with surprise Pietro's epithet of 'donnaccione.' But most of all did I marvel at the patient calmness of Bertina's face-a calmness which seemed the very sublimation of grief. Then I knew how great and holy is the love which survives even the parting of death, and through its intensity conquers even that last despair.

I was almost glad that the storm continued, so that I had an excuse for remaining; but I was not exactly pleased when the shaggy head of Pietro the lazzarone peeped in at the door. Madona Guiditta turned away with an expression of pain, but Bertina went and spoke to the lad with her own kind tones. Pietro seemed unusually restless, though a continual succession of furtive smiles appeared creeping about his mouth. At last he came close to Bertina, and whispered something that made her start and turn pale.

mind at the time-whether temperate and rational, or likely to be moved by the pressure of circumstances to extravagance, recklessness, and revolt. A careful consideration of these things by firm and reasoning men, will leave little place for error.

It is said, in our author's definition, that a riot must occasion 'terror to the people;' but the people may be represented by one man. If a single one of the Queen's subjects is terrified, that is enough; although the averment as to terror-in terrorem populi-is essential to the validity of the indictment. In an otherwise perfectly clear case, where this allegation was omitted, it was held that the defendants could not be convicted of riot. It is unnecessary, however, that the terror should be realised, for personal violence is not an indispensable ingredient in a riot.

Who is guilty of riot? This, it will presently be seen, is a most important question, and must be answered as distinctly as possible. If the meeting be a legal one, and a riot ensues, those only who actually take part in the riot are guilty; but if the meeting be in itself for an unlawful purpose, all attending it countenance the illegal design. Knowing the meeting to be illegal, prudent persons ought either to absent themselves, or assist in dispersing it. If they do neither, they are at least an obstruction to the peace-officers, and so far accomplices of the rioters. It is vain for a member of that illegal meeting to say, that although he approved of the purpose, he did not approve of the violence; for the act of a single individual in such circumstances is construed to be the act of all, and the military, when it is proper for them to act, would be justified in firing upon the whole mob. A mob riotously burned a building; but one of the persons apprehended was proved not to have been present at the commencement of the fire, and it was therefore argued that he could not be guilty as principal. The offence, however, was not destroying the house by fire, but riotously assembling, and while the riot continued, demolishing the house; and the prisoner was found guilty, and transported for twenty-one years. The punishment for simple riots is fine and imprisonment, with or without hard labour; and for aggravated riots, in which houses or other property are destroyed, transportation for life, or for any term not less than seven years, or imprisonment for any time not exceeding three years; and solitary imprisonment, not exceeding one month at any one time, or three months in any one year, may also be inflicted.

The enactments familiarly called the Riot Act were made at the time when the newly-seated House of Hanover was distracted by popular tumults, and they are of course distinguished by much severity. The first section declares that all persons, to the number of twelve or more, who continue riotously assembled for one hour after proclamation is made (termed reading the Riot Act), shall be adjudged felons, and suffer death, as in case of felony, without benefit of clergy. The punishment has since then, as we have seen, been modified, but the other provisions are strictly enforced. When the proclamation is to be made, says the act, 'the justice of the peace, or other person authorised by this act to make the said proclamation, shall, among the said rioters, or as near to them as he can safely come, with a loud voice command, or cause to be commanded, silence to be while proclamation is making; and after that, shall openly, and with loud voice, make, or cause to be made, proclamation in these or words like in effect :-" Our Sovereign Lord the King [Queen] chargeth and commandeth all persons, being assembled, immediately to disperse themselves, and peaceably to depart to their habitations, or to their lawful business, upon the pains contained in the act made in the first year of King George, for preventing tumults and riotous

* In a conviction under the Riot Act, the minimum of transportation is not seven years, as in ordinary cases of riot, but fifteen.

assemblies. God save the King [Queen]." And every such justice and justices of the peace,' the act continues, sheriff, under-sheriff, mayor, bailiff, and other head officer aforesaid, within the limits of their respective jurisdictions, are hereby authorised, empowered, and required, on notice or knowledge of any such unlawful, riotous, and tumultuous assembly, to resort to the place where such unlawful, riotous, and tumultuous assembly shall be, of persons to the number of twelve or more, and there to make, or cause to be made, proclamation in manner aforesaid.' So strictly are these formalities of the proclamation observed, that in a case where God save the King' (now the Queen') was omitted, and in another where the additional words of the reign of' after the first years' were introduced, it was decided that the indictment must fail.

It is further enacted that any opposition to the reading of the proclamation-opposing, obstructing, letting, hindering, or hurting' the persons reading or attempting to read-shall be considered as grave an offence as the remaining for an hour after it is read; and likewise that if the reading is prevented by such hindrances, those of the rioters who are aware of the fact shall be considered as guilty as if the proclamation had really been made. We frequently hear of the Riot Act being read more than once; but this is merely in order that there shall be no doubt as to the fact, not to give the offenders more time, as is commonly supposed, for the computation of the hour of grace is made from the first reading. This statute, however, is merely cumulative. The magistrates remain possessed of all their powers for the suppression of crime; and rioters who think that the proclamation gives them the right to do as they please for an hour without interference, will find themselves prodigiously mistaken. The act extends to Scotland.

The rights and duties of private individuals during a riot are perfectly clear and simple, although the great body of the people, we apprehend, know very little about them. By the common law,' says Lord ChiefJustice Tindal, every private person may lawfully endeavour of his own authority, and without any warrant or sanction of the magistrate, to suppress a riot by every means in his power. He may disperse, or assist in dispersing, those who are assembled; he may stay those who are engaged in it from executing their purpose; he may stop and prevent others whom he shall see coming up from joining the rest; and not only has he the authority, but it is his bounden duty, as a good subject of the king, to perform this to the utmost of his ability. If the riot be general and dangerous, he may arm himself against the evil doers to keep the peace.' But although the law not only permits, but enjoins this interference, it is considered more discreet' for private persons to range themselves on the side of the authorities; yet if the occasion demands immediate action, and no opportunity is given for procuring the advice or sanction of the magistrate, it is the duty of every subject to act for himself, and upon his own responsibility, in suppressing a riotous and tumultuous assembly; and he may be assured, that whatever is honestly done by him in the execution of that object, will be supported and justified by the common law.'

It follows from the right to quell such disturbances by force, that rioters are held criminally liable for the consequences of their resistance. If a life is sacrificed by such resistance, this is murder; and the deed of one person, as we have already said, being chargeable upon all his aiders and abettors, the whole mob is guilty of the capital felony. But private persons have not only the right to interfere-it is their duty to assist the authorities when called upon. Obedience is compulsory, under pain of fine and imprisonment; the refusal, like the riot itself, being a misdemeanour.

When a riot is apprehended, too serious to be dealt with by the ordinary police force, special constables are summoned from the inhabitants of the district, and sworn in.' The oath is as follows:-'I, A. B., do swear