fears, had once reflected on the punishment; when, starting as she heard them, she looked piteously in the officer's face, and said, "I hope not, sir; he has not robbed me-not hurt me-not in the least. Pray let me have that paper again; and I-I am sorry I came here-indeed I am!" She was

told he was now in the hands of the law, and it was neither in her power, nor in theirs, to release him; and that as it was the law, not the individual, that punished a criminal, she need not accuse herself in the slightest degree of severity, whatever his sentence might be. Incapable of replying to this argument, she could do nothing but repeat her request for the paper, when she was answered by a smile, and told she was quite a child. "Do, do give me that paper," she continued; "let nothing more happen; if I can pardon him, why cannot you?" At this she was called a silly child. Nina looked round for the prisoner, but he had been led to his dungeon. "O God!" she cried, "how unhappy does this make me! I know, sir, I am, as you say, a child; but can you make a child so miserable?" The officer then spoke with greater kindness, reasoning on the impossibility of his yielding, and thus she was dismissed.

The aunt was waiting at home, in a thousand ecstacies at so providential an escape from a robber and a murderer; to all which Nina scarcely replied, but went to her pillow weeping," and pity, like a naked new-born babe," lay in her bosom. Thus in two short hours was the laughing gaiety of this young creature gone for ever. She was the means, it mattered not how innocently, of driving a fellow-being into wretchedness and infamy. That her sorrow was unreasonable, few, perhaps, will deny. However, Nina had never learned to take enlarged views of the duties of citizenship; nor did it once enter her head to ask herself whether she was right or wrong. Before sunrise the old lady was surprised at being wakened by her niece, and to see her hastily dressing herself to go once more to the police. This created a long discussion. "Well, well," said the niece,

"I will go alone; but then I can have little hope. You, aunt, that know the world, may find some method of softening the hearts of these cruel officers. I have but one friend now that both my parents are dead; and sure she will not refuse the first earnest prayer I make!" This appeal could not be withstood. Nina ran to the looking-glass to put on her bonnet, when she perceived several bruises on her neck, the marks of his rude hands,—they would be observed, and could not be mistaken. Instantly inquiring if it was not rather chilly that morning, she at the same time, without waiting for an answer, took up a large shawl, pinned it close under her chin, and then waited in the mildest manner in the world for her friend.

At a very early hour the convicts employed to clean the streets begin their labour. When Nina arrived at the corner of the Borgo she heard the clanking of their chains, and clinging with both hands on her aunt's arm, remained motionless while they slowly passed. Though accustomed to the sight from her infancy, she now for the first time regarded them attentively. They were accompanied as usual by their guards, armed with muskets and cutlasses, and came heavily chained together in couples; the two first with brooms, followed by those who drag on a cart, and then two others with their shovels. One was clothed in yellow; the girl looked at him with tears in her eyes. "I never thought," said she, "these men were so wretched!" "Santa Maria!" exclaimed the aunt," and what did you think? Would you have them as comfortable as good Christians like ourselves? You will see, as I told you before, the gentlemen of the police will call me a simpleton for going to them on such an errand." In this she was mistaken; nobody noticed her. Nina's earnestness astonished the officers. They had never seen or heard of anything of the like, and could not understand it. That she should be in love with the prisoner was out of the question, as it appeared in her evidence his person was unknown to her until the evening before; and a

1

young woman never makes a present of her heart (so they argued) to a ruffian who comes to take it with a knife. In the absence, therefore, of this suspicion, she seemed of a more human, if not a more heavenly nature, than any saint in the calendar. And as they sympathised in her distressfor how could they help it ?-their compassion was startled into something favourable to all sorts of criminals. The worst was, they could not grant her request.

It is high time to talk of our student-poor Gaetano, in his dungeon! He had been noted by the professors for his application at the University, and endeared to his companions by his never-failing cheerfulness and good temper. What a dreary change! And he was the favourite of his father, who though not rich, still represented with some attempts at dignity, an ancient family in Pistoia. Young Gaetano's story, I am sorry to own it, is a very bad one, as it bears a resemblance to that doleful tragedy, George Barnwell. Italians, to their praise be it spoken, seldom put faith in that love which is to be purchased by costly presents-they know better; yet when guilty of such folly, their extravagance is often boundless. It was so with this youth. After having on every possible pretence obtained money from his father, and lavished it on his Milwood, she began to put on her cold looks; then in a short time, her door was closed against a pennyless suitor. Why he attacked Nina seemed inexplicable. Had Pisa no respected Signor with a heartful of self-complacency as his pockets were of money, walking in his own orchard, and moralizing on his own goodness? It is certain, however, none but this innocent, defenceless girl struck his brain at that desperate moment. Perhaps there was a feeling of revenge against the sex. Your only true woman-hater is he who becomes trammelled in the magic of one whom his reason bids him despise. If this hint at an explanation should be objected to, I willingly refer the whole case tó a general assembly of Scotch metaphysicians—they can settle everything. My business is with facts. When Nina

heard the story, she pitied him more than ever; and if this is sneered at as an immodest kind of pity among the cruelly virtuous, let her inexperience in their ways be considered in her favour. So deep an impression did it make on her mind, that it stamped her character for ever. Instead of a laughing, thoughtless girl, she became at once a woman. Her brow was more tranquil, a milder brightness shone in her eyes, a far sweeter smile played upon her lips. Happiness, she thought, should not be divided; and, as the thought came over her, not a living being but shared in her sensibility. There is not a greater mistake than to imagine the characters of either sex are formed solely by the first impulses of love. Any of the passions, if thoroughly roused, or even pain of body will have the same effect, and sometimes at a very early age. Grief, as I myself have witnessed, will act like inspiration; suddenly converting a childish docility in a lad into a manly fortitude and self-decision. The soul of Nina was awakened by the throbs of pity.

The trial came on; Gaetano's father hastened to Pisa, busy with his advocates in the defence of his son, but without seeing him. Insanity was attempted to be proved. Every effort availed nothing. When pronounced guilty, the father returned to Pistoia, thanking Heaven he had yet another son, and he should be his heir-a boy whom hitherto he had scarcely noticed, and who was at that time educating for the Church. Nina did better; she privately went to the houses of the Judges, and knelt before them, and implored the most lenient sentence. Whether her intercession was of some value, or whether there appeared to be more of passion than depravity in the prisoner, the sentence was certainly milder than was expected-three years' hard labour.

When Gaetano appeared among the other convicts, every body ran to Nina and officiously pointed him out. Without some information it is probable she never would have recognised him. He passed before her door with that dull eye which those who have any shame instinctively acquire, seeing

as it were, everything and nothing at the same time. She gazed at him fearfully and solemnly by turns, but did not utter a syllable. Always to see, or what is the same thing to the imagination, always to be liable to see, a fellow-creature who has injured us, suffering for his crime in toil and in chains, must after awhile excite the compassion of the sternest. It may be supposed that Nina's humanity could not have endured it. Not so; instead of avoiding him, she would walk through those parts of the city where he was employed, and frequently cross before him in the hope of attracting his attention, merely that he might see how sorrowful she was, and then she thought he would be happier. But when after some time she suspected (and the reader cannot but be prepared for so natural a transition)--there were other emotions in her bosom of a more tender nature than pity, she feared to watch him but from a distance. It ought not to create surprise, that as she could never drive him from her mind, he should win her heart even in a convict's clothes; though possibly in the gayest dress, and with the handsome lively countenance for which he was once admired, he might not have raised the slightest interest in her affections.

Still she retained the name of La Bella Tabaccaia; yet it was commonly followed by a whisper that once she was far more beautiful; and indeed her cheeks and lips grew paler every day. This, together with the change of expression in her features, and her always choosing the earliest hour to go to mass, gave rise to many rumours. Some asserted she had been shamefully deserted by some one whom nobody knew; others, that she looked forward in terror towards the day when her enemy was to be released; and others, that she lived in constant dread of assassination -among which last was her wise aunt. Only one person, a lover of Nina's, discovered the secret; and he, as he has often declared, traced in her artless conduct the gradual progress of her love for Gaetano, from the first moment