leathern wings startled Crispino, and recalled his senses. vacantly around, and shuddered.

He gazed

"The most dismal hole in all Padua !-yonder is the Well of Death. I am inspired by the place. Yon well is deep enough to drown a broken-hearted cobbler." A convent bell of a very mournful tone tolled. "There's my funeral knell-I will do it-it is only one jump! Lucky I'm drunk. It would not be respectable to do such a thing in one's sober senses. Good b'ye, wife!-farewell, children! Better to die than witness your sufferings. Courage, old Crispino, and good b'ye to you also!'

He shook hands with himself, walked to the well, and was in the act of stepping on the parapet, when something cold grasped his hand, and a hollow-sounding female voice inquired, "What seek you?"

Crispino paused, he looked round, and by the dim light saw a tall figure enveloped in dark robes, the face shrouded with a black veil. Again the sepulchral voice uttered, "What seek you?"

The cobbler's knees knocked together. He stammered out, "I seek death, and I don't care who knows it."

The female in the black veil replied, "Those whom he seeks he finds it is not always so with those who seek him. Why seek you death?"

"I have cause enough," answered Crispino doggedly. Turning aside, he muttered, "Is not this hard that I can't even drown myself without interruption! By St. Anthony, there is no liberty in the place! Why, good woman, do you interfere with my concerns?" The appalling figure answered, "Because it is my vocation. I penetrate the most hidden places."

"I admire your penetration," said Crispino.

"Take this purse," said the female; "it will relieve the wants of your family."

Crispino held out his hand, and to his surprise and joy felt that it was a weighty one. "Ringing gold!" exclaimed the cobbler, his spirits rising in the proportion as they had been depressed. "By the Virgin, I am stupified! Oh! what a godmother! Good lady, I hope you will pay me frequent visits."

I

"Pray not for my visits," replied the mysterious stranger. "I might pay you one which would perchance prove fatal. Learn that respect neither rich nor poor, old nor young. None can avoid my visit, which I most frequently make when least expected. Lead to your house; the good woman needs assistance."

The tall female moved majestically, but with a noiseless step; she beckoned Crispino to follow. The cobbler chinked the purse, that was all right; and he began to imagine the old lady had fallen in love with him. This tickled him. "What an adventure! A little elderly, it is true; but my grandmother used to say that an old hen always made the best broth." Again the female beckoned, and they proceeded together through the silent streets.

We must now place ourselves in the private cabinet of the Commandant of Padua, where, seated at a table covered with papers, appeared his Excellency the Count di Vicenza. He had a low forehead, a contracted brow; his eyes were sunken, his cheeks indented with care, his hair was grey, his beard pointed, and he held in his hand a small golden crucifix, which ever and anon he glanced at

thoughtfully. At his side stood a person about the same age, sleek and straight-haired, with protruding eyes and a hooked nose. This was Signor Abilemecco, steward to the Count. He was in the unpleasant position of receiving a severe Jobation, which he endured with that patience which characterises bad servants who hold good situations.

"How is it, Abilemecco, that during my absence the Lieutenant Albano has again intruded on my ward, Valentina ?

Abilemecco, somewhat startled, (for he had been liberally bribed by the opposite party,) replied, with a meek and demure manner, "That Albano contrived (the Holy Virgin knows how !) to gain admittance is true; but he beheld not the Lady Valentina. I pity the poor young lady, and implore you not to keep her immured in Padua. Send her hence under careful guardianship. If her love is to be hopeless, heal the wound; grant her the view of hill and dale, of flower and field." The Count frowned; the major-domo continued. "With grief I have noticed that the unhappy Valentina's intellect has partially sunk."

Tush!" said the Commandant; "let me not hear this whining. You know, Abilemecco, public duties claim my attendance. I charge you with the care of Valentina: let her be strictly guarded, permit Camilla alone to wait on her; and she, too, must be watched, that no letter be conveyed."

After Abilemecco had left him, the Count paced the apartment. "Would that she no longer existed!" he exclaimed. "Her loss of intellect affords a plea for confinement. But should she recover, and marry this Albano, then must I render up an account of my guardianship. That accursed faro table! I have laid my toils for her minion though ere to-morrow he will discover the loss of his commission, while the purchased bond-debt (triply laden with a Jew's interest) will exhaust and incarcerate him. I have ventured too deeply to retract."

CHAPTER III.

THE morning dawned through the chinks of the rude shutters of the cobbler's dwelling, and waked up a jay in a wicker cage, who kept jumping from the floor to his perch, and from perch to floor, with occasionally an anxious peep to ascertain whether there was any breakfast in preparation. Nina, a daughter of Crispino, who had been in attendance on her mother all night, stepped in, and began to arrange the furniture. The mother had fallen to sleep; pious resignation had borne her through her trial. Nina suddenly exclaimed,

"Where is Stefano? Why, brother Stefano, I say, get up!"

She drew aside a faded curtain which concealed a recess, for which Stefano had grown too long; he was doubled up in it like a portable boot-jack. With a yawn which threatened that the young gentleman's head might come in halves, he twisted himself out of his dormitory partially attired, and rubbing his eyes, he drawled out,"What, in the name of the saints, has happened while I have been asleep? " said the boy.

"We have got another little brother, Stefano."

Stefano coolly remarked. "Well, our family increases like rabbits. And where is the old buck?"

"If you are speaking of father," replied Nina, "he left the house hours ago, in despair."

At this moment Crispino was heard outside the window, bawling a sprightly ditty then much in vogue with the Paduans. The jay erected its crest feathers, jumped on and off its perch with increased rapidity, and chattered in an unknown tongue.

Nina shrugged her shoulders" I fear that somebody has given father credit for a bottle of wine."

In walked Crispino, elated and laughing, "Nina, my girl, I am the happiest dog!-kiss me, girl, kiss me! Look here, here is a purse of gold!" He pulled it from his pocket, and the bright broad pieces glittered in the morning sun. “Run, Nina, and buy every comfort your poor mother requires. Eh! your looks seem to inquire where it comes from? Nina, I have obtained a wealthy godmamma for little New-come!"

Away flew Nina with the good news, while Stefano was ingeniously devising the best method of putting on that portion of his apparel called in those days "trunks," in after ages "breeches." While fastening the waistband, "Father," said he, "how strange it is that my clothes have grown too wide for me!"

"None of your threadbare jokes," retorted Crispino.

"Are we going to have something to eat, father? Look at my waistband: here is room for a whole loaf."

"You idle rascal! how many years have you gorged on the earnings of my labour?"

"Gorged!" thought Stefano, as he placed his hand on his stomach. "Am not I a cobbler?" continued his father; "and have you not always been a stall-fed beast? But here, boy, take that coin; bring a plentiful breakfast the best wine, and a bucket-full of macca

roni!"

Stefano stared at the gold, his eyes glistened, while his mouth watered. Fleet as a hound on so delicate an errand, away he scampered into the street.

"As

The cobbler now began to reconsider his late adventure. we walked," said he, "through the streets, that exemplary old woman told me I must abandon my profession. Quit,' said she, your present pursuit, and follow the practice of physic.' Physic! Ha! ha! I a physician!-who know no more of medicine than a hog! As for my curing anybody, it would be like curing bacon-all gammon ! -But the old lady has slipped away. Where, I wonder, is the godmother?"

"Here, Crispino," uttered an unearthly voice.

The cobbler turned, and saw the black drapery and veil seated in his arm-chair. He started, and tremblingly uttered, "Bless my soul, fair Signora ! How and when did you enter?

The lady or phantom answered him not, but inquired, "Have you considered my proposal? I will insure your fortune; but to merit this, you must pay implicit obedience to my directions. Present yourself boldly to whoever may require a physician, and mark me! when in the presence of the ailing person, cast your eyes around attentively. If MY HEAD appears to you, pronounce the patient past hope; you will be right: if you do not behold me, administer but a little water, and the sufferer will recover. Make good use of the wealth which will flow in upon you." The form then disappeared.

Crispino was in a state of great perplexity. "Is she a sorceress? -or when I am practising according to the good lady's instructions, and they discover that I am an ass, will she be there to ward off the blows? However, I have promised. If the first trial fails, I can but go back to my lapstone. I have a large family to boot, and worse than that, to shoe!"

He was interrupted by the return of Stefano laden with bread, a fowl, sausages, milk, a rope of onions, a huge platter of readydressed maccaroni, and a flask of wine. At the sight, old Crispino brightened up. "They decide the question," said he. He poured out a cup of wine, and drank "Success to Doctor Giuseppe Loba, commonly called Crispino."

"Listen to me, Stefano, -no more cobbling, no more lapstones, nor lasts. I intend to change my profession to that of "doctor." Let me feel your pulse, if you have got such a thing;" and Crispino took Stefano by the arm. "I don't know exactly where to find it. To get my hand in, I must practise on my family. Here, child, go and purchase a couple of dozen of leeches, and I will try and learn my art by putting them on your back."

"Two dozen leeches!" shrieked Stefano. "Look at me!-I could not afford a meal for three of them!"

“Well, well, at any rate I must have a proper dress. At the Jew's at the corner for these last nine years has hung a black velvet suit. If I must be a doctor, it is but honest to go into mourning before I commence practice. Henceforth, my son, call me Doctor Crispino."

"I will, Doctor Crispino. "How drunk he is!" thought Stefano. The cobbler sent his son for a sheet of pasteboard, and dipping a brush into a pot of blacking, scrawled on it,

CRISPINO HAS LEFT HIS COBBLER'S STALL,

ACTS AS A DOCTOR, AND CURES YOU ALL.

After several glances of admiration of his handiwork, he nailed it outside the street door.

CHAPTER IV.

THE day advanced; the stream of population flowed through Padua; the peasants cried their vegetables, poultry, and fish; the Doctors Belcuore and Perruca were sipping cups of chocolate prepared for them by Sanquirico, the chemist, at whose establishment they made their morning rendezvous.

"Doctor Belcuore," inquired the chemist, "how is your beautiful patient, the Signora Valentina?"

"Her disorder is more mental than corporeal. I do not like the lethargic symptoms."

Another physician entered the shop. This was Doctor Furetto, a little, red-faced, passionate man, with thin white hair sticking out in all directions like herring-bones. He clenched in his hand the placard which he had torn from the ci-devant cobbler's door, and was in a state of ungovernable rage.

"What is the matter, most sweet-tempered doctor?" whispered Sanquirico" Humph?"

"Behold," exclaimed Furetto, 66 an attack on the profession! The drunken shoemaker, Crispino, has had the audacity to exhibit this placard on the door of his rat-devoured tenement!" Belcuore and Perruca laughed. "Right," said Furetto; "expose me to ridicule; you are my rivals!"

At this moment a great outcry arose in the street; a poor artificer had fallen from the roof of a house, a mason who was repairing a balustrade, and had tumbled into a large tank of water in the court beneath, whence he was immediately carried to the laboratory of Sanquirico, the mob following, as customary on such occasions. The doctors rendered their aid; they opened a vein. Belcuore, with a shake of the head, exclaimed, "It is useless!" At this moment a female forced her way through the crowd, and rushed into the laboratory.

"Bartolo! Bartolo! it is Bianca, your wife! Oh! he is senseless!" And she franticly knelt. "Good Signors, restore him! He was ever a kind husband! Again, again try your skill!”

Belcuore humanely said, "My good woman, lamentations will be of no avail; endeavour to calm your feelings."

At this moment Crispino entered, full dressed in the old suit of black velvet, which did not fit him at any point.

Furetto muttered, "What is this mountebank figure?"

"Signor Furetto," gravely said Crispino, "I beg to inform you that I also am a physician; so do not send your shoes to my shop any more to be heel-pieced."

"A physician! pah!" replied Furetto.

Crispino looked anxiously round to see if the godmother's pale head would appear. He gazed with great attention, then suddenly said, "Shall I cure him?" Belcuore exclaimed, "Crispino, this is no time for jesting." Crispino replied in an animated tone, "I am in no joking humour. Bartolo was my friend. Something inspires me with confidence that I shall put the old man on his legs again. Hope for the best," said he, turning to Bianca. And he again looked round mysteriously. "SHE is not here!" muttered he; "but if I fail, how they will pummel me!"

"It is hopeless," said Belcuore. doctors quitted the room.

66 Come, brothers." And the

"Signor Sanquirico," said the cobbler, " prithee bring a bottle of wine."

Now, as the curiosity of the chemist was excited to observe what extravagance the cobbler would commit, he took a bottle of wine from a shelf; and placing it in Crispino's hand, inquired, “How will you make the poor fellow swallow the wine?"

"Make him swallow it!" replied Crispino; "the wine is for me. I am nervous," said he; and he tasted it from the neck of the bottle. "Incorrigible drunkard!" angrily exclaimed Sanquirico; and the bystanders gathered round Crispino murmuring.

"Back, I say," said Crispino; "don't crowd on me; this is the critical moment."-Crispino tremblingly poured a little wine into the mouth of Bartolo, looked round with extreme anxiety, muttered "No pale head!-ha! hurrah! By Saint Anthony, he moves! He is alive!"

Bianca raised her husband, "Ah, friend!" she exclaimed, "how shall I express my gratitude!"