Manuscript, Archives,
and Rare Book Library
EMORY UNIVERSITY
Juliet's Guardian. | Deceivers Ever.
By WILLIAM CYPLES.
Hearts of Gold.
Bv ALPHONSE DAUDET.
The Evangelist; or, Port Salvation.
By WILKIE COLLINS.
Antonina.
Basil.
Hide and Seek.
The Dead Secret.
The Queen of
My Miscellanies.
The Woman in White
Armadale.
After Dark.
No Name.
The Moonstone.
Man and Wife.
Poor Miss Finch.
Miss or Mrs. ?
The New Magdalen.
By DUTTON COOK.
Paul Foster's Daughter,
The Frozen Deep.
The Law and the
Lady.
The Two Destinies.
The Haunted Hotel.
The Fallen Leaves.
Jezebel's Daughter.
The Black Robe.
Heart and Science.
"I Say No."
The Evil Genius.
Little Novels.
A Rogue's Life.
The Legacy of Cain.
Blind Love.
VELS.
)JiS.
ra, 3-r. 6d. each.
'ovcls. ]
NCES COLLINS,
lack smith and
Scholar. *
le Village Comedy.
>u Play Me False.
AINE.
Son of Hagar.
le Deemster.
MILLE.
Spain.
ERWF.NT.
:ce's Lovers.
EDWARDES.
veil.
EDWARDS
ZGERALD.
ro.
JCILLON.
ie by One.
ing or Knavp'
ARTLE Fit,
H&ri.
iARRETT.
Girls.
GIBBON.
Heart's Problem,
he Golden Shaf •.
f High Degree,
oving a Dream.
.ANVILLE.
TEe~TjOSt~H6iress.
By BRET HARTE.
Waif of the Plains. I A Sappho of Creep
Ward of Golden Gate | Springs.
By JULIAN HAWTHORNE.
Beatrix Randolph.
David Poindexter's
Disappearance.
The Spectre of the
Garth.
Ellice Quentin.
Sebastian Strome
Dust.
Fortune's Fool.
By SIR ARTHUR HELPS.
Ivan de Biron.
By ISAAC HENDERSON.
Agatha Page.
By MRS. ALFRED HUNT.
Self-Condemned. | The Leaden Casket.
Tnat Other Person.
By JEAN INGELOW.
Fated to be Free.
By R. ASHE KING.
A Drawn Game.
" The Wearing of the Green."
LONDON: CHATTO & WINDUS, 214, PICCADILLY, W. [1
THE PICCADILLY NOVELS—continued.
Library Editions, many Illustrated. Crown 8vo., cloth extra, 35. 6d. each.
[See also Chat to and Windus's List of 450 / ivo-Shilting Novels. ]
By HENRY KIN< SLEY.
Number Seventeen.
By E. LYNN LINTON.
Patricia Kemball,
The Atonement of
Learn Dundas.
The World Well Lost
Under Which Lord ?
My Love!"
Paston Carew.
Sowing the Wind.
By HENRY W. LUCY.
Gideon Fleyce.
By TUSTIN McCARTHY, M.P.
The Waterdale
Neighbours.
Linley Rochford.
My Enemy's Daugh-
ter.
A Fair Saxon.
By AGNES MACDONELL.
Quaker Cousins.
By FLORENCE MARRYAT.
Open! Sesame!
By D. CHRISTIE MURRAY.
Dear Lady Disdain
Miss Misanthrope.
Donna Quixote.
Comet of a Season.
Camiola.
Maid of Athens.
life's Atonement,
uoseph's Coat.
A Model Father.
Oals of Fire.
Way of the
.rid.
Val Strange.
Hearts.
A Bit of Human
Nature.
Cynic Fortune.
First PersonSingular
. nRISTIE MURRAY & H. HERMAN.
The Bishops' Bible.
By HUME NISBET.
"Bail Up!''
By MRS. OLI CHANT.
Whiteladies.
By OUIDA.
Held in Bondage.
St; ..thmore.
C^andos.
Under Two Flags.
Idal a.
Cecil Castlemaine's
Gage.
Tricotrin.
Puck.
Folle Farine.
A Dog of Flanders.
Pascarel.
Two Little Wooden
By JAMES PAYN.
Lost Sir Massingberd Grape from a Thorn.
In a Winter City.
Ariadne.
Friendship.
Moths.
Pipistrello.
A Village Commune.
In Maremma.
B.mbi.
Wanda.
Frescoes.
Princess Napraxine.
Othmar.
Guilderoy.
Syrlin.
Walter's Word.
Less Black than
We're Painted.
By Proxy.
High Spirits.
Under One Roof.
A Confidential Agent
From Exile.
Some Private Views.
The Canon's Ward.
Talk of the Town.
Glow-worm Tales.
In Peril & Privation.
Holiday Tasks.
The Mystery of Mir-
bridge.
The Burnt Million.
Word and Will.
What She Came
Through.
The Bride's Pass.
Saint Mungo's City.
2] LONDON' CHATTO &> WIND US, 214, PICCADILLY,
By GEORGES OHNET.
' A Weird Gift.
By MARGARET A. PAUL.
Gentle and Simple.
By E. C. PRICE.
Valentina. ( The Foreigners.
Mrs. Lancaster's Rival.
By CHARLES READE.
The Autobiography
of a Thief.
Put Yourself in His
Place.
Terrible Temptation
The Wandering Heir
A Simpleton.
A Woman-Hater.
Singleheart and
Doubleface.
The Jilt.
Good Stories of Men
and other Animals
It is Never Too Late
to Mend.
Hard Cash.
Peg Woffington.
Christie Johnstone.
Griffith Gaunt.
Foul Play.
The Double Marriage
Love Me Little, Love
Me Long.
The Cloister and the
Hearth.
.The Course of True
Love.
Bv MRS. J. H. RIUDELL.
Her Mother's Darling. | Weird Stories.
The Prince of Wales's Garden Party.
By F. W. ROBINSON.
Women are Strange | The Hands of Justice.
By W. CLARK RUSSELL.
An Ocean Tragedy.
By JOHN SAUNDERS.
Bound to the Wheel. I The Two Dreamers.
Guy Waterman. | The Lion in the Path
By KATHARINE SAUNDERS.
Margaret & Elizabeth I The High Mills.
Gideon's Rock. | Sebastian.
Heart Salvage.
By HAWLEY SMART.
Without Love or Licence.
By R. A. STERNDALE.
The Afghan Knife.
By BERTHA THOMAS.
Proud Maisie. I The Violin-Player.
Cressida.
By ANTHONY TROLLOPE.
Kept in the Dark.
Mr. Scarborough's
Family.
The Land-Leaguers
The Way We Live
Now.
Frau Frohmann.
Marion Fay.
Bv FRANCES E. TROLLOPE.
Anne Furness. I Mabel's Progress.
Like Ships upon the Sea.
By IVAN TURGRNIEFF, and Others.
Stories from Foreign Novelists.
By C. C. FRASER-TYTLER.
Mistress Judith.
By SARAH TYTLER.
Noblesse Oblige.
Lady Bell.
The Blackhall Ghosti
Buried Diamonds.
W.
SOME USE
WORKS BY DR. N. E. YORKE-DAVIES.
Croiuti 8vo., is. each ; cloth, is. 6d. each.
One Thousand Medical Maxims.
Nursery Hints: A Mother's Guide.
Foods for the Fat: How to Cure
Corpulence.
Aids to Long Life. Crown 8vo.,
2S. ; cloth limp, 2s. 6d.
WORKS BY J. L. MILTON.
Crown 8vo., is. each; cloth, is. 6d. each.
The Hygiene of the Skin. Rules
for the Management of the Skin ; with
Directions for Diet, Soaps, Baths, etc.
The Bath in Diseases of the Skin.
The Laws of Life, and their Rela-
tion to Diseases of the Skia
The Science of Voice Production
and Voice Preservation: A Popular
Manual for the l^se of Speakers and
Singers. By Gordon Holmes, M.D.
With Illustrations. Crown 8vo., is.;
cloth, is. 6d.
The Hair: Its Treatment in Health,
Weakness, and Disease. Translated from
the German of Dr. J. Pincus. Crown
8vo., is.; cloth, is. 6d.
Our Eyes : How to Preserve Them
from Infancy to Old Age. By John
Browning, F.R.A.S., etc. Tenth Edi-
tion (Sixteenth Thousand). With
Seventy Illustrations. Crown 8vo., cloth,
IS.
Convalescent Cookery. A Family
Handbook. By Catherine Ryan.
Crown 8vo., is. ; cloth, is. 6d.
The Patient's Vade Mecum:
How to get most Benefit from Medical
Advice. By William Knight,
M.R.C.S., and Edward Knight,
L.R.C.P. Crown 8vo., is. ; cloth, is. 6d.
Physiology for the Young; or,
The House of Li e : Human Physiology,
with its application to the Preservation
of Health. With numerous Illustrations.
By Mrs. F. Fenwick Miller. Small
8vo., cloth limp, 2s. 6d.
The Magic Lantern, and its
Management: including lull Practical
Directions or Producing the Lime Light,
Making Oxygen Gas, and Preparing
Lantern Slides. By T. C. Hefworth.
With Ten Illustrations. Crown 8vo., is.;
cloth, is. 6d.
LONDON-. C//A^r°-'x^W
UL BOOKS.
DICTIONARIES.
A Dictionary of Miracles: Imita-
tive, Realistic, and Dogmatic. By the
Rev. E. C. Brewer, LL.D. Crown
8vo., cloth extra, 7s. 6d.
The Reader's Handbook of Allu-
sions, References, Plots, and Stories.
By the Rev. E. C. Brewer, LL.D.
With an Appendix containing an English
Bibliography. Fifteenth Thousand.
Crown 8vo., 1,4*0 pages, cloth extra,
7s. 6d.
Authors and their Works, with
the Dates. Being the Appendices to
' The Reader's Handbook,' separately
printed. By the Rev. E. C. Brewer,
LL.D. Crown 8vo., cloth limp, 2s.
Familiar Short Sayings of Great
Men. With Historical and Explanatory
Notes. By Samuel A. Bent, M.A.
Fifth Edition, revised and enlarged.
Crown 8vo., cloth extra, 7s. 6d.
The Slang Dictionary: Etymolo-
gical, Historical, and Anecdotal. Crown
8vo., cloth extra, 6s. 6d.
Women of the Day: A Biogra-
phical Dictionary. By Frances Hays.
Crown 8vo., cloth extra, 5s.
Words, Facts, and Phrases : A
Dictionary of Curious, Quaint, and Out-
of - the - Way Matters. By Eliezer
Edwards. Crown 8vo., cloth extra,
7s. 6d.
CARDENINC BOOKS.
Post 8vo., is. each; cloth, is. 6d. each.
A Year's Work in Garden and
Greenhouse : Practical Advice to Ama-
teur Gardeners as to the Management of
the Flower, Fruit, and Frame Garden.
By George Glenny.
Our Kitchen Garden : The Plants
we Grow, and How we Cook Them. By
Tom Jerrold.
Household Horticulture: A Gossip
about Flowers. By Tom and Jane
Jerroi.d. Illustrated.
The Garden that Paid the Rent.
By Tom Jerrold.
My Garden Wild, and What I
Grew There. By F. G. Heath. Crown
8vo., cloth extra, gilt edges, 6s.
How to Foretell the Weather
with the Po ket Spectroscope. By
F. W. Cory. With Ten Illustrations.
Crown Svo., is.; cloth, is. 6d.
Hints for Parents on the Choice
o. a Profession or Trade for their
Sons. By F. Davenant, M.A. Post
8vo., is. ; cloth, is. 6d.
CCA DILL Y, IK.
POPULAR TWO-SHILLING NOVELS.
V This is a SELECTION only.—FULL LISTS of 450 NOVELS free by post.
By CHARLES DICKENS.
Sketches by Boz. I Oliver Twist.
By Mrs. ALEXANDER,
Maid, Wife, or Widow? I Valerie's Fate.
By GRANT ALLEN.
Strange Stories. i The Beckoning Hand.
In all Shades. The Devil's Die.
For Maimie's Sake. This Mortal Coil.
Fhilistia. I Babylon.! The Tents of Shem.
By ALAN ST. AUBYN.
A Fellow of Trinity.
By ARTEMUS WARD.
Artemus Ward's Complete Works.
By Rev. S. BARING GOULD.
' ier. I Eve.
By FRANK BARRETT.
Fettered for Life.
By BESANT AND RICE.
-- ••• By Cella's Arhonr.
By C
The Monks of Thelema
'TwasinTrafalgar'sBay
The Seamy Side.
Ten Years' Tenant.
Chaplain of the Fleet.
Ready-Money Mortiboy
With Harp and Crown.
This Son of Vulcan.
My Little Girl.
The Case of Mr.Lucraft.
The Golden Butterfly.
By WALTER BESANT.
All Sorts & Conditions.i Uncle Jack.
The Captains' Room. Children of Gibeon.
All in a Garden Fair. World went well then.
Dorothy Forster. | Herr Paulus.
For Faith and Freedom.
By BRET HARTE.
An Heiress of Red Dog. I Gabriel Conroy.
Luck of Roaring Camp. Maruj a. I Flip.
Californian Stories. | APhyllisof the Sierras
3y ROBERT BUCHANAN.
Shadow of the Sword.
A Child of Nature.
God and the Man.
Annan Water. | Matt.
The New Abelard.
Martyrdom ot Madeline
Love Me for Ever.
Foxglove Manor.
Master of the Mine.
The Heir of Linne.
By HALL CAINE.
The Shadow of a Crime. I A Son of Hagar.
The Deemster.
By COMMANDER CAMERON.
The Cruise of the "Black Prince."
By Mrs. LOVETT CAMERON.
Juliet's Guardian. | Deceivers Ever.
AUSTIN CLARE.—For Love of a Lass.
By Mrs. ARCHER CLIVE.
Paul Ferroll. | Why Paul Ferroll Killed HisWife
By MORTIMER & FRANCES COLLINS.
Sweet Anne Page. i Transmigration.
Midnight to Midnight. A Fight with Fortune
Sweet and Twenty. The Village Comedy.
Frances. I You Play me False.
Blacksmith and Scholar.
By WlLKIE COLLINS.
.... _ . TheFrozenDeep.
The Law and the Lady,
The Two Destinies.
The Haunted Hotel.
The Fallen Leaves.
Jezebel's Daughter.
The Black Robe.
Heart and Science.
" I Say No."
The Evil Genius.
Little Novels.
Hide and Seek | Basil.
The Dead Secret.
Queen of Hearts.
My Miscellanies.
The Woman in White.
Moonstone. | Legacy of
Man and Wife. [Cain.
Poor Miss Finch.
Miss or Mrs.?
Tbe New Magdalen. I A Rogue's Life.
By DUTTON COOK.
Leo. • | Paul Foster's Daughter.
By C. EGBERT CRADDOCK.
The Prophet of the Great Smoky Mountains.
By A. DAUDET.—The Evangelist.
By J. LEITH DERWENT.
Our Lady of Tears. | Circe's Lovers.
CONAN DOYLE, &c.—Strange Secrets.
The Pickwick Papers. | Nicholas Mckleby,
By DICK DONOVAN.1
The Man-Hunter. I Who Poisoned Hetty
Caught at Last I I Duncan ?
Tracked and Taken. | Man from Manchester.
By Mrs. ANNIE EDWARDES.
A Point of Honour. | Archie Lovell.
By M. BETHAM-EDWARDS.
Kitty. | Felicia.
By EDWARD EGGLESTON.—Roxy.
By PERCY FITZGERALD.
Bella Donna. I 75, Brooke Street.
Polly. | Fatal Zero. Never Forgotten.
Second Mrs. Tillotson. | The Lady of Bran tome.
By R. E. FRANCILLON.
Olympia. I A Real Queen.
One by One. King or Knave ?
Queen Cophetua. I Romances of the Law.
By HAROLD FREDERIC.
Seth's Brother's Wife. | The Lawton GirL
By CHARLES GIBBON.
■— A Heart's Problem.
The Braes of Yarrow.
The Golden Shaft.
Of High Degree.
Loving a Dream.
By Mead and Stream.
A Hard Knot.
Heart's Delight.
The Dead Heart.
Blood-Money.
Robin Gray,
For Lack of Gold.
What will World Say'
In Honour Bound.
In Love and War.
For the King.
In Pastures Green.
Queen of the Meadow.
Flower of the Forest.
Fancy Free.
By WILLIAM GILBERT
Dr. Austin's Guests. | James Duke.
The Wizard of the Mountain.
By HENRY GREVILLE.—A Noble Woman.
By JOHN HABBERTON.
Brueton's Bayou. | Country Luck.
By A. HALLIDAY.—Every-Day Papers
By Lady DUFFUS HARDY.
Paul Wynter's Sacrifice.
By Thomas hardy.
Under the Greenwood Tree.
By J. B. HARWOOD.—The Tenth Earl
By JULIAN HAWTHORNE.
Garth. | Dust. I Fortune's Fool.
Ellice Quentln. Beatrix Randolph.
Sebastian Strome. Miss Cadogna.
Spectre ot Camera. I Love—or a Name f
David Poindexter's Disappearance.
Mrs. CASHEL HOEY.—The Lover s Creed.
By Mrs. ALFRED HUNT.
Thornicrort's Model. I The Leaden Casket.
Self-Condemned. | That Other Person.
By JEAN INGELOW.—Fated to be Free
By HARRIETT JAY.
The Dark Colleen. | Queen of Connaught.
By mark kershaw.
Colonial Facts and Fictions.
By r. ashe KING.
A Drawn Game. | ' The Wearing of the Green.'
Passion's Slave.
By HENRY KINGSLEY.—OakshottCastle.
By JOHN LEYS—The Lindsays.
By MARY LINSKILL.
In Exchange for a Soul.
By E. LYNN LINTON,
Patricia Kemball.
Atonement of Lean
Dundas.
The World Well Lost.
Under which Lord?
By HENRY W. L'
With a Silken Thread.
Rebel of the Family.
" My Love I"
lone. | Paston Carew,
Sowing the Wind.
cy.—Gideon Fleyce.
London; CHATTO & WINDUS, 214, Piccadilly, W.
POPULAR TWO-SHILLING NOVELS.
V This is a SELECTION only.—FULL LISTS of 350 NOVELS free by post.
By justin McCarthy.
Pear Lady Disdain. Linley Rochford.
Waterdale Neighbours. Donna Quixote.
My Enemy's Daughter. The Comet of a Season
A Fair Saxon. Maid of Athens.
Miss Misanthrope. Camiola.
By KATHARINE S. MACQUOID.
The Evil Eye. | Lost Rose.
By W. H. MALLOCK.—The New Republic
By FLORENCE MARRYAT.
Open I Sesame I I Written in Fire.
Fighting the Air. | A Harvest of Wild Oats.
By JEAN MIDDLEMASS.
Souch and Go. | Mr. Dorillion.
By Mrs. MOLESWORTH.
Hathercourt Rectory.
4- E. MUDDOCK.—The Dead Man's Secret.
By CHRISTIE MURRAY.
A Life's Atonement. |By the Gate of the Sea.
A Model Father. Val Strange. | Hearts.
Joseph's Coat. TheWay of the World.
Coals of Fire. Bit of Human Nature.
First Person Singular. I Cynic Fortune.
Old Blazer's Hero.
CHRISTIE MURRAY and H. HERMAN.
One Traveller Returns. | Paul Jones's Alias.
By GEORGES OH NET.
Doctor Ramoau. | A Last Love.
By Mrs. OLIPHANT.
Whiteladles. I The Primrose Path.
The Greatest Heiress in England.
By OUIDA.
Held in Bondage. ,Pascarel. | Signa.
Strath more. In a Winter City.
Chandos. | Idalia. - • • —
Tinder Two Flags.
Cecil Castlemaine.
Tricotrin. | Puck.
Folle Farine.
A Doe of Flanders.
Two Wooden Shoes
Friendship I Pipistrello.
A Village Commune.
Bimbi. I In Maremma.
Wanda. | Frescoes.
Princess Napraxine.
Othmar. | Guilderoy.
Wisdom, Wit, and Pathos.
By JAMES PAYN.
Lost Sir Massingberd.
A Perfect Treasure.
Bentinck's Tutor.
Murphy's Master.
A County Family.
At Her Mercy.
A Woman's Vengeance.
Cecil's Tryst.
The Clyffards of Olyfle.
The Family Scapegrace.
The Foster Brothers.
Found Dead. | Halves.
The Best of Husbands.
Walter's Word.
Fallen FortuneB.
What He Cost Her.
Humorous Stories,
liwendoline's Harvest.
The Talk of the Town.
Like Father, Like Son.
By E, '
Valentina.
A Marine Residence.
Married Beneath Him
Mirk Abbey.
Not Wooed, but Won.
£200 Reward.
Less Black than We're
By Proxy. [Painted.
Under One Roof.
High Spirits.
Carlyon's Year.
A Confidential Agent.
Some Private Views.
From Exile.
A Grape from a Thorn
For Cash Only.
Kit.
The Canon's Ward.
Holiday Tasks,
Glow-worm Tales.
Mystery of Mirbridge
C. PRICE.
The Foreigners.
Mrs. Lancaster's Rival | Gerald.
By CHARLES READE.
Never too Late to Mend
Hard Cash.
Teg Woffington.
Christie Johnstone.
Griffith Gaunt.
Put Y'rself in His Place
The Double Marriage.
Love Little, Love Long.
Foul Play.
tUolater and the Hearth
Course of True Love.
Autobiog. of a Thief.
A Terrible Temptation.
The Wandering Heir.
A Woman-Hater.
A Simpleton.
Singleheart & Double-
face.
Good Stories.
The Jilt. | Readiana.
By Mrs. J. H. RIDDELL.
Her Mother's Darling, i Weird Stories.
Uninhabited House. I Fairy Water.
The Mystery in Palace The Prince of Wales'i
Gardens. I Garden Party.
By F. W. ROBINSON.
Women are Strange. | The Hands of Justice.
By JAMES RUNCIMAN.
Skippers and Shellbacks. | Schools and Scholars
Grace Balmaign's Sweetheart.
By W. CLARK RUSSELL.
Round the Galley Fire. I On the Fok'sle Head.
In the Middle Watch. A Voyage to the Cape
Book for the Hammock. Jenny Harlowe.
Mystery of 'Ocean Star.'l An Ocean Tragedy.
By G. A. SA LA.—Gaslight and Daylight.
By JOHN SAUNDERS.
Bound to the Wheel. I The Lion in the Path.
One Against the World. | The Two Dreamers.
Guy Waterman.
By KATHARINE SAUNDERS.
Joan Merryweather. I Sebastian.
The High Mills. | Heart Salvage.
Margaret and Elizabeth.
By GEORGE R. SIMS.
Rogues and Vagabonds. I Mary Jane Married.
Mary Jane's Memoirs. Tales of To-day.
The Ring o' BeUs. | Dramas of Life.
By T. W. SPEIGHT.
Mysteries Heron Dyke. I By Devious Ways.
The Golden Hoop. | Hoodwinked, &c.
By R. LOUIS STEVENSON.
New Arabian Nights. | Prince Otto.
By BERTHA THOMAS.
Cressida. I Proud Maisie. | The Violin-Player.
By WALTER THORNBURY.
Tales for the Marines. | Old Stories Re-told.
By ANTHONY TROLLOPE.
The Way We Live Now The Land-Leaguers
American Senator.
Frau Frohmann.
Marlon Fav-
Kept in the Dark.
T. A. TROLLOPE.-
Mr.- Scarborough's
Family.
John Caldigate.
The Golden Lion.
Diamond Cut Diamond.
By FRANCES ELEANOR TROLLOPE.
Anne Fnrness. | Mabel's Progress.
Like Ships upon the Sea.
By J. T. TROWBRIDGE.—Farnell's Folly.
By MARK TWAIN.
Tom Sawyer. i A Pleasure Trip on the
A Tramp Abroad. Continent of Europe.
Stolen White Elephant. Huckleberry Finn.
Life on the Mississippi.! Prince and the Pauper
By C. C. FRASER-TYTLER.
Mistress Judith.
By SARAH TYTLER.
St. Mungo's City.
Lady Bell.
Disappeared.
Buried Diamonds.
The Blackhall Ghosts.
What She CameThrough
Boauty and the Beast.
Noblesse Oblige.
Citoyenne Jacqueline.
The Bride's Pass.
By J. S. WINTER.
Cavalry Life. | Regimental Legends.
By H. F. WOOD.
The Passenger from Scotland Yard.
The Englishman of the Rue Cain.
By Lady WOOD.
Paul Wynter's Sacrifice.
By CELIA PARKER WOOLLEY.
Rachel Armstrong: Love and Theology.
By EDMUND YATES.
The Forlorn Hope. | Land at Last.
Castaway.
London: CHATTO & WINDUS, 214, Piccadilly, W.
RUFFINO
dr'c.
OPINIONS OF THE PRESS
ON
RUFFINO &c.
BY OUIDA.
'Ouida's new contribution to fiction is a volume containing four
short stories, which must be counted amongst some of the best of her
work. This volume adds as much to her reputation as did the one
containing " Two Little Wooden Shoes," which she published a few
years ago. " The Bullfinch " is poetically pathetic, and it is hard to
know whether it or " Trottolino " should be accounted best, as both
stories are gems in their way.'—Whitehall Review.
' Ouida is seen at her best in her short stories ; and, though there is
nothing in these tales which quite equals in pathetic impressiveness
such triumphs of art as "A Dog of Flanders" and "Two Little
Wooden Shoes," they are very nearly approached by the story of poor
Lulu. "The Bullfinch" and "An Orchard" will probably excite
wider and warmer admiration than the more highly elaborated narrative
that gives the book its title. The stories have the charms of simple
grace and pathos.'—Manchester Examiner.
£ :t Ruffino " is a collection of stories, all of which are instinct with
the peculiar genius of their writer. . . . Ouida's brilliant and pungent
style.'—Scottish Leader.
' " Trottolino " is full of fine natural pathos. " The Bullfinch " is
also a pathetic tale. ... A piece of very delicate and graceful work.
The story can be safely recommended to guardians and heads of
families.'—Glasgow Herald.
' " Ruffino" is not wanting in exciting incidents and in highly-
coloured descriptions. In choosing the household of a princely Roman
family for the scene of her story, Ouida would seem to be challenging
comparison with Mr. Marion Crawford on his own ground. . . . Besides
" Ruffino," the present volume contains three short Italian tales,
which, to our mind, are far more artistic. . . . "Trottolino" and
"The Bullfinch" are also very charming sketches, and show the
insight into the life of the Italian peasant which Ouida's residence in
Italy has given her.'—Literary World.
' " Ruffino "is one of the best books that Ouida has written for a
long time. All the stories in it are pretty and touching. . . . All
told with the simple beauty and pathos of which Ouida is such a master
when she chooses.'—Glasgow Citizen.
R U F F I N O
BY
OUIDA
JTonbott
CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY
1891
PRINTED BY
SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE
LONDON
DEDICATED
TO
CEESSIDA AND" BrNDO
CONTENTS
PAGE
RUFFINO .••.•••> 1
AN ORCHARD ••••••.. 217
TROTTOLINO . , - ... 245
TIIE BULLFINCH . t . . , . 273
RUFFINO
B
RUFFINO
I
A servant brought a telegraphic despatch and
handed it over Ruffino's head to his master.
Ruffino disliked the look of telegrams. The
arrival of one was always associated in his mind with
rapid journeys, hasty exits, inconvenient arrivals, or
unexpected departures, and also, generally speaking,
with ladies. Ruffino held women in profound scorn
and abhorrence: they caressed and cajoled him in
vain; he showed them his little white teeth, and
was adamant beneath their blandishments. They
absorbed and monopolised his master, and he con-
sidered his master his own property. In Ruffino's
estimation, a man does not own a dog; the dog owns
the man.
Ruffino was a little Pomeranian dog with a small
black nose, and large black eyes, and .a ruff as wide
and imposing as Queen Elizabeth's. He wore round
b 2
4
RUFFINO
his neck a gold porte bonheur with little silver "bells
which made music as he moved. He was six years
old, and was gifted with very strong opinions, a very
marked character, and a very high spirit. From
the first weeks of his puppyhood he had belonged
to the Duke of Castiglione, having been born in
Rome of parents who belonged to a cabstand. The
fact of the cabstand, and of another humiliating fact,
that he would have been drowned in the Tiber at a
month old had not his present master rescued him
from the hands of brutal boys, did. not, however,
.militate in any way against the patrician pride of
Ruffino, which was great, and his inborn certainty
.that he had been created to rule the universe: a con-
viction which was never disturbed in its complacency
for a moment, although occasionally disputed by
other dogs of similar pretensions.
Ruffino now eyed the telegram askance. It was
from Rome, and contained a pressing invitation to
return there, stating that the Prince of Montefeltro
had been taken dangerously ill. The Prince of
Montefeltro was the father of the young duke who
owned, or was owned by, Ruffino.
'The presence of your Excellency in Rome is
urgently requested, as His Most Illustrious the
Prince, your father, is in danger of his life.'
RUFFINO
5
So said the despatch, which was signed Maglia-
becchi Filippo and Gerini Antonio.
The recipient of the despatch knew the senders
of it: the Doctor Magliabecchi had been physician
to the household, and Don Antonio had been the
private chaplain and confessor of the Prince, for
forty years; and he knew that these two worthies
were quite capable of exaggerating or distorting
any fact, or facts, if it suited their purpose to do so.
So he telegraphed to a friend whom he could trust,
a cousin who was on duty at the Vatican, to inquire
if it were true that his father was in any peril of his
life; and in a few hours the Captain of the Pontifical
Guard replied:
'Ves; he is in danger: you should come at
once.'
Thus, there was no choice but to obey, and leave
the cool gardens of his charming and shady
country-house on the borders of the forest, his
horses and his mail-coach, and his multitude of
friends, and all the pretty women who made Baden
Baden at that season delightful to him; and by the
night express he was travelling towards Rome ac-
companied only by his valet Saverio and his com-
panion Ruffino, neither of whom ever left him
wherever he went.
6
RUFFINO
Ruffino's master (or slave) was by name and
titles Don Ezzelino Lanfredi, Duke of Castiglione,
Marquis of Vivaldo, and Count of Leonessa; lie was
the only son of the Prince of Montefeltro: and
although there had been no great love ever felt
between him and his father, he could not in decency
remain absent in the pursuit of pleasure when the
old man lay in peril of his life.
He was a handsome and graceful person, thirty-
three years old, an accomplished man of the world,
and very popular with women and with men; he
tvas generous, good-natured, and imaginative, selfish
from habit, but kind from instinct; all the ways and
customs and qualities and prejudices of the old
Prince were odious to him, and he and his father had
no single sentiment or opinion in common.
1 He would rejoice to disinherit me, if he could,'
thought Castiglione, as the train vibrated and oscil-
lated over the iron lines traversing the deep woods
of the Swabian alb while the pale dawn broke.
Ruffino was lying curled up near him, and ever
and anon lifted his little delicate nose and his furry,
erect ears, to peer out into the night. When the train
stopped to take in water at a small station under the
shadow of oak-clothed hills, and a few peasants came
to the door of the carriage to offer their little ivory
RUFFINO
7
and bone toys, carved in their long winter evenings,
Ruffino barked angrily; what should he and his
master want with those trumpery trifles ? If they
had been bones to eat, indeed, there might have
been some sense in them.
1 You are not kind, RufSno,' said Castiglione, and
he threw some silver coins out amongst the poor
people.
Ruffino sniffed scornfully, and doubled himself up
again; he disliked the train; he could never imagine
why people ever travelled. When you were well
enough where you were, had soft things to lie on,
plenty to eat, and a roof over your head, what could
you want to change your place for, and racket about
from one end of the earth to the other? Ruffino
had had a great deal of travelling since his puppy-
hood, and it had bored him. Just as he had got the
topography of a place well into his mind, and had
established tender relations with interesting canine
beauties, it always seemed to him that he was
whisked off, senselessly, to some other locality, in the
pursuit of what his owner thought pleasure. But, on
the other hand, he would not have had a moment's
peace if his master had gone anywhere without him :
unless a dog looks sharply after him, a man always
gets into mischief, or at least Ruffino thought so;
8
RUFFINO
and if tliese continual changes of place made him a
little heartless and volage, they also contributed
considerably to the polishing of his wits and the
increase of his experience.
Ruffino knew Rome very well, as he knew most
European capitals, and yawned when he saw the ap-
proach to it; it was a city he thought poorly of: he
preferred Baden, or Homburg, or Monte Carlo, or
any green place, and as his fur coat was very thick
and warm, he only really liked low latitudes and
north winds. Rome was his birthplace, but he had
never been able to comprehend how his race, with
their double coat of long hair, and short wool under-
neath, ever became natives of a hot country like
Italy; yet it was quite certain that natives they had
been for a vast number of centuries, and had been
even cruelly honoured by being sacrificed to Elora in
the remote days of the old Latin gods, at least, if
those classic writers whom his master thought so much
of spoke the truth about anything, which was doubtful.
' Here we are, Ruffino,' said his master, with a
restless sigh of despondency and irritation, as they
drove through one of the steep and narrow ways of
the Trastevere, and between the open iron gates of a
fortress-like palace, over whose huge stone walls
hung clusters of roses and long boughs of jessamine,
RUFFINO
9
with, the "branches of orange-trees and the green
plumes of palms rising above them.
The Montefeltro palace was one of the grandest
and most famous, both for architecture and art, in
all the Leonine city.
'How is my father?' asked Castiglione of the
major-domo, who advanced with obsequious genu-
flexions from the bowing crowd of servants.
'His Excellency is in the same state, neither
worse nor better, most illustrious lord,' replied the
functionary, bending his back in two, and forcing
tears from his two small, bead-like eyes, and spread-
ing out his hands in a pantomime of woe.
' But what is his illness ?'
' A stroke!' murmured the official.
4 Ah! Paralysis ? Apoplexy ?'
' Hemiplegia.'
' is he conscious ? Does he speak ?'
4 Alas! no.'
4 Send the doctors to me in my apartments.'
Eollowed by Buffino, ringing his little bells, he
went to the right wing of the great house, which was
always set aside for his use.
It was three years since he had put foot in it. It
had been opened and aired, but the blinds of all the
west windows were down; it was dusky and gloomy,
10
RUFFINO
and had a scent of faded flowers, of evaporated per-
fumes; such a faint fragrance as old laces and old
tapestries have about them. Coming into these enor-
mous and shadowy apartments from the heat and
sunshine of the Roman streets was like coming into a
crypt where the dead were buried. Castiglione, easily
impressed, gave a sigh and a little shudder: RuflS.no
coughed discreetly, as his habit was when he dis-
approved anything; some of the dust off the mosaic
floors had got up his nostrils, and he was thinking
of the merry green woods of Baden, and of Elsa, a
white dog from Thuringia, who lived there, and with
whom he had left as much of his heart as could
possibly be taken from his master and himself.
The worthy doctors, summoned to the presence
'of the heir, confirmed the statements of the major-
domo, and lost themselves, as doctors love to do, in
endless mazes of technical conjecture and suggestion:
they were pompous, servile, verbose, important, and
wore sombre, melancholy countenances, as beseemed
quacks who were beholding their patron and pro-
tector perish.
From their wordy descriptions Castiglione
gathered that his father had had a fit whilst playing
cards with the chaplain, was not conscious, might
die at any moment, or might, on the other hand,
RUFFINO
II
linger on in his present comatose state for days,
weeks, and even months. The Prince of Montefeltro
was over seventy years of age.
11 will see him at once,' said his son; and he took
his way across the great palace of his ancestors to the
chamber where the old prince was lying.
These apartments were on the first floor, and,
immense, sombre, darkened, and hushed, were melan-
choly as a grave* Buffino, depressed by the gloom
and the scent in the air of medicines and disinfect-
ants, sidled in after his master, making himself very
small to escape notice, and wearing his tail down in
decorous sympathy of woe. A smothered growl
escaped him, however, hatred being stronger than
discretion, as he passed Magliabecchi. Magliabecchi
had once administered oil to him, and Ruffino kept a
vigilant eye upon the doctor's ankles ; sooner or later
he meant to be even with his enemy, and wash out
the affront. True, he had swallowed none of it,
having violently resisted the dose, and succeeded in
scattering it over his own ruff and the shirt-front of
the offender; but he had never forgiven the attempt
to force the oil down him. Besides, Ruffino knew a
rogue, as he knew a rat, by the scent of the animal;
and Magliabecchi was written down in his shrewd
little mind as a very great rascal indeed.
12
RUFFINO
The old Prince lay in his vast state bed, with its
canopy above him of purple velvet, heavily fringed
with bullion fringes, and surmounted by a gold crown;
a bed three centuries old, if one, with a gilded estrade
before it, and beside it a purple carpet powdered
with golden roses, the device of the House of Monte-
feltro. He had been a handsome man in his day,
but he was now lean, and haggard, and white-haired;
his bony hands were clenched hard upon the coverlet,
and his rigid face, in its stupefied, sullen unconscious-
ness, wore a look of stern and bitter hatred. The
eyelids were closed, and nothing but the painful and
stertorous breathing gave any sign of life. So he
had lain for three days, so he might lie for three
months; or he might draw his last breath that night:
no one could tell.
Castiglione knelt down by the side of the bed and
made the sign of the cross. He and his father had
parted in deep anger and offence two years before, and
there had never at any time been any affection between
them; but the sight of the haughty, imperious, and
tyrannical man reduced to that state of speechless,
helpless, corpse-like coma, stirred the soul of his son
to pity and emotion. The tears rose to his eyes, and
he murmured a Latin prayer which had never been
on his lips since boyhood.
RUFFINO
13
He needed to ask nothing more: lie knew death
when he saw it, and he knew that he saw it then.
'If his most Illustrious had not had a marvel-
lous constitution, he would not have lingered so
long even thus,' whispered the dulcet voice of
Magliabecchi.
Castiglione silenced him with a gesture. The
remark, inoffensive though it was, grated on him.
The spectacle of this terrible old man, who had
ruled his household with a rod of iron, and lived
like a despot of the Rome of Giulio II. or Leone X.,
struck down thus, impotent to scare away a fly or
lift a glass of water, keenly affected the careless,
but tender and impressionable, nature of his heir.
'We are consoled by the remembrance of his
sainted past,' said the chaplain, with unctuous
drawl; ' the Church has seldom had a truer or more
devoted son. Though he pass from this life to the
next in utter unconsciousness, yet, Sir, may we be
sure of the celestial rewards which will await your
most august and revered progenitor.'
Castiglione, from decency, abstained from reply,
and made the sign of the cross mechanically. But
in himself he thought of the many scenes of savage,
causeless jealousy by which his mother's life had
been embittered; of the ten thousand petty mean-
H
RUFFINO
nesses to tenants and dependents of which the
princely giver to the Church had been capable; of
the harsh, grinding tyranny, the narrow, joyless
egotism, the fierce, ungoverned temper, the paltry
and harassing suspicions, all the egotism and all the
violence of which his father had been guilty—and it
seemed to him that the balance of justice, whether
held by the hand of man or of God, was faulty.
If any vague, dim glimmerings of repentance
were now passing through that dulled brain, of what
worth were they ? What compensation would they
be to all those whom in their lives he had oppressed
and tortured ?
Oil done le trouves-tn, ce Redresseur fiternel ?
Castiglione asked himself the question of Beau-
delaire again and again, and could neither obtain or
divine an answer.
The hour of fate had struck, indeed ; impending
death had descended on the scheming, unmerciful
brain and on the cold, hard heart, and had put an end
to tyranny, and rapacity, and will, and suspicion, and
all which had made up the essence of their life. But
those who had been tormented and harassed by these
so many years—what compensation had they ?
Some deeds done might be in a manner undone;
some victim might, if tardily, be sought opt and
FUFFINO
atoned to: and lie promised himself that he would do
this as far as it should be in his power. But this
could only be possible in a limited degree; his-
father was an old man, and had a long past lying
behind him. Much of the evil wrought must remain
evil for ever; and was it balanced by the jewelled
chasuble, the pyx of gold and silver, the enamelled
reliquary, or the embroidered Madonna's robe which
the dying Lord of Montefeltro had bestowed so
liberally on church and chapel, oratory and monas-
tery, through so long a life ?
II
Hf: could not shake off that heavy sense of awful-
ness and dread when he had left the sick-room
and returned to his own side of the palace, where the
glass doors had been opened to the evening air, and
to the grand loggia, with its colonnades, and arches,
and sweeping marble staircases, and colossal statues
of Greek and Latin gods and demi-gods.
This wing of the house had been set aside at her
marriage for the use of the Princess of Montefeltro,
and in his childhood Castiglione's feet had pattered
merrily on those black and white squares of marble,
whilst she had stood by, under the foliage of the
i6
RUFFINO
climbing roses, smiling, and calling to bim. Sbe
bad been a lovely, gentle, and very nnbappy woman,
and ber memory endeared to bim tbose lofty
and noble arcades, tbose frescoed and rose-bung
walls.
When be tbougbt of ber, bis beart hardened
more against tbe cruel old man, to wbom be bad
felt a momentary relenting. Were a few days, a few
weeks, of paralysed stupor, punishment enough for
a long life of violence, harshness, selfishness, and
bigotry ?
It was half-past nine by tbe clock, tbe third hour
of tbe night, as they still say in Rome, when be sat
down to bis solitary dinner. Tbe great casements
stood wide open to tbe night. Beyond them was tbe
loggia, with its high arches and columns, and pave-
ment of black and white marbles. Beyond that were
tbe gardens. This part of tbe palace was as quiet as
though it bad been a but on tbe Sabine Mountains.
Tbe bouse bad been planned and built by Michel-
angiolo: its ceilings and frescoed walls bad been
painted by Giulio Romano; where frescoes were not,
there were tapestries. Its proportions were of that
vastness, grandeur, and nobility, of which tbe whole
secret seems lost to modern architects; and within its
chambers and its galleries were treasures of art only
RUFFINO
17
surpassed by those of its neighbour, the Vatican, of,
which the huge pile towered, like the stone form of
some fossilised mastodon, beyond the masses of the
ilex woods of the gardens.
When he found himself once more in this palace,
which had been his birthplace, its solemnity and
noble splendour made the luxury of his Paris house
and the gaiety of his Baden pavilion seem mere
vulgar, meretricious rubbish.
All these things would be entirely his in a brief
space, perhaps only of hours: it was one of those
princely heritages, of which Borne can still boast,
richer in art than any other in the world, and he,,
who had a fine natural taste, cultivated oy the
friendships he had made with scholars and artists,
brought to it an intelligence and reverent apprecia-
tion of which his immediate predecessors had been
incapable. His father had kept everything sacred
and untouched, because he would have considered it,
degradation to sell a stick or stone; but all the
splendours around him had said nothing to his soul
or mind. To those of his son they said much; he
was not only a man of pleasure: he was also a
connoisseur and a student.
i Those giants of the past had the secret of great-
ness in all they touched,' he thought as, after a dinner
c
i8
RUFFINO
wliicli he had scarcely appreciated, he walked out on
to the loggia in the soft, luminous night air.
The terrace, with its covered colonnade, ran the
whole length of this side of the palace; it was of
much the same proportions as is the Loggia dei
Lanzi of Florence, and its wide, high archways
Spanned nobly the deep blue sky, where the stars
were trembling, and a slender, crescent moon had
arisen. Across the dark leafy masses of the Monte-
feltro gardens there towered the mighty roofs of the
Vatican and the dome of St. Peter's.
4 There is no other such scene in Europe for
romantic beauty and for historical association,' he
thought, as he drew one of the lounging-chairs to
the edge of the wide flight of marble stairs which
shelved downwards into the leafy, shadowy mazes of
the gardens.
Ruffino seated himself also, and with pricked
ears gazed down into the dusky depths of foliage;
surely there were rats or cats underneath it ?
His master lighted a cigarette, and leaned his
head back against the cane of his chair: all the
serene and brilliant loveliness of the evening could
not dissipate the sense of melancholy and oppression
which had settled on him since his visit to his
father's room. Grey owls flew softly by, with deep
RUFFINO
19
and mellow hoot; from the rose-thickets beneath
him nightingales were singing in amorous riot and
rivalry; the fresh sound of fountains, falling and
splashing into marble basins, was musical on the
air; in the semi-darkness the white bells of flowering
yuccas, the sceptres of lilies, the garlands of tea-
roses, were visible under the tangle of leaves.
Castiglione yawned, and then sighed, as the per-
fume and melody of the night were wafted to him.
It was an hour and a scene which wanted a Juliet
leaning there over the marble balustrade; a Fran-
cesca passing to her tryst with swift, noiseless, bare
feet adown the moonlit stair; a Ginevra creeping
timidly, yet with hope, to the only heart which death
had no power to chill. And he was alone: he was
unused to be alone; his solitude spoilt to him the
glory of the night; he was tired, depressed, melan-
choly.
The grave makes all anger seem a poor and
childish fault. His conscience was not heavily
burdened. The blame of their disaccord lay more
with his father than himself. He had defended his
mother in his childhood and boyhood, and hence
there had been ill-blood between Montefeltro and
himself ever afterwards. But he had done and said
nothing for which he could in justice have been
c 2
20
RUFFINO
blamed, Yet be knew that in Roman society he
wag regarded as an irreverent and unnatural son,
and the lean, hard, sightless face of the old man,
with its cruel jaw shut tight like a steel trap,
haunted him painfully; if only he would recover
consciousness, and say some kind word in farewell!
Between the Lord of Montefeltro and his heir
there had always been coldness, and often feud: the
son had never rendered to the father that blind,
docile deference and obedience which are usual in
filial relations in Italian aristocratic families, and the
old man had never ceased imperiously to expect and.
to demand them from him. He had French and
English blood in him through his mother; he had,
also, through her a large private fortune, which made
him altogether independent of other wealth. His
mother had now been dead many years, but he had
idolised her in boyhood, and had never pardoned to
his father the wrongs and the sorrows which she had
endured in life. He had taken his own way, and
made his own relations, and passed his existence
chiefly out of Italy; to Montefeltro he had always
seemed degenerate, insubordinate, capricious, fanciful,
foreign, intolerable. But he was the only son, the
inevitable heir. The old Prince had hated him, but he
had been unable to disinherit him: he had tormented
RUFFINO
21
Mm as much as he had it in his power to do; but
Castiglione was rich, and could live his own life,
and could afford to disregard alike censure and
criticism.
Montefeltro had been a fierce Churchman and
a bigot: his palace had never been open to any
festivity, unless it were some solemn banquet or
reception at which the cardinals were present in all
their crimson magnificence. His son, who had the
views of a man of the world, was in his sight an un-
believer, beyond all pale of salvation. All the habits,
preferences, and opinions of the younger man were
odious to him, and abominable; and the gay and
easy temper, the luxurious ways, and the wide and
liberal views, of Castiglione, were in the strongest
and most abhorred contrast to all his own ideas and
tendencies.
"When the latter had attained his thirtieth year a
climax had been reached in their disunion which had
made all mediation and concession impossible between
them: he had refused to enter into an alliance with
a daughter of another great Roman family, and the
old man had furiously forbidden him ever to enter
his sight. The marriage was a perfect one in Monte-
feltro's sight; was beyond all others to be coveted, to
be secured, to be adored; but his son.did not see it
22
RUFRINO
in tlie same light, and had refused to ratify the
engagement, which had been entered into unknown
to him.
f Go, with my curse upon you! stay with your
mother's people; waste your days in foolish plea-
sures, and with singing women, and French jesters,
and playwrights, and scribblers; never blast my eyes
with the sight of you as long as you live!' the
furious old man had cried, in his rage at his defeated
projects ; and Castiglione had answered not a syllable,
but had left Rome that day, and had stayed away
from it entirely for three years, until now, when the
tidings of the Prince's seizure had enforced his return,
against his wishes.
It was eleven in the evening, and the sweet scent
of a million blowing roses and orange-blossoms was
wafted in from the gardens beyond.
f Death is an ugly thing, Ruffino,' he said to the
little dog, who jumped on his knee and touched his
cheek with a little moist black nose.
Ruffino could not pretend to be personally sorry
for the dying Prince, who had never said a kind
word to him, and whose observation he had learned
carefully to avoid by hiding under a sofa or a chair;
but he was sorry that his master was sorry, which
came to exactly the same thing.
RUFFINO
2 3
'Death is an ugly thing, Ruffino,' Castiglione
said again to his little furry friend.
Discordant noises at that moment irritated his
ear, and jangled harshly on the sweetness of the
falling waters, the singing nightingales, the plaintive,
mourning owls. Ruffino barked; he always con-
ceived it to be his paramount duty to add his quota
to any noise that he might ever hear.
'It is that beastly lane,' thought Castiglione;
' the first thing I will do is to compensate the people,
send them elsewhere, and knock the whole place
down.'
He rose, walked the length of the loggia, and
looked out over the balustrade which closed the
western end; on this side both the loggia and the
palace alike looked down on a miserable little street
called in the Roman vernacular the Yiccolo of
S. Anastasia.
On its front the house looked on its own piazza,
wide and fine; on the back and on the left it was
entirely surrounded and shut in by its own gardens;
but on the right it was bordered by this steep,
narrow, densely-populated little lane, which Monte-
feltro had always desired to purchase and destroy,
but of which the price had been too great not to
affright his avarice.
24
RUFFINO
The mighty walls of the palace, and the bastion
supporting the loggia, shelved down into this little
lane like a great cliff hemming in a brook; and the
tenements composing it were crowded, filthy, and
wholly unfit to be the neighbours of this stately
residence. They had scarcely even the attraction of
age, as age is counted in the Trastevere; for they had
been originally stables, turned into dwelling-places
gradually in the beginning of the eighteenth
century, and allowed to remain there by the care-
lessness of the Montefeltro of that time; they now
belonged to a syndicate of Jews, and the price they
put on them had been too enormous for the present
Prince to be willing to pay it for a mere artistic
whim.
To Castiglione, whose aesthetic feeling was much
more delicate and keen, the neighbourhood of that
crowded and foul-smelling passage beneath his walls
had always been an eyesore and an unendurable
offence.
' I will give the Jews whatever they want for it,
and I will have it all knocked down and cleared away/
"he thought now, as he gazed down over the wall,
where the creamy white of the climbing noisette
roses was like the surf of a sea.
Euffino had thrust his little muzzle through the
RUFF1N0 25
foliage, and was growling; lie smelt cats: lie conld
not see them, but be smelt tbem; and be conld never
understand why cats, rats, and doctors bad ever
been allowed to live by a too patient human race.
Ruffino would have made short work of all three
species could he have had his way.
Castiglione could see what offended him as much
as the cats did Ruffino: he could see dirt, rags,
squalor; open sheds, where lean mules lay on reeking
straw; tattered clothes, which hung to dry on iron
spikes; baskets of half-rotting vegetables ; pans of
charcoal, with other pans simmering on the top of
themj full of beans, or paste, or little fish; children
with naked limbs and unkempt hair, and mothers,
"dishevelled and ragged, screaming in their ears;
petroleum lamps blazing, with foul smell, above
wretched interiors: and yet these people were every-
where shouting, making merry, enjoying life in their
nakedness and dirt; a girl was dancing a tarantella
with a youth upon the stones, another was thrum-
ming a mandoline; little half-nude boys were jump-
ing about; an old beggar was shouting a popular
song. A stronger contrast to the beautiful serenity
of the nightingale-haunted, fountain-filled, moon-
lighted gardens, and the grandeur of the silent
palace, could hardly have been found in all the world.
26
RUFFINO
'After all, tlie poor have lighter hearts than we,'
thought the yonng Duke, as he stood above, amidst
his myrtle and jessamine blossoms, and the tea-rose
foliage. 'They laugh and sing and dance, though
they lie six together in one bed, and gnaw rotten
melons and stinking fish, and are swept away when
the cholera comes, as the tunny are swept into the
nets at sea.'
'Wuff, wuff!' said Kuffino, with feverish ex-
citement: he had seen a yellow-striped cat creeping
stealthily along the roof of a house immediately in
front of the loggia. He beheld her, he was within
a yard of her, and yet he could not reach her! He
ran to and fro like a little maniac, barking, growl-
ing, agitating his tail, making springs in all direc-
tions except in the one which would have landed him
in the street below; for in his many travels Kuffino
had learned to exercise extreme discretion in the
care of his own person. The cat, undisturbed,
went crawling on her placid way over the roof and
disappeared; and on her disappearance Kuffino
shook the universe with volley on volley of infuriated
barks. Was there ever a dog thus insulted before his
face ?
The roof over which the offending animal had
passed was a low roof of old, red tiles, exactly facing
RUFFINO
27
that end of the loggia on which Ruffino and his
master were standing. It belonged to a little
building which had been there for several centuries,
and was as superior in solidity and structure to the
eighteenth-century work as eighteenth-century work
is superior to the work of to-day. It was a very low
cottage of two storeys, and the top storey was on a
level with the floor of the loggia; it ended the lane
with a tall, ancient stone chimney, and joined the
dead-wall of a convent of the nuns of the Sepolte
Vive. It was a quaint old place, like a house in the
engravings of the Middle Ages, and on the side of
the old, disused chimney grew wall-flowers and
valerian, dragon's-mouth and Madonna's herb, lichens
and green mosses; and it was so close to the balus-
trade of the palace gardens that the boughs of the
rose-trees and the garlands of the wisteria, when
a high wind blew them outward, touched its modest
red-tiled roof.
Although the several habitations in the lane
belonged to a number of Jews, ostensibly very poor,
in reality very rich, and avaricious in proportion to
their wealth, this quaint little dwelling at the end,
abutting on the convent, belonged to a widow-woman
who sold vegetables, brooms, and charcoal, on the
ground-floor of it; a big-boned, loud-voiced, Roman
28
RUFF I NO
matron, with, brawny muscles and a brown skin,
who had passed her life in that angle between the
garden and the convent wall, and. knew how to
scream at a debtor and cringe to a creditor, to pass
off stale marrows and melons, and make her charcoal"
scales tell false weights, as well as any vendor in the
city. The three small chambers above her shop she
let, whenever she could, to any unfortunates whom
poverty might compel to seek those sorry lodgings.
As Castiglione was now placed, a little higher than
the casements of the opposite cottage, and not more
than three feet away from them, he could see straight
into the little room under the eaves. It was almost bare
of furniture, but was singularly clean, and in favour-
able contrast with its neighbourhood: a deal table
and deal chairs, with a press of ash wood, were all it
contained. In the next room was a small bed, and a
chest of drawers with an old Venetian mirror and a
dark picture of the Madonna and Child; there were also
a big wooden tub and a copper pitcher. Nothing else.
■ On the window-sill was a plant of red geranium and
another of balsam. It was the abode of poverty, but it
was neat and wholesome-looking as any shore-pebble
washed daily by the tide of the sea. In contrast to
the disorder, dirt, and unspeakable nastiness of the
neighbouring interiors, it seemed like a miracle in
RUFFINO
29
such, a place. The two small casements of the upper
storey were open, and there was a light burning; a
single wick, lit in a three-wicked brass lamp such as
Italians who cling to old ways still use. By the
light of it, a girl was sewing linen; the star of flame
illuminated faintly her face and hands, and left all
the rest of the little chamber in which she sat in
darkness. When Ruffino barked, she looked up;
but she saw nothing except the- dense foliage of the
Canadian vine round one of the loggia-columns, and
she resumed her "work.
1 She is a handsome child,' thought Castiglione,
whose taste in women's beauty was cultured and
exacting. She was young, apparently very young,
and was curiously like the portrait of Beatrice Cenci,
so far as he could distinguish her features by the
flickering reflection of the wick burning in front of
her. She was very,, poorly clad in cotton, but she
looked unlike the other dwellers in the lane. He
stood still and watched her for some time; whilst
Ruffino, calming down from his indignation, sat,
with twitching ears, peering as far as he could into
the street and its ways, where everything appeared
to him to call for an interference and assistance
and correction which he was too remote to be able
to render.
3o
RUFFINO
The street interested him: he preferred sitting
here, where he could see it, to sitting above the great,
white, solemn stairs which led to nothing but turf
and leaves and flowers, and where the most to be
hoped for, in the way of excitement, was a field-
mouse or a cricket.
It interested also his master since he had seen
this vision of auburn Cenci-like hair, and great,
pathetic, brown eyes, like those of the hapless
Beatrice.
She was a poor girl, no doubt, working for her
livelihood; but she had a refined and uncommon
beauty, and her hands, as they moved, were small and
delicate, and so thin that they seemed scarcely made
of flesh and bone.
Standing above, amongst the noisette roses, he
spoke to her courteously and kindly.
'I see you look up at my flowers,' he said, as
he leaned over the marble balustrade. ' If you will
come in, and gather some, you will be heartily
welcome. Shall I open the postern-door for you ?'
It was the careless, good-natured, free-and-easy
address of a great gentleman to one who could not
fail to be pleased and flattered by his notice. His
amazement was extreme at the wholly dispropor-
tionate dismay and terror with which his overtures
RUFFINO
3i
were received. The young girl looked up with a
startled, frightened glance, rose hurriedly, caught
the iron hasps of the shutters of her window, and
drew the shutters themselves close, until only a little
thread of light glimmered between their wooden bars.
1" She doth protest too much,"' said Castiglione
to himself, with the ironical scepticism of a man
much sought and spoiled by women. ' She cannot
have been sitting there all this time without having
seen me looking at her long before I spoke; and
a work-girl is not scared out of her wits by a few
civil words from a neighbour.'
Nevertheless, the rapid and rude action served to
excite his curiosity and stimulate his interest. He
remained there till midnight, smoking, and throwing
away the ends of many cigarettes; but he saw nothing
more to reward him than the narrow gleams of light
between the unpainted bars of the window-shutters.
1 She is only so coy to draw me on,' he told him-
self; and yet calculation and intrigue did not seem
to him to suit that pale, Cenci-like profile which had
been illumined by the rays of the little oil-lamp.
1 Pshaw! all women are alike, Ruffi !' he said,
with disappointment, as, tired of watching and
waiting, he threw his last cigarette down amongst
the rosebuds and went indoors.
32
RUFFINO
1 Wuff!' said Ruffino, in an irritated adieu to
the striped cat. If the duplicity of women annoyed
and wearied his master, the perversity and insolence
of cats was the one cross laid on his own life.
in
After dinner on the following evening Castiglione
strolled through the rooms, and returned to the
loggia; he sat down on the marble chair, and took
a copy of Lucian with him ; Lucian was his favourite
author. A servant set a reading-lamp on the round
marble table near, and he was left to his book, his
cigarette, the nightingales and the owls, for his
evening's society.
Every now and then he glanced at the little
corner house visible through the foliage. The
shutters remained closed. If there were no other
outlet for air at the other side of the house, he
knew that the residents must be stifled and miserable,
thus shut up, in a warm night in late May; and he
felt repentant for his own harmless words.
'He sat there an hour or more, looking now and
then at his Lucian, which he knew almost by heart,
and thinking of the days of his earliest youth, when
his mother's graceful form had passed so often up
RUFFINO
33
and down tlie loggia in the moonlight on just such
summer nights as this.
She was buried in the palace chapel, a marvel of
architecture and of painting, erected and ornamented
by Bramante. But it had never seemed to him
as if she could really be imprisoned there, under
those marble saints and angels, and beneath the
jewelled altars and the high dome, which gleamed
with colour like some great jewel itself.
She seemed more near him here, where the mid-
summer moon was sailing beyond the arched colon-
nades, and the birds which she had loved so well
were calling from the dusk.
She had filled his childish mind with high ideals,
and now, remembering the lofty destinies which sh*
had imagined for him, his life seemed to him pur*
poseless and useless; as it was, it would not have
contented her, although, indeed, it was more blame-
less in much than are most lives of men of his rank
and generation.
It grew late.
Ruffino, tired of speculating on the possible con-
sequences of a jump into the lane, had turned on his
side and gone to sleep : even Homer nods and Jupiter
dozes now and then. Suddenly, however, he awoke
with a sharp little bark. He had heard in his
D
34
RUFFINO
slumber the sound of an opening window. Castig-
lione beard it also, and looked cautiously through
the screen of foliage.
The girl was opening the shutter, and securing
it by its iron hasp to the wall. Then she seated
herself by it, and by the feeble light of an oil-wick
began to sew linen. Castiglione could plainly see
her profile like a delicate cameo against the darkness
within.
' Did she never sleep ? Was she for ever work-
ing?' he wondered- He took extreme care not to
be seen, lest he should again cause her to take flight:
but he looked no more at his Lucian; he even extin-
guished his reading-lamp, lest the rays of it, seen
through the leaves, should catch her eyes, and affright
her anew. Her features were quite visible to him,
surrounded as they were by deep shadow; and the
light of her flickering oil-wick fell full upon her fair,
almost transparent, and quickly-moving hands.
JSTow and then she glanced towards the loggia, and
listened when some richer burst of song from the
nightingales beguiled her to pause for a moment.
But almost continually she went on with her sewing,
stopping only to thread her needle; yet he could
have sworn that her ears lost no single note of all
those passionate lays with which his gardens were
RUFFINO
35
resounding from every laurel-grove, and alley of
arbutus, and thicket of rose and myrtle.
He felt desperately tempted to address ber again,
but be resisted tbe temptation; it seemed to bim
too cruel, too selfisb to run tbe risk of again forcing
ber to deprive berself of tbe air, wbicb was now fresb
witb tbe freshness of nigbt and filled witb tbe scent
of orange-blossoms. If bis gardens could afford ber
any compensation for tbe wretched life she led, be
was glad that they should do so. And yet an over-
whelming desire to speak again to ber possessed bim.
Below, tbe lane became quite silent, except for an
occasional shout or oath from some passer-by, or
tbe cry of a fractious child from one of tbe interiors;
tbe inhabitants were very poor, and of tbe lowest
class, but they were all labouring folk, and slept early
and soundly on their beds of sacking. There was
something of mystery, of communion, almost of inti-
macy, in tbe sense that be and she were so near each
other, and yet so ignorant of each other; in tbe still-
ness of tbe nigbt, both awake, while all tbe city
seemed to sleep.
As she sat at tbe window, be could see every
movement of ber bands ; be could almost see ber
breath come and go. Her long locks shaded ber
cheek as she leaked down on ber work, and tbe
d 2
36
RUFFINO
cheek was pale and thin, although it had the soft,
round curves of youth.
Twice or thrice she paused, and pushed her hair
off her temples with a gesture of extreme fatigue;
but she soon resumed her work again, and sewed on,
and on, and on, whilst the nightingales shouted from
the laurels and the myrtles of the garden.
It was three in the morning when she at last
Ceased, overcome with an exhaustion which she could
no longer combat. She put out the light and closed
the shutter.
Castiglione rose and shook himself, like one who
shakes off a spell. He had been four hours watching
her needle fly in and out, and the light of the lamp
shine on her hair; he felt embarrassed and ashamed,
although there was no spectator of his romantic vigil.
He went indoors to go to his bed, where Buffino
curled himself up and dreamed of cats.
1 Am I moonstruck ?' thought Castiglione, as ne
lay gazing at the pale colossal figures of the tapestry
of his chamber, unable to fall asleep. ' It is absurd!
It is monstrous! A little sempstress, and I dare not
address her! I will go to that end of the loggia
no more. It comes of ennui. I have nothing to
think of here, and so my head gets filled with
folly.'
RUFF I NO
37
In the morning lie said to Viviani, the house-
steward, who was waiting on him for orders : ' Tell
me, did they all fall through, the negotiations which
my father made with those Jews, Baldacchi, Cortona,
Leveschi, and the others, for the purchase of the lane
which adjoins the garden? '
1 Yes, my lord duke,' replied the steward, 4 the
price asked by Baldacchi and the others was pre-
posterous. There was no means of bringing them to
reason. All was in vain.'
4 The lane is an intolerable nuisance. What was
the price asked ?'
Viviani named it.
4 It was indeed enormous,' said Castiglione.
4 But open the matter again with him. The lane is
unhealthy and odious, and the noises from it make it
impossible to be at peace either in the loggia or in
these rooms opening on it.'
4 That is undoubtedly the fact, your excellency,'
replied Viviani; 4 but if I may be permitted to make
a remark, I would suggest that your lordship's most
revered and sainted fathers have been trying to'
purchase it for three centuries, and have never con-
sidered it worth the vast expenditure required.'
41 will buy it at any price,' said Castiglione, very
imprudently.
38 RUFFINO
' My lord is master of his purse and of his judg-
ment,' said the steward, with humility; 4 the first
we know is inexhaustible, the latter we know is
unimpeachable.'
' Tou are a courtier, my good Yiviani.'
'Oh no, your excellency, I am only the devoted
though feeble servant of yourself and of your
illustrious house.'
' Nevertheless,' thought Castiglione, ' if you are
unwilling that I should buy the lane from its owners,
it is only that they will not give you a percentage
high enough for your own taste and pocket.'
Aloud he added: 'But the corner house—the
house which touches on the Sepolte Vive—the Jews
do not own that, I think ?'
' No, my lord,' answered the steward, wondering
whither these questions tended. 'It belongs to
Sior' Veneranda, the Pilotti widow; she inherited it.
She would ask its weight in gold, for she sets great
store on it; and she is a grinding skinflint, is Sior'
Veneranda.'
' Well, find out her price,' said Castiglione, care-
lessly. ' The whole place is a horrible eyesore, and,
somehow or other, sooner or later, it must belong
to us.'
Was this girl all alone in her part of this little
RUFI'INO
39
corner house, he wondered continually, with its
lichen-grown stones without and its Dutch-like
interior ? It seemed impossible; yet he saw no one
else, except the old woman who owned it, and who
lived below, and sold charcoal and cabbages, rotten
firewood, and perishing fruit.
He watched her by day and by evening, and her
habits had the regularity of the Angelus and the
Ave Maria. As soon as the sun smote hot and blind-
ing on the walls, she shut the old, rickety wooden
shutters attached to the casements ; at early evening
she was again at work with them wide opened.
How and then she looked out at the loggia and its
flowers, then again resumed her labours of one kind
or another. He saw that she cooked for herself at a
little charcoal-stove in the corner of the room, and
she drew up her bread with a cord from the seller
who stood below. She did the same by various
vegetables, which seemed to him, with the bread, to
constitute her only food. It was when she leaned
out to draw up this cord that he saw her most
clearly; saw her slender but beautifully-shaped arms
and wrists, her youthful bust, her shining hair, the
vigour and grace which she put into this homely and
simple act. He never heard her speak to any one,
except a brief word of thanks to the itinerant vendor
4°
RUFFINO
wlio brought her loaf and her cabbage, or carrots,
or artichokes, underneath her lattice.
4 What an existence!' thought Castiglione with
horror, and a sense of shame that he, a man, had all
his life enjoyed luxury and abundance, and been
Waited on and pampered and amused by every one
who approached him.
It interested him, this little homely idyll, shut
up in those two quaint little rooms, which he could
almost have touched with his hand if he had leaned
out over his balustrade. At any other time he would
have been too much occupied and amused by other
things to have paid any attention to it; but in these
long, empty days and evenings, it beguiled his notice.
He did not go outside the walls of the palace, for at
any moment his father's state might pass from stupor
into death ; and he was dejected, and oppressed with
the sense of that impending dissolution, and of all
the burdens which would devolve on himself by his
succession to the great fief of Montefeltro. He would
have infinitely preferred to remain what he was; he
had everything he wanted, and no responsibilities;
his father once dead, a vast and troublesome mass of
honours and of duties would fall like a storm of hail
upon himself. The Prince of Montefeltro could not
lead the careless, irresponsible, boulevardier life which
RUFFIXO
41
had been so agreeable to the Duke of Castiglione.
His future would be trammelled, burdened, and
tedious; and, like every man of pleasure, tedium
was worse to him than misfortune.
Therefore, in these unoccupied and idle moments,
when a sense of decorum and respect withheld him
from all those pastimes which were natural to his
age and tastes, he frequented the loggia, and took
more and more interest in the very simple interior,
which he could see through the screen of leaves.
In the wall of the second little chamber there
was a door, and it led, he could perceive, into a
third room, or closet, beyond; but into this last
retreat his sight could not pierce.
Its darkness and its mystery excited and tor-
mented him. The girl passed much of her time
there. Perhaps, nay, most probably, she had a lover,
he reflected. He saw none, but he felt sure that some
man there must be. When the wooden shutters were
shut there were, certainly, some compensations behind
them for that life of incessant toil and privation.
One day he questioned one of the gardeners
whom he found at work beside the marble of i^e
fishpond:
' Who lives in that little house which ends the
lane ?'
42
RUFFINO
The man reflected, straightening his back after
stooping over the ground-ivy.
' I think it is some foreigner, your excellency; a
pagan, I believe.'
c Why a pagan ?'
c Not a Christian, your excellency. They never
go to mass.'
'Who are they ?'
' There is a sick man there, most illustrious, as
well as the girl.'
' What is the man to the maiden ?'
The gardener shrugged his shoulders and spread
out his hands.
11 would not presume to say, your excellency.
With pagans, who can tell ?'
Castiglione walked on under his trees, irritated at
the man's foolish prejudices, and more irritated at
what he heard.
Into the innermost room it was impossible to
see, and his mind instantly ran to the natural
conclusion.
Ruffino looked out of one eye askance at him,
recognising that he was not pleased; and Ruffino
himself yawned.
The garden was a very nice place, but it lacked
interest to a dog-of-the-world; besides, his master,
RUFFINO
43
slow and pensive, pacing to and fro the cool, dark
alleys between the walls of dipt cypress and bay,
affected his nerves by sympathy—that sympathy
with human moods and fancies which dogs are so
quick to render, but which their owners so rarely
render to them.
When his master was as melancholy as this,
Ruffino could not find it in his heart to be gay;
instead of investigating suspicious crannies in the
rockeries and walls, and dashing after lizards over
flower-beds, or springing high in air to catch butter-
flies, as he was often wont to do, he walked demurely
behind, or in front, with his tail at half-mast, and in
his air an expression, chastened and subdued, which
he deemed adapted to his friend's feelings. The
lizards shot across his path, and the tiny garden-mice
frisked under his very nose: he was not to be be-
guiled into sport of any kind. Now and then he
cocked one ear anxiously when he heard a dog bark
beyond the garden-walls; that was his sole conces-
sion to the outer world.
But it was dull work, and afforded no scope to the
energy and gaiety of his character; therefore, when
his master ascended to the loggia, he led the way every
evening with alacrity to that side of it which looked
upon the lane, carrying his tail high on one side of
44
RUFF I NO
his back, as his habit was when pleased; and whilst
Castiglione sat on the marble chair, and lit his
cigarettes one after another, Ruffino watched
through the leaves this undisciplined rabble below,
human, canine, and feline, who stood so much in
need of his admonition and administration.
IV
Castiglione almost every night went in to his dinner
alone, and dined in solitary state, surrounded by
Florentine tapestry and Roman statues, and above
his head a ceiling of Guercino's, painted with
that favourite subject of all Italian artists, Aurora
escaping from Tithonus. Ruffino was always seated
on a chair beside him, and knew what truffles meant,
and what an ortolan tasted like, as well as any epicure
in a Paris or Loudon clubhouse.
Of his many friends and relatives, almost all had
already left Rome for the hot season; and of the few
who remained, there were none whom he cared to
invite to break his solitude.
The Italian manner of greeting the Pale Rider on
the "White Horse is to gather a voluble crowd in the
house and around the sickbed; then, when it is quite
certain that death is nigh, everyone rushes out of the
RUFFINO
45
house, and far away, to avoid meeting with it, and
the dying person is left to struggle through his last
fight for breath, his last wrestling with the spectre, as
best he can, alone. Sometimes, perhaps, a nun will
stay beside him, or a priest, but rarely even these ;
relatives never, not the nearest. Death is a painful
spectacle, and to witness it brings ill-luck. Where-
fore, then, remain ?
Castiglione, however, having northern blood in
him, and different ways, shut the palace to all except
his uncles and his cousins, and the priests of the
Church, and remained alone; and intended so to-
remain until all should be over.
' Don JEczzelino manca, un Venerdi,' said Maglia-
becchi, with a groan, to the chaplain. To miss a Friday
is a popular periphrase to express politely a belief
that a man is a lunatic; and nothing could seem
more insane to these Romans than for a person like
the Duke of Castiglione to shut himself up thus in
solitude, instead of filling the house with a throng of
noble and clerical mourners, who would have wept
and sighed, and dined and supped, and torn their
hair, and drained big beakers of the old, priceless
wines of the Montefeltro cellars. But all these
ways were odious to one who had lived so much
away from them, and it was in vain that they were
46
RUFFINO
urged upon him; he would not hear of them for a
moment.
' If only he lay in the place of the sainted Prince,®
sighed the doctor and the chaplain; 'he and his
accursed little dog! ®
Ruffino represented the Evil One in person to both
these worthies; he had a way of rolling his black
eyes at them, and of making certain movements of
his lips, emitting at the same time a subdued, menac-
ing growl, which signified how good their calves would
taste, if only he could try his teeth on them, which
seemed to these gentlemen nothing short of diabolic.
They both thought, longingly, of various poisons
reposing in the doctor's cases which could have made
Ruffino innocuous and immovable for evermore
in the space of a second; but fear withheld them
from resorting to these measures of self-defence; the
orime would be easily done, but they dreaded his
owner's discovery of the act, and the vengeance he
would take for it.
They had a mutual and intense dislike to their
future master: he was, in their opinion, impious
and foreign in his ways. They knew that he only
bore with them to obey his father, and that as soon
as their patron should be laid to his last rest in the
chapel crypt, they would be politely but imperatively
RUFFINO
47
bidden to betake themselves and their plunder else-
where. They had lived there nearly all their lives,
like rats in a cheese-house, and the death of Monte-
feltro would be their knell of exile from all the
luxurious living, and successful plottings and pick-
ings, which they had enjoyed in these long and
prosperous years of fraud and fatness. To do the
Duke of Castiglione any bad turn would have been
delightful to them.
This hatred for the heir came from the conviction,
felt by both the physician and the chaplain, that he
would never be tricked or beguiled into the same
position as his father had accepted. His father,
to all the world an arrogant tyrant, had been, in
actual fact, a mere victim of the designing and
unscrupulous men who had surrounded him. There
was no hope for them of obtaining such an influence
over his son, who thought for himself, saw for him-
self, judged for himself, and, despite the careless-
ness and good nature of his temper, had a talent only
second to Ruffino's for discovering and unmasking a
hypocrite.
These lonely days meanwhile made a deep and
painful impression on him. He had led a gay and
selfish life, like other men of his age and rank,
although his heart had remained more tender than
48
RUFFINO
is usual in a life of mere pleasure. He liad seldom
paused to think of the problems and the mysteries
of existence, and of its misery and necessity he had
only known from hearsay.
His reflections, as he sat alone in the lustrous
moonlight, with that crowded and poverty-stricken
lane so close to him, were troubled and perplexed.
Ho felt that he could never again return to the same
idle, thoughtless, agreeable habits which had hitherto
absorbed and contented him: he would henceforth
be Montefeltro, lord of vast tracts of land in the
pestilence-haunted Campagna, in the terrible, famine-
stricken Basilicata, in the morasses and marshes of
the Maremma, in the scorched and starved plains of
the Puglia.
The country herself was like a lamb torn by the
jaws of two quarrelling wolves: the one the Church,
avaricious, cruel, and blind; the other the Govern-
ment, insatiate, despotic, and torturing. The one
was as bad as the other, and each alike was the foe,
the oppressor, and the thief of the nation on which
it was fastened. Neither Church nor Government
would help him in his task, for he abhorred them
both, and saw that both alike were leeches which
drained the blood of the people. His irresponsible
life of liberty and ease was at an end: with the
RUFFINO
49
death of Montefeltro there would devolve on him duties,
possessions, obligations which he could not in honour
evade; and he would be forced to decide on many
questions which hitherto he had been able to leave in
abeyance, inclining neither to one side nor the other.
He shrank from the ordeal. He loved ease, serenity,
art, pleasure; the prospect of being driven into the
choice of Hercules was painful and oppressive to his
temperament.
His father's state gave him sufficient excuse to
follow his momentary inclination to be alone: the
sense of approaching death was in the atmosphere;
the household moved about noiselessly; the great
doors were opened and shut without sound; the whole
vast palace seemed quiet as the grave; even Ruffino
felt the influence of his surroundings, and when
indoors subdued his utterances to a smothered growl,
or a bark a mezza voce.
Of his neighbour at the little corner house, Casti-
glione, thus left to himself, and to the impressions of
the moment, thought more than was wise or than
was welcome to him; the mystery which appeared to
surround her stimulated his interest to a dangerous
extent.
Sometimes he bowed to her silently, in sign of
his respect for her solitude, and obedience to her
E
50
RUFFINO
wishes, but he did not attempt to force his presence
or his conversation upon her. Himself unseen, he
watched her many an hour, studying the lines of
her form, the purity of her profile, the pathetic,
colourless beauty of her face. It was that kind of
beauty which gains by becoming familiar; he drew
her portrait a hundred times, and never contented
himself, though he was an artist of no mean capacity.
But there was something ethereal and fugitive in her
which it was difficult to render; something of the
light of the soul, of that higher beauty which comes
from high thoughts and heroic sacrifice, for which all
mediums of art seemed too gross.
He could easily have heard any thing and every
thing which there might have been to hear if he had
inquired of his household; but he was withheld
from doing so by a vague sentiment that it would ill
become his dignity to show this curiosity, above all
at such a moment. He could not bring himself to
let nis subordinates know that, when his father lay
dying, he was interested in watching the coming and
going of one of the inhabitants of the Yiccolo of
S. Anastasia. He was careless, negligent of appear-
ances, and even what his father called democratic,
in some things; but all the instincts of his race and
habits of his breeding imbued him with a strong
RUFFINO
51
pride of birth and a strong sense of dignity. There
was little that would be flattering to either in the
confession that he passed this period of what should
be, at least in semblance, mourning, in amusing him-
self with the light and shade of a lamp falling on the
features of a work-girh
A work-girl she must be, he thought, in class
and occupation, although her beauty was of a
patrician and poetic type.
"Whenever he saw her, she was colouring little
prints which lay upon the deal table, or sewing
linen, or doing some household work. She inte-
rested him powerfully; but he could not bring him-
self to confess such an interest, even so far as it
would be revealed if he in any way questioned
his people. He felt that he could never sit again
at that side of the loggia if they knew, or guessed,
why the screen of leaves was so attractive to him.
It was not a moment at which a man who had any
self-respect would like his servants to suppose him
capable of being diverted by a common amourette.
It was only when he was sure that he was un-
observed that he returned to the marble seat under
the tea-roses and jessamine which commanded that
side view into the narrow, teeming, noisy lane.
All the household, from Magliabecchi down to the
£ 2
52
RUFFINO
very scullions, knew that lie liad for years and years
desired the purchase and destruction of this eyesore;
he would become absurd, in their estimate, if they
once saw his gaze riveted on that little mean house
at the end of the passage. Ruffino alone knew how
often he went there, and Ruffino approved : the lane
was to him a world of interest, movement, and
fascination, which drew him to it all the more
magnetically because he was unable to see very
far into it, and was conscious that it was all going
to rack and ruin for want of his inspection and
direction.
At times Castiglione, in the still, balmy night,
walked down the marble stairs into the delicious
gardens, and wandered under the laurel hedges
where the nightingales nested, and past the huge,
leafy fish-ponds where carp, centuries old, floated
lazily under water-lilies, and down the great, dark
avenues of ilex, whose impenetrable foliage closed
over his head. And Ruffino went with him con-
scientiously, step by step, and when his master
paused, indulged himself in a roll on the shorn grass;
but the vast, silent, odorous gardens did not interest
him so much as did that abominable lane, where
vulgar dogs scratched in heaps of refuse, and in-
famous cats mewed and miauled, and where dark,
RUFFINO
53
foul, scarce-seen doorways suggested endless myste-
ries to be explored. The gardens were so beauti-
fully kept, so old, so solitary, so tranquil, that there
was little in them, except an occasional gardener's
boy requiring to be called to order; and Ruffino
felt that there was no scope- in this sylvan paradise
for his imperial genius of domination and dictation.
Whereas, could he only get down into the lane, he
knew that these dogs would soon be rolled on their own
cinder-heaps, and that those cats would soon wish
th at they had never been kittened. Ruffino had a great
mind in a little body, and, like most great minds,
was pugnacious from a consciousness, far nobler
than mere vanity, that he had been born to set the
chaos of the world aright; only, unlike Hamlet, he
deemed the mission flattering and agreeable, and
was not troubled by any doubts as to his own .capa-
bilities for its perfect discharge.
But how to get down to the lane? Even the
high and undaunted spirit of Ruffino was forced to
admit that ten feet was too much of a jump; and
though he knew the regular way down to it from
the courtyard of the palace, there was no chance of
getting out of that courtyard, for the porter would
not open the gates to him without his master, and
in these days and nights his master did not once
54
RUFFINO
pass through those gates; the only exercise he
took was in the gardens, which stretched as far as
the walls of the Vatican Gardens, and were more
than a mile in length.
It was an uneventful, and, to all except Ruffino,
a painful and tedious period. Montefeltro continued
to exist in the same comatose state; it could scarcely
be called life, and yet it was not death. Innumer-
able names were written down in the book at the
porter's lodge; countless letters and cards were left
in inquiry and in condolence; all the great Black
nobility of Rome, and some of the White, flocked
there: but the bronze gates remained inexorably
shut to all.
i The Prince is beyond hope, and the Duke sees
no one,' was the reply which the janitor of those
august portals, stately in scarlet and gold, with a
cocked hat and halberd, returned to every inquiry
and entreaty.
Castiglione had never been either shy or slow in
affairs with women : he was used to easy and rapid
courtships of them, his person and position alike
causing him to be received with universal favour.
But now he seemed possessed with the hesitation and
the modesty of a schoolboy before a first love. He
laughed at himself. ' Good heavens!' he thought,
RUFFINO
55
with impatience and derision; ' does this really
interest me ? Am I actually in love with a shadow,
a nameless personality, an unknown, of whom I see
nothing hut the profile and the hands ?'
It was so absurd that, alone as he was, he
laughed aloud one evening; and Ruffino, hearing,
recovered his spirits, hoisted his own tail in the air,
and caught a lizard's.
The absurdity of it, however, did not prevent him
from going out on to the loggia after dinner. On
these absurdities, incongruous and anomalous though
they be, a whimsical and amorous fancy best
thrives: the unwisdom of a passion is its nourish-
ing dew, the apparent impossibility of it makes its
actual strength; love is a flower which grows
luxuriantly on a barren rock, and only dies of a too
favourable soil.
When he approached the balustrade, it was at
that beautiful moment when day merges into night,
when the rosy and golden flush remaining after the
sunset is met by the deep twilight blue of the hushed
evening. The moon was rising above the ilex woods
of his own gardens, and hung, broad and yellow, and
magnified by the atmosphere, amidst grey and
silvered clouds. The intense odours of the gardens
below filled the air with perfume, and from the
56 RUFF I NO
street beyond tbem came "the sound of a lnte and of
a young tenor voice singing joyously. For the
moment there was no other sound; the harsh out-
cries of the lanes were stilled, the peace of a summer
night descended on the city.
The casements of the little corner house were
open, and at one of them the girl was standing; the
reflections from the warmth of the west fell on her
face and throat, and lighted up her large, light
brown eyes; there was a rapt, beatified expression
on her countenance, a faint smile parted her lips.
She was gazing up into the foliage of the loggia, and
evidently was listening.
'Is the lutist serenading her?' thought Casti-
glione, with unreasonable anger. But the sound
of the lute and of the tenor voice grew fainter and
fainter, and finally ceased as the player, no doubt,
went higher up the street; and the girl continued to
listen, and to look, with the smile of St. Cecilia on
her face.
Then at last he divined what she saw, and to
what she listened: it was a nightingale singing in
the rose-boughs to his mate upon her nest.
That surpassing melody was so eloquent, day and
night, all through the Montefeltro gardens, from
April to July, that he had never guessed before that
RUFFINO
57
it was this attraction which drew her so often to her
window.
Where he stood a marble corbel, with a sculptured
Faun and goat, entirely screened him from her sight,
and he could gaze at her uninterruptedly. She was
poor, she was meanly clad; there was no doubt that
she dusted and swept and washed her little home,
made her own bed, her own fire, her own food; and
yet poverty and toil had not been able to take from
her the signs of race: the slender hands, the delicate
nostrils, the pure, transparent skin, and the fine lines
of brow and chin. Who could she be? Whence
could she have come? What could have dragged
her down into this lonely and miserable existence ?
But then it was not, perhaps, lonely, if what the
gardener had said was true?
There was a sick man in that inner chamber into
whose dusky limits his eyes could not see. Doubt-
less it was for this companion of her adversity that
she toiled and lived, and found a certain happiness,
even in this narrow and sordid home.
The thought of this man who dwelt with her
hardened his heart against his growing interest in
her, and her poverty, which had so powerful a hold
on him, and took from her that halo of virginal
innocence which had seemed to make her too sacred
58
RUFF/NO
to be rudely approached. After all, a girl who lived
in a little bole like this with a lover, ill or well, was
not so boly or so hallowed that be himself need any
longer hesitate to make such advances to her as he
chose. If the lover, ill or well, disliked them, so
much the worse for him.
Acting on that impulse, he walked up to the
balustrade, pushed aside the rose and jessamine
boughs, and let himself become visible to her.
c You are listening to my nightingales, signorina?'
he said, softly. ' If you would come into the gardens
to hear them better, you would make me very happy.
I ventured to tell you so the other night, and I was
vexed to see that I seemed only to offend you.'
As soon as he had spoken the words, he regretted
them, for they destroyed in a single instant the un-
conscious and unstudied beauty of her attitude, and
the pleasure she had taken in the birds. She
changed colour violently, and stared at him with
her hazel, Cenci-like eyes; he could almost see the
fluttering of her heart and hear the quickness of her
breath.
11 beg your pardon,' she said, hurriedly; 41 did
not know that you were—that any one was—there.
You did not offend me. I thank you very much, but
I cannot listen to anything you say.'
RUFFINO
59
Then breathlessly, and with the agitation of some
discovered criminal, she withdrew from the window,
and shut the wooden shutters again with precipita-
tion and alarm.
4 What have I done?' thought Castiglione, regret-
fully. 4 Now she is deprived of light and air once
more; cooped up, on a June evening, behind a wooden
blind! Is it assumed or genuine, all that shyness
and terror ? After all, she cannot live in that lane,
and remain the Casta diva of romance; and she must
know as well as I know, that this is not an un-
occupied and enchanted palace. By the heavens
above us, if that were acting, it was admirable acting,
incomparable acting! Perhaps the sick Lothario is
a jealous brute.'
He gathered a cluster of the roses, and threw
them across towards the other casement, which
remained open. But they fell short of it, and
dropped in the dust and filth of the stones below.
In another moment the shutter of that window was
closed also by that thin, small hand which had such
a charm for him; the little house was like a blind
or eyeless face in front of him.
4 What folly! Does she think me a monster ?'
said Castiglione angrily, half aloud. He regretted his
advances, since they had deprived her of light and
RUFFINO
air ; I10 hated to think of her driven into that stifling,
dusky little interior, whilst the birds sang, and the
moon rose, and the great white cups of the magnolias
poured out their perfume like wine. There was no
doubt left in his mind that she had acted out of fear
of her lover's jealousy. Castiglione had a wide ex-
perience of her sex, and he did not believe in his
own presence causing alarm or aversion in any
woman. But he hated to think of her cooped up
indoors, and deprived, through his fault, of any con-
solation for her wretched fate which she might have
been able to gain from the enjoyment which his
roses and his nightingales offered her.
He went down the marble stairs into the gardens,
and picked up some smooth pebbles, and, returning
with these to the loggia, threw first one, and then
another, and then another, against the closed shutter,
Ruffino watching the action with keen excitement
and a puzzled countenance.
Boys threw stones, he knew, and dogs often felt
them, to their sorrow; but why his master should
throw these he failed to imagine. There was not even a
cat on the roof. Though to Ruffino this action appeared
wholly aimless, yet the pebbles went, one after another,
against the wood; but they produced no response what-
ever. The little corner house was barred to the outer
RUFF J NO
61
world as completely as though, it were a zenana in
the East.
4 What folly!' he repeated : such senseless terror
and such prolonged obstinacy irritated him ex-,
tremely. An invitation to walk in his garden was
not an insult to scare either the shyest woman, or
the most jealous guardian of her, out of their wits :
and the goodness of his heart made him sorry that
she should be deprived of the cool evening air
through his own unconsidered and harmless over-,
tures.
The last flush of lingering daylight faded; the
moon rose higher in the heavens; the soft notes of
the scops owl thrilled through the darkness. Castig-
lione, vexed, irritated, and perplexed, paced up and
down the length of the loggia, repeating to himself
fragments of Ariosto and Tasso which came back to
his memory from boyish days: the binding of
Angelica and Medoro in their love-knots, and the
slaughter of Rinaldo by the nymphs with the white
lilies. It seemed to him as if he himself had been
bound by such magic bands, and slain by a white-
lily.
V
Ruffino, casting now and then a careful glance at
his master to be sure that he came to no harm,
62
RUFF1N0
remained beside the balustrade, peering down into the
lane, and ejaculating every now and then a wuff!
wuff! of warning to the inhabitants below. In his
own mind he was always turning over the question
of whether a jump into it would, or would not, be
prudent as regarded his own bones. He was forbid-
den ever to go out anywhere alone; but he did not
attach much importance to the virtue of obedience:
a dog so often knew what was best and wisest to do
so very much better than a man could possibly know.
A man has no nose to speak of; the human olfactory
nerves are defective, blunted, contemptibly limited
in what they perceive: to the finer nerves of the
canine nose the human nasal organ is but a mere
elementary pretence of a nose, and, to the mind of
a dog, the possessor of such an imperfect guide must
inevitably go astray.
Maida could find Scott across seas and strange
lands by her nose alone; Scott could not so have
found Maida.
So that Ruffino, though he knew well that he
was forbidden to go into the lane, or anywhere
indeed, except the gardens, by himself, would not
have deemed it necessary to observe the injunction;
it was only the difficulty of violating it which
troubled him. He could jump with great sureness
RUFFINO 63
and agility, but the lane was a long way down below
the loggia, and he was in doubts whether to alight
on those stones would be an agreeable sensation.
Buffino, like all dogs, was of the Epicurean philo-
sophy: unless a cat or another dog forced him into
such a state of excitement and emotion that he lost
all control over himself, he was always careful not to
incur unpleasant sensations or run any risks to life
or limb. In defence of his master he would have
faced lions and tigers, devils and men, unhesita-
tingly; but then his master was never in any kind
of danger, so that Buffino was at liberty to consider
his own safety and comfort as completely as he
chose; and he did consider them, with a Pepys-like
interest in himself, and a Montaigne-like calmness of
judgment, which only in rare occasions of excitation
ever failed him.
Philosophically he now sat and weighed carefully
the chances of the descent.
How deep was the drop into the lane? How
sharp were the uneven stones paving it ? Would
the game be worth the candle if he got there?
Would the roses have thorns if he went past them ?
Would he be any truly nearer the cats when he had
taken the jump, or would they all retreat instantly
into cellars at his mere approach ?
64
RUFFINO
These questions absorbed him as he sat, with his
ears cocked and his ruff raised very high, looking
over the edge of the .balustrade into the gutters
beneath him.
Kuffino's imagination was lively, and his passionate
instinct to alter, to interfere, and to command was
equalled only by that of the present German Kaiser:
he saw himself as he would be if he could only get
down there, scattering the children, experimenting
on the youths' ankles, sternly interrogating the dogs,
exploring the dark interiors, and chevying the breath
out of every cat alive there. ' The harmless, neces-
sary cat,' said the natural-history books. Harmless ?
■—a creature who could spit like a soda-water bottle,
and scratch like a human virago! And necessary ?
—what strange tastes must those have had who could
ever have found her so ! Why, a cat was such a low
creature that she even ate the rodents which she
killed! In Ruffino's estimation there was no lower
depth of ignominy.
The dwellers in the lane had lighted their little
flaring, foul-smelling, petroleum-fed wicks, and these
sparks of light blazed now here, and now there, in
darksome doorways, and in open holes which did
service as windows, thus making coarse and clumsy
imitations of the flitting and flashing of the fairy-
RUFFINO 6.5
like fireflies witli which the gardens were at that
hour animated and illumined.
Cautiously and softly the closed shutters of the
corner t cottage opened, and the dimly-lit interior,
which so interested Castiglione, was once more
visible; he did not move or speak, but through
the foliage watched anxiously.
His young neighbour was again at work;
sewing-work, over which her head was bent assidu-
ously. It looked to him like some coarse shirting at
which she stitched so unceasingly, the oil-wick burn-
ing feebly beside her, her profile outlined against the
shadows like a white cameo cut on a dark ground.
He held his breath and sat, immovable, watching
her through the network of the rose-foliage.
An hour passed on, and the maiden had never
lifted up her head from her sewing. Suddenly, above
the other noises of the passage-way below, he heard
a harsh, coarse voice, raised in fury, and saw the
old Yeneranda Pilotti standing in the young girl's
chamber, yelling at the top of her voice, and shaking
her fists in the air, her white, shaggy hair streaming,
and her lean form quivering with rage.
' Pay the rent, or out you will pack! Pay the
rent, or I will sell you up 1' she screamed, with a foul
oath. 'Pay the rent, or out you will pack, you,
F
66
RUFFINO
and your sick man, too! Let him take up his bed
and walk. A Jew was bid to do it once, and a
heathen can do it now.'
< I will pay you as soon as I can. Pray have
patience. Until now we have always paid you,'
replied the girl, without shrinking, and with simple
dignity; but in the tension of her clasped hands,
and in the deadly pallor of her face, he could see the
violence of the emotion which she controlled.
The old woman shook both her fists in the air,
and thrust her face across the table, until it almost
touched that of her tenant, or lodger; the girl shrank
back, with instinctive aversion, from the contact.
' Oh, you are proud, you minx; you are too dainty
to be touched by me!' yelled the old woman, made
more furious by that involuntary action. ' I am an
honest woman, I pay my way, I owe nobody any-
thing; and you, you worm, you beggar, you pagan,
you think yourself too fine to be breathed upon by
me ! I'll teach you what you are, and what I am !
I'll have the law on you! The sheriffs officer and
the carabineers shall bundle you out neck and crop,
you, and your sick man, and we will sell your
clothes off your back, as you've got nothing else. We'll
sell the shoes off your feet, and the shift off your
body, and the shirt off his, or his shroud, if he die
RUFFINO
67
to-night! Yon shall see, you shall see ; we will pack
your sick man off to hospital, and you can go on the
streets—why not ? You have got a fortune in your
face, and yet you are not ashamed to shut yourself
up here, and defraud an honest woman, when you
could get '
' Silence !' said the girl, coldly. 1 You can sell
what I have, if you please; it is your right, I know.
But you have no right to insult and to outrage any
one.'
The woman laughed brutally.
c Oho! you can use fine words, can you, and
play at being a fine lady ? You beggar's brat from
over seas, how dare you give yourself airs! You
heathen, as penniless as a rag doll! Pay me, and
then you can act the lady if you like, and starve on
your fine words, for aught that I shall care. Pay me,
I say ! Pay" me! pay me ! pay me!'
' I am sorry, but I cannot.'
She spoke still very quietly, even coldly; to the
looker-on at this pitiful scene it seemed as if he saw
a delicate doe of the forest being torn and badgered
by a butcher's bitch.
His impulse was to call aloud to the old harridan
that the rent should be paid by himself in the
morning; his even stronger impulse was to descend;
f 2
68
kUFFINO
into tiie lane below, and mount the stairs of the
little house, and choke the beldame into silence with
a handful of bank notes.
But the remembrance of the sick man restrained
him, chilled him, made him doubt whether this
scene, like the terror at sight of himself a few hours
before, was not only an admirable piece of acting.
A man may be moved by the purest chivalry,
but his enthusiasm will pale and halt before the
thought that it will only serve another lover who
has forestalled him in the life of the woman who
interests him.
And this sick man—where was he ? How came
it that he did not find strength to say or to do
something in defence of her ? How could he lie
like a log in that inner room, not even lifting his
voice in her vindication ?
If not so ill that he was at the point of death,
surely such insults to a person beloved must give
momentary strength, even to a fainting heart and
palsied limbs ?
The whole place was so small that it was
impossible for any one living in it not to hear, in
an inner chamber, all that passed in an outer one.
Was he sleeping a sleep of stone, like the Emperor
Barbarossa beneath the mountains of the Untersberg ?
RUFFINO
69
The old virago, swearing all the furious and
filthy oaths of the Eoman vernacular, spit across
the table in sign of uttermost scorn and loathing,
and, vowing by all that was holy to have the law
on her tenant on the morrow, left the room with
violent gestures, her lips seeming to emit flame and
foulness as she went.
When the rickety, small door had closed on her,
the girl sank down on her seat, and losing all her
calmness and self-command, dropped her face upon
her hands and sobbed bitterly.
Castiglione, unable to control himself any
longer, rose, crossed the loggia, and descended the
marble staircase into the gardens, then went to a
little postern-door which opened out on the lane.
This door was never used, and its massive bolts were
rusty and almost immovable.
But after some minutes' laborious effort, he
contrived to drag them out from their sockets, and
to make the little door turn sullenly upon its hinges,
Buffino all the while watching his endeavours with
an eagerness and wonder which filled his whole frame,
from the tip of his nose to the tip of his tail, with
intense and tremulous excitement.
Was he going to get into the lane at last ? But,
alas for his hopes! Castiglione, as he opened the
7°
RUFFINO
door, put his little friend back into the garden.
' Wait there, Ruffo,' he said, in a tone against which
Ruffino, by sad experience, knew that there was no
appeal. His master shut the door on him inexorably,
and he was left with nothing to do but to scratch
madly at the wood and fill the air with lamenta-
tion.
Castiglione crossed rapidly the angle between his
own wall and that of the convent of the Sepolte Yive,
and went to the little house. He had never been in
the lane before. He knocked at its low, rounded,
ancient door, which some one within was just barring
up for the night.
I Who is there ?' asked a voice, which he recog-
nised as that of the old woman who had stormed and
raved upstairs.
II am the Duke of Castiglione—open!' he an-
swered, in a low tone; he did not want to be seen
or heard when on this errand, and he was afraid that
Ruffino's piercing howls would attract the attention
of some of his household, who would discover that
the postern-door had been opened, and would,
perhaps, bar it afresh, and thus cut off his re-
treat.
The door of the little house unclosed, and a flare
of petroleum light, and the odour of garlic and herbs
RUFFINO
71
and decaying vegetables, came into bis face. Tbe
old woman berself stared at bim, silenced, agbast,
and paralysed witb awe. Never before bad one of
tbe House of Montefeltro been seen in tbat lane
witbin tbe memory of man.
He entered tbe bouse, making a gesture of
silence, and drew tbe door close behind bim.
i I beard you speaking to your tenant or lodger
upstairs,' be said, sternly. ' You are a disgrace to
humanity. If you were not a woman, and old, I
would give you over to tbe police. Here are three
Napoleons, double tbe amount of your demand. Say
nothing, but do not trouble tbe—tbe—persons
upstairs, and merely tell them tbat you will allow
them time. Remember, that I shall know exactly
what you do or say; and if you speak of this matter,
you will get no more money from me. Be wise and
prudent, and learn to use decent language, as
becomes your sex.'
Then be left her as abruptly as be bad addressed
her, and re-entered bis gardens by tbe postern-door,
Ruffino receiving bim witb frantic capers, and leaps,
and circles of delight, as though be bad returned
from a journey as long and perilous as Marco
Polo's.
It bad been very unkind in bis master to leave
72
RUFFINO
him behind;' but the generous little soul of Ruffino,
with a dog's magnanimity, forgave and forgot that in
his ecstasy at his beloved one's safe return.
Castiglione went up the marble staircase lost in
reverie. He knew that the charm of his gold and
his name would protect his neighbour from all
further persecution, and that the old woman's self-
interest would safely purchase her silence.
Ruffino followed, meekly and sadly; when the
first effervescence of delight had passed off, a sense
of pained offence, of wounded dignity, replaced it:
he had been pushed back and shut up in the garden;
there was evidently something down in the lane
which it was not thought proper he should see. And
why ? He was a travelled dog, a dog of the world;
a dog who knew men and manners, who was (versa-
tile' in the true sense of the word. Why should he
be treated as if he were a baby or a puppy ? And if
there had been any danger down there, how could
his master ever possibly have gone into it without
his (Ruffino's) companionship and protection ?
It was a mystery and an affront. Ruffino ex-
pressed his sense of the injustice of it by the slant of
his tail, and by that stiffness of gait which, in dogs
as in men, expresses and symbolises wounded senti-
ments.
RUFFINO
73
• The attitude was, unhappily, lost upon his master,
who was thinking of the act he had done, dissatisfied
because it was so little, and yet restlessly doubting
whether the interest he felt in the sorrows and
troubles of his neighbour was not a mere wasted
folly. If she lived with a lover who had dragged her
into such misery, was it for another man to take her
out of it ? He knew absolutely nothing of her, and
a high-bred sense of delicacy had made it impossible
for him to gratify his curiosity by making any in-
quiries of the wretched old woman below. His pride
had restrained him, and a nobler feeling also: it
seemed to him mean and ill-mannered to play the
spy on persons whom he befriended; cowardly and
unworthy to turn an act of charity into the means
of discovering their secrets.
Whatever or whoever they were, they needed
pity, and were poor.
'Ah, Euffino, what a misfortune it is to be a
sentimentalist! To think that all the pretty coquines
who have flattered, and tricked, and robbed me,
have not taken all this kind of nonsense out of me!
I daresay this child with the Cenci eyes, and the
white-rose cheeks, is no better than they were,
though she is reared in a harder school. Who is
the man, Euffino? Who is the white-livered cur
74
RUFFINO
who spends his days in bed, and does not even raise
his voice in her defence ?'
Ruffino could not interest himself in the ques-
tion. He had been considered unworthy to investi-
gate the mysteries of the lane, and if his master
felt worried by what he had seen there, it was an
accident for which Ruffino was clearly not respon-
sible. He occupied himself, with much ostentation
of indifference, in going round after his own tail to
capture a flea lodged in it.
Rleas, he considered, were subjects of much more
serious difficulty than human fancies and fiddle-
faddles.
Castiglione, glancing through the leaves, saw
that the girl had resumed her sewing: her face
looked ashen pale in the light of her lamp; she was
working as if every breath of life depended on each
stitch.
'She must love the man,' he thought, 'for
certainly no more miserable fate than this could ever
be offered to her.'
He was ashamed to think that even the old
woman who owned the corner house might divine
his weakness from his intervention between her and
her victim, or that his servants bringing his coffee
or his letters out on to the loggia might suspect
RUFF J NO
75
the reason which made him take his seat on that
side of it where the noises from the lane were
audible.
Conscience makes cowards of the bravest; and
he was conscious that the attraction to which he
surrendered himself was not wise, or flattering to
his dignity. But it was stronger than himself, and,
whatever suspicions his intelligence and experience
might bid him entertain, one glance at the pure,
pale profile of his young neighbour, and at her
slender, ever-busy hands, sufficed to scatter them to
the winds.
But his warm and tender sympathies were
checked by the misgivings as to the reality of that
which excited them. He had been the object of too
many solicitations and schemes on the part of
women not to have become sceptical with his mind,
although his nature was impulsive and trustful.
His experience told him that all which excited his
interest might be a mere picture, artificially arranged
to excite his curiosity and pity. With his heart he
believed in her undoubtingly; but his acquired
wariness and incredulity made him sensible that
the romance and pathos of the situation might very
possibly be only parts of an ingenious fiction.
Like all men of generous character, he had been
76
RUFFINO
in his earlier years both robbed and duped. He
knew that it was extremely probable that all which
so affected and attracted him now, might be but the
clever mise en scene of a melodrama carefully de-
signed to draw him at once by his pity and his
passions. Then, he had been absent from Rome three
years, and, according to the witness of the neigh-
bourhood, she had lived thus more than that space
of time. Still, it was possible that, if she were the
companion of a penniless and jealous lover, she might
have seen in the arrival of the heir of Montefeltro
an occasion for other and more advantageous
intrigues. He hated to think so, for suspicion to
fine natures always seems contemptible and base; but
his good sense, and his sad knowledge of life, forced
him to admit the possibility of it.
Every man resents the idea that he may be the
dupe of his better emotions; and there were'times
when, if he had not been tied to the spot by his
father's state, he would have gone out of the city to
shake off the too patent seduction of this mystery,
so near to him, yet so intangible and unchange-
able.
Some half-hour after his ascent to the loggia
that evening, the major-domo approached him
■with a message from the house-physician, to require
RUFF1N0
IV
his presence for a moment indoors. A change had
been observed in his father's state: he was breathing
heavily, and his eyes had unclosed; recovery was
almost impossible; it was thought that this faint
movement, this feeble flicker of consciousness, must
be the precursor of the final change of all.
Castiglione hastened across the house, and to the
apartments occupied by the Prince, and, reaching his
bedside, stooping, spoke a few gentle words. His
father's eyes had a momentary glare of recognition,
in which there was little kindness or affection; then
their wrinkled, swollen lids drooped over them again,
and he sank once more into the sort of trance, half-
stupor, half-slumber, in which he had lain, and might
yet lay, so many dreary days.
'I will sit with him to-night,' said his son; and
did so, whilst Euffino slept, or watched fitfully, hidden
under the bed; and the deep bells of the many
churches around tolled the ho\irs in succession with
slow beQming strokes.
73
RUFFlNO
VI
Ruffoto, lying thus, motionless, and very much bored,
under the dying magnate's couch, meditated long and
sullenly on the slight which had been put upon him,
and on the means by which he could possibly compass
an unperceived descent into the lane. The chief
difficulty which presented itself to his mind was the
disloyalty involved in leaving his master. He had
never left him, voluntarily, for an hour, and it was a
desertion which would, he felt, be extremely repugnant
to him, to allow his dear friend and owner to remain
unprotected even for ten minutes. But then he had
been insulted and ill-treated by that beloved friend;
he had been thrust back into the garden and shut up
in it. The blow to his self-appreciation had been
severe, and the stimulus which it gave to his curio-
sity was immense and irresistible. On the whole,
the outrage which had been done to him decided him,
if he got the chance, to go down into this mys-
terious terra incognita, no matter what the cost. He
had seen the dogs who dwelt there scratching and
smelling so madly and indefatigably amongst the
rubbish-heaps, that the always-keen imagination with
which he was gifted (or cursed) was heated to boiling
RUFFINO
79
over, and the conviction grew upon him more and
more that something very extraordinary and ex-
quisitely delightful must be concealed down there.
The long hours wore away, and the rose of dawn
spread over the city.
The dying Prince had sunk again into a lethargic
slumber, and lay like a log of wood beneath the
stately gold and red of the baldachino. The sinister
figures of Magliabecchi and Don Antonio, with that
of the nun in attendance, were black silhouettes
against the light of the wax candles. Castiglione,
with a slight, irrepressible shudder, walked noise-
lessly across the great chamber and opened one
of the windows. The beautiful radiance of earliest
day shone through the cross-bars of its iron grating.
He stood and looked out at the azure and opal hues
of the sky; his heart was heavy as though, with the
death which was impending, there would go away
from him all peace and power and plenty, instead of
his fortunes being tripled and his liberty confirmed
by it.
There was something in the manner of this death
—silent, sardonic, supine as it was—which added to
its awe and horror; something which showed that
human life was no more in the relentless passing of.
time than a felled tree, than a blasted rock.
80
RUFFINO
1 If your most illustrious would like to retire,
there is no immediate danger; the present state is
likely to be again prolonged,' whispered Maglia-
becchi, as he came to his side, creaking, with elaborate
caution, in stiff shoes, over the mosaic floor.
Castiglione thanked him, and withdrew to his
own rooms to take a bath and sleep for a little while.
Outside the bath-room Euffino paused, and sat
down. He never entered willingly where there was
any rushing and splashing of water. Twice or thrice
every month he was himself forced to undergo the
indignity of being washed by the servants. He
abhorred any sight or sound that even hinted at the
abominations of soaps, and sponges, and streams, hot
and cold, pouring out of taps. So he sat outside all
bath-rooms, invariably, whilst his master chose to
enjoy those things within. And whilst he sat here
now, it seemed to him that the hand of fate pointed
to a propitious hour for the safe exploration of the
Yiccoloof S. Anastasia.
The sense that the end of Montefeltro's agony
was very near made the household at once subdued
and careless, preoccupied and inattentive. He had
been a great man, in the sense of dominion and
tyranny and possession, and his death was no slight
event in his household and in his city.
RUFFINO
Si
It would bring many changes with it, and the
functionaries and attendants and hangers-on, of
whom the name was legion, talked with bated breath
and anxious faces of the chances of their future. It
was known that the heir had but little love for the
4black brood' which his father had fed and sheltered
for so long. The chief cause of dissension between
his father and himself had been their widely-differing
estimate of these parasites and hypocrites, who led an
indolent, useless, incumbering life, telling their beads
and filling their bellies under the shadow of the great
Montefeltro escutcheon.
There was no one, therefore, to observe or check
the adventurous movements of Ruffino, as, knowing
very well that he was doing wrong, he trotted down the
corridor, with his tail hung low, and his eyes looking
from side to side with a very guilty apprehensiveness
of remark.
The gates of the great entrance would surely be
shut, he reflected, and it was of no use whatever to
think of going out by that way; the back doors of
the offices were too far off to make it wise to waste
time in trying them on a mere chance of their being
ajar; there was nothing really sure except to jump
down into the lane from the loggia, and run the risk
Gr
82
RUFFINO
of what the pointed, uneven stones might feel like
when he got to them.
His mind once made up, he acted on it with the
promptitude and decision which marked his nature.
He sped through the well-known apartments with
the utmost swiftness; and although some of the under
servants were polishing the massive floors, and
dusting the walls and furniture, no one of them
dared to stop him, and ask what he was doing.
Ruffino's character was not one with which inferiors
cared to take liberties. Whenever they attempted
to do so, they repented it.
In less than a minute of time he coursed through
the spacious and numerous rooms, all lying open to
the soft, clear daylight, passed out on to the loggia
and approached that wjestern part of its balustrade
which looked upon the longed-for lane: he had his
moment and his means. A coward would have
quailed; but Rufflno was of great courage, and knew
neither timidity nor indecision. Even his habitual
prudence and philosophic self-regard were forgotten
in the intensity of curiosity and the overwhelming
impulse to enjoy his liberty which had come like a
delirium upon him. He put one paw over the stone
parapet, and looked down: the descent was steep, the
stones were sharp, the fall would be uncomfortable.
RUFFINO
83
He surveyed the depth below with one foot in the
air and both ears cocked. He hesitated, doubted,
almost abandoned the enterprise; but in that one
instant of irresolution he saw a cat—the same
wretched, tall, scraggy, skeleton-like yellow-and-
white cat he had so passionately loathed when he
had seen her from above, and which now stood upon
a doorstep, and seemed to his excited imagination
to be grinning sardonically at his fears.
Ruffino paused and pondered no more; he put his
other foot over, slid into the tangle of the tea-rose on
the wall, and, rather scrambling down than leaping,
let himself drop unresistingly on the rugged cobble-
stones below. Happily for himself, he fell on a heap
of mouldy straw which had been pitchforked out of
one of the miserable stables opposite, and he rose to his
feet, stunned for the moment, and with the sensation
of having had all the breath knocked out of his body,
but otherwise unhurt, and sound in limb and wind.
His first thought was for the cat, but she was
gone; the sight of his fall had scared her out of her
senses, and sent her flying up the street. He stood
a moment, and gazed up at his deserted loggia. How
very far away it seemed!
Even Livingstone's and Burton's and Stanley's
spirits may have quailed momentarily on first finding
q 2
84
RUFFINO
themselves alone in a barbarous and unknown land.
For one brief, ignoble instant Ruffino wished himself
;s&fe back on his cushion beside his master's breakfast-
«able, drinking his cream and tasting anchovy-toast
and potted prawns. The next, as became his race, he
shook himself with a snort of defiance, and surveyed
the scene into which he had come.
He was a little shaken and dulled by the fall,
which had been severe, although so greatly mitigated
by the mouldy straw: he was not quite himself, not
altogether so brisk, so self-possessed, so imperious of
temper, and so conscious of important missions com-
mitted to him, as he had always been hitherto. And
the aspect of the place was not as inviting as he had,
when viewing it from above, imagined it to be. Two
poor, lean, mangy mongrels were staring at him from
a safe distance, and another cat, a grey-striped one,
sat insolently aloft on the edge of a gutter, and peered
over at him from that secure elevation. The house
nearest him was a tumbledown place, scarcely more
than a shed; in the doorway a ragged woman sat
stirring a pan of beans over a charcoal brazier, and
behind her, on the dirty wall, hung cats' skins and
rats' skins, and, horror of horrors! dogs' skins too.
Ruffimo understood that his master had been wiser
than he had thought in forbidding him to approach
RUFFINO 85
the precincts of this charnel-house. But although he
was in himself disgusted and regretful, bon sang ne
'peut mentir, and he rose to the occasion. The de-
lightful excitement which he had anticipated from
the escapade seemed all, somehow or other, to have
evaporated as soon as he had touched the stones; but
it still remained incumbent on him to preserve his
dignity, and call those impudent and plebeian dogs,
who were staring at him so rudely, to account.
There was a noise and confusion in this narrow
roadway which seemed to him altogether wrong and
offensive; the whole scene reeked of filth and dis-
comfort, two things odious to the well-ordered mind of
Ruffino : and the refuse-heaps, which from above had
looked so mysterious and tempting, were on close
observation mere piles of foul dust, which had been
searched through and through already by famished
canine canaille.
He was so much disgusted that he barked offen-
sively, imperiously, violently.
As much insult and scorn can be put into a bark
as can be conveyed by a human sneer or frownthe
bark of Ruffino was a trumpet-blast of defiance and
disdain as gallant and fearless in its way as the blast
from Roncesvalles.
It restored his own self-respect, but it made him
86
RUFFINO
scores of enemies, as onr pride is apt to do for all of
us. Boys, who hitherto had not noticed him, shouted
' Brr—r—r—r! there's a fox-dog,' and shied stones
at him; a mastiff, who "belonged to a tripe-seller,
came out of a shed with bristling bach and stiffening
tail; the two lean curs showed their teeth, the
children yelled. In an instant the intruder, who had
been unnoticed before, became the centre of curiosity,
irritation, suspicion, malevolence; even the miserable
yellow- and-white cat came out of her hiding-place,
and arched her back, and spit at him from a safe dis-
tance.
But these antagonisms and offences roused all the
temper of Kuffino to boiling-heat, and all his natural
hauteur and high-handedness returned to him re-
doubled in intensity. He dashed into the cat, rolled
her over, and shook her in the dust; then he bolted
at the two staring curs, and hit out at them right
and left, whilst they yelled in terror and shrieked
for mercy; then, nothing daunted by the mastiff's
enormous size and superiority, he went for him, his
own little white body quivering with rage, his snowy
ruff standing erect in fury, his black eyes blazing fire,
his silver bells clanging and clashing violently. But
the sinewy hand of the old woman who had been
stirring the beans over the brazier clutched him by
RUFFINO
87
the neck, whilst with her other hand she flourished
her hot iron ladle.
' Here Bau !' screamed this woman to the tripe-
man's mastiff, warning him off. £ Here Bau! The
little one's got a rare fur coat of his own. .Don't you
throttle him, Bau, or you'll spoil it for the trade. A
knife'll do his "business neat and clean. I'll slit his
pipe and skin him in a brace of seconds.'
Kuffino, struggling like one possessed, hung help-
less in the savage grip of the old witch: in vain
he strove to free his throat and use his teeth; in
vain he tried to curve his body in such wise that he
could kick and scratch with his hind feet; in vain!
in vain! She held him in a grip of steel, whilst she
pulled his gold necklace roughly over his head, and
then banged on to his poor little writhing body with
the hot and heavy iron ladle.
In a few moments more the knife would have slit
his throat, his gallant little spirit would have been
quenched for ever, his pretty white coat would have
been hung bleeding on a nail, and his body would
have been thrown on to one of the refuse-heaps. But
a good angel descended to his rescue.
1 It is the Duke's little dog ; you must not touch
him !' said a voice which seemed to fall from heaven
on his ear; and a young girl, with not less courage
83
RUFFINO
than his own, thrust her way through the barking
dogs, the shouting children, the dust, the noise, and
the cruelty, caught the woman's wrist with one hand,
and with the other grasped Ruffino.
f It is the Duke's pet, I tell you. You must not
touch a hair of his head. Give him to me; he is all
bleeding; you have hurt him! You wicked people,
you have hurt him!' said his defender, who looked
like a young Saint Dorothea come down from a
fresco of Raffaelle, with her shining hair catching
the sunlight, and her face flushed with excitement
and a holy wrath.
The people and the children fell back, the uproar
ceased; the woman involuntarily relaxed her grip on
Ruffino, although she grumbled:
' The Duke? the Duke? What is the Duke to
me ? Get you along with your dukes. Let him pay
me if he want the little beast back.'
' Pay you for trying to kill his dog!' cried the
girl with indignation; but by this time she held
Ruffino safely in her arms, and, not waiting to bandy
more words, she clasped him, all bleeding as he was,
to her breast, and ran indoors; into the little corner
house where the herbs and vegetables, brooms and
charcoal, filled the entrance.
Ruffino offered no resistance; he was half-stunned
RUFFINO 89
by the blows of the iron ladle, but through his dulled
perceptions a sense of safety thrilled; he felt that he
was in the arms of a friend.
She sped with him up the short, steep, stifling
wooden stair, and entered her own room—that small,
neat, bare, whitewashed chamber in which she
painted her images by day and stitched her linen by
night.
He knew very well that he was in that little
corner house which was opposite his own beloved
loggia, and he kept trying to rise, craning his neck
to see the wall and the trees of his home out of the
tiny window of the place in which he was, and
whining and moaning in most piteous strain.
' You want to go to your master, you poor little
fellow,' said his saviour, with compassion and sym-
pathy. ' If Yolodia be awake, I will ask him what I
had better do.'
She left Kuffino a moment, and went into the
inner room, where on a low pallet-bed a youth was
sleeping. His slumber was so tranquil and so deep,
and his pale, worn face looked so peaceful in it, that
she withdrew without making a sound which could
disturb him, and stood a moment or two, thinking,
and gazing at the little dog.
«Poor Ruffino! dear Rufflno! how could you ever
QO
RUFFINO
be so foolish as to go down into that wretched lane!'
she said tenderly, knowing his name from having
heard it often called on the loggia by his master and
his servants.
She laid him down on her bed, and with fresh
water and some soft rags proceeded to wash his
wounds. They were not deep, but they were numerous.
The cat had scratched and mauled, the mongrels had
bitten, the woman had bruised him, and he was
bleeding in several places, though his thick coat had
saved him from any mortal hurt. He allowed her,
gratefully, to do what she chose to him, and lay
motionless on the bed after drinking thirstily. In
his soul he was profoundly humiliated : he had failed
altogether in his explorations, and he had been igno-
miniously vanquished by his inferiors. No doubt, he
thought, the wretched cat had picked herself up, and
was sitting, grinning in triumph, somewhere ; whilst
as for the woman!—a thrill of unspeakable rage
and horror ran through his aching little body as he
thought of her, and her hot iron ladle, and the dried
dogs' skins hanging to the wall.
The girl touched him with the greatest care and
tenderness, and also with a certain skill, as of one
accustomed to suffering and its treatment, and would
have made him a comfortable little bed upon her own
RUFFINO
9i
pillow. But Ruffino, as soon as his pain and morti-
fication allowed him to become in any degree himself,
was pining for his home and his master.
She had just decided in her meditations that,
much as she disliked to approach the palace, she must
carry the patient to the gates, and bid the porter
there restore him to the Duke, when her patient, who
could not use one of his legs, limping hurriedly, despite
his wounds, to the casement, whined, howled, trembled,
tried to mount, and failed, and showed every sign of
violent agitation. The girl looked across at the
loggia, and saw Castiglione, who was leaning down
over the balustrade. Tragic as had been the events
occurring in the time, the time itself had been brief;
not more than ten minutes had elapsed since Ruffino's
imprudent and perilous descent. Castiglione, upon
leaving the bath-room, had missed his little friend,
had dressed quickly, and had come to seek for him on
the loggia; he was now looking up and down, whist-
ling for and calling him by name.
The young girl caught the dog up in her arms,
and held him up to the window.
c Sir,' she cried aloud, breathlessly, 1 sir, he is
quite safe, look! but he is much hurt; he had
jumped into the lane, and the people were cruel. I
have done all I could for him. He wants to come to
92
RUFFINO
you, but be cannot; be must not jump, be bas been
bleeding/
All tbe wbile tbat sbe spoke Ruffi.no was strug-
gling frantically to leap out of ber arms, forgetful of
bis wounds. Sbe struggled to retain bim; ber bair
was loosened in tbe combat, and fell about ber shoul-
ders. In ber excitement sbe conquered ber sbyness;
agitation and interest gave colour to ber cbeeks, and
animated ber large, sad eyes; sbe looked scarcely
more tban a cbild in years.
' I will come for bim,' said Castiglione, deeply
moved. ' How can I tbank you for your goodness
in defence of my poor little dog!'
' Tbank me by not coming bere,' said tbe girl,
hastily. {Tbere is your garden-door; I will put bim
in tbere, and you can take bim. No, no! I entreat
you, Signor Duca, do not come bere !'
Sbe disappeared, as sbe spoke, from tbe casement,
carrying tbe struggling Ruffino with ber. In another
instant Castiglione opened tbe postern-door, and met
ber tbere. But before be could address or detain,
sbe put tbe little dog inside, and fled away.
' Do not follow me, pray do not!' she cried, as
sbe ran away; and tbere was so genuine an appeal in
tbe accent of ber voice, tbat be perforce obeyed ber.
* Sbe is afraid of tbe man who lives with ber; ha
RUFFINO
92
must be a jealous brute. Tbere is excuse for
jealousy, for she is lovely and interesting beyond
compare,' thought Castiglione, as he stooped over
Ruffino, and examined the wounds and the bruises
which had punished his small friend's disobedience.
Ruffino gave a long sigh of satisfaction: here was
his garden, here was his master, he wanted nothing
more; but he felt crestfallen, humiliated, subdued;
he closed his eyes, and lay motionless in his owner's
arms, to be borne gently up the marble stairs.
'Ah, Ruffi! I would never have believed that
you would have left me under any temptation what-
ever,' said Castiglione: and this was the only reproach
or rebuke which the culprit received.
All was well that ended well, and the wounds
were not severe; the worse part of his injuries, to
him, was that the detested Magliabecchi came and
looked at them, and ordered one of the servants to
wash them with arnica, and basely made them an
excuse to try and administer a pill. To this last
outrage, however, Ruffino was, even in his suffering,
too much master of himself and of the position to
submit; the dose was successfully resisted, and spat
out into the leech's face.
His master, as soon as he had placed the truant
in safety, and seen his wounds attended to, returned
94
RUFFINO
to the loggia, only to find the wooden shutters shut
at the little house, and all means of oral commu-
nication ended for the time. It was evident that,
although she had rescued the dog, she had no in-
tention of making her good action a means of
increasing her acquaintance with his owner.
c The sick man must be thrice over an Othello,'
he thought, and pondered on what he could do to
testify his gratitude, and open the way to knowing and
seeing more of her. Her beauty and her timidity
fascinated him, and she had seemed to him still
lovelier in the full morning light than she had done
in the rays of the lamp and the moon. The courage
too, which, on inquiring into the facts, he found
that she had shown in saving Ruffino, had been of
no common order. To have any one of so much
charm and youthfulness so near him, and yet so
completely severed from him, captivated the romance
of his temperament, and awakened that kind of
passion which finds root and increase in difficulty.
How could he recompense her ? To offer her
money was impossible. If he sent her any gifts at
all, he foresaw that they would be sent back to him.
He might aid her indirectly, but never directly.
Besides, who was the man who shared her existence ?
who burdened it, or sweetened it, and, at all events,
RUFFINO
95
in some way or other, usurped it ? The memory of
this unknown stranger poisoned his peace and tainted
his memories of her.
The wooden shutters remained closed all that
evening.
On the following morning, almost as soon as the
sun rose, he returned to the loggia with an eagerness
of anticipation of which he was half-ashamed.
The windows were open, but no one was visible.
' Signorina! Signorina!' he called, as loudly as
he could without being overheard by the people in
the lane, who were all standing about and'gossiping
of the past episode, and looking upward, anxiously, at
the loggia, some afraid of the vengeance he would
take, some furious with the girl's interference, all
passionately regretting that they had not recognised
Ruffino, and so acted as to procure a large reward.
1 Signorina ! Signorina !' repeated Castiglione,
softly, ' will you not listen to me for one moment ?
Believe in my gratitude, at least, if you will not
accept my friendship.
But he obtained no reply.
So far as he could see into them, the two little
chambers were empty. He watched them in vain. He
thought he could distinguish voices speaking in the
[inner room, but the sound was indistinct. He could
96
RUFFINO
obtain no response, and he walked to and fro, on the
black and white pavement of the loggia, restless and
vexed.
At last he bethought himself of writing to her, and
tying the note to a stone, and throwing it across.
His consciousness of the extreme interest he took in
her restrained him from sending any servant to the
place. He went indoors, and wrote a few lines,
expressing his deep sense of obligation for her rescue
of his little favourite, and entreating her in return
to command his services in any way; he hinted that
her burdens must be great, and asked for her con-
fidence, and her permission to be of use to her. He
signed it with his full name and titles, tied it to a
small fragment of marble which was lying on the
loggia, broken from one of the pilasters of the
balustrade, and threw it, with a sure aim, in at the
open window at which she had so often sat.
He heard it fall on the bare brick floor.
It was sent to a nameless woman, who, to all
semblance, lived with another man; it was not a
prudent or a sensible action, but it was one which
pleased him, and gratified the romantic side of his
temperament.
And, after all, the service she had done him
was great, for his regard for Kuffino was no
RUFFINO
97
common liking; tlie little, shrewd, devoted, clever
creature was very dear to him, and for six years had
been part and parcel of his life.
Ruffino himself, having now torn off all his
bandages, and licked his wounds with his tongue,
in a much surer surgery than Magliabecchi's, was
walking after him, very stiff indeed, and with one
leg useless, but absolutely refusing to stay on the
cushion and wear the appliances ordered for him.
His own way had proved a disastrous way to him for
once ; but, for all that, Ruffino was not going to be
dictated to by a quack. So long as there was a
vital spark alive in his body, he thought, he would
resist such degradation as that.
His beauty had gone for the time being:
his coat was dirty, and smeared with bloodstains,
which had been only imperfectly washed off; one of
his eyes had been scratched by the cat, and was
temporarily closed; and the useless limb had to be
carried in an elevated and crooked position, which
took from the dignity of his general appearance.
But within, his spirit was dauntless, although his
pride was hurt. Gibed and grinned at by a cat, stared
and mouthed at by mongrel dogs, seized by one
woman, and saved by another woman; all this was
humiliation and mortification which made his tail
H
98
RUFFINO
droop low indeed; but bis soul was still undaunted
witbin bis breast, and be bad torn up tbe arnica
bandages into a thousand atoms, and bad limped out
after bis master on to tbe loggia.
Castiglione watcbed till be was tired of watching,
to see some one enter tbe room and pick up tbe
letter, which he bad purposely placed in a large
envelope, and sealed with bis arms, that it might
attract attention. But no one appeared.
' Your good angel is invisible, Ttuffino; perhaps
she has returned to tbe skies,' he said to tbe little
dog, who was busied in tbe endeavour to remove
from bis white coat every mark of his recent en-
counter.
Castiglione remained there until it was mid-day,
and tbe marbles of tbe pavement were hot with tbe
blaze of tbe Sun which poured down through tbe
cloth of tbe awnings. Then be went to bis noon-day
breakfast with a sense of disappointment and irri-
tation.
He could appreciate tbe delicacy with which she
refrained from every possibility of attracting his
attention, or seeming to await bis thanks for tbe
service she bad done to him. But be wanted ex-
tremely to increase bis acquaintance with her, and
learn who and what bad brought her to earn her
RUFFINO
99
bread so arduously in a strange land; a strange land,
for, although, she spoke the language of the country
fluently and faultlessly, there was that foreign accent
on her tongue with which he was accustomed in the
salons of Rome to identify Russians. It was pro-
bably because she was Russian that the people of the
lane, and his own gardener, called her a pagan, and
the picture which hung in the corner of her room
was embossed with metal, and was, to all appearance,
an Eikon. He had seen her on certain days set a
lighted lamp before it.
He was occupied all that afternoon by urgent
matters of business, and by visits from great digni-
taries of the Church, who could not be welcomed by
subordinates. His father remained in the same state,
and at any hour might pass away. Scores of persons
were awaiting his orders, his directions, his answers
to momentous inquiries. He remained several
hours indoors, and Ruffino, who was in much pain,
although too proud to complain of it, stayed also in
the great state-room where Castiglione received his
visitors and applicants, and, curled up on a velvet
armchair, lay eyeing enviously, with his uninjured eye,
the silken-clad legs of the prelates and the priests:
next to a cat and a doctor, Ruffino hated a church-
man.
2
100
RUFFINQ
It was a beautiful day, warm without too -great
heat, golden, dreamy, and fragrant. Castiglione be-
grudged its long, light hours passed in the carefully-
darkened room, under the domed ceiling painted by
Pietro of Cortona with the processions of the Flora-
lian games. He grew weary of the elaborate cere-
monial of inquiry and condolence, of the long formal
interviews, of the reiterated stereotyped phrases;
and he shuddered to remember how many of these he
would have to endure in the future.
He was as content as a released prisoner when at
sunset his last visitor withdrew, and he was free at
last to traverse the apartments and go out into the
air. The hush and dew of evening were in the
atmosphere as he went out on to the loggia, followed,
as by his shadow, by the small, and now limping,
figure of Ruffino. The honeysuckle and lime-
blossom in the garden below poured out their fresh
perfume, and met the heavy odours of the blossom-
ing magnolias.
How many thousands of such nights our Rome
has known ! How many thousands of dead lovers, in
such nights as these, living, have here declared upon
each other's lips their loves eternal!
Castiglione approached the balustrade, and looked
through the screen of the rose-foliage. He saw the
RUFF1N0
101
girl at tli© window, standing, as Beatrice Cenci may
oftentimes have stood, steeped in the sweetness and
the fragrance of the air.
She was, he thought, waiting there on purpose
to see him, 'for she was not working: her lamp was
unlighted, and her hands rested on the rough stone
sill of the casement.
She started a little as she perceived his eyes
looking at her, and heard his voice addressing her
through the leaves between the marble columns.
4You found my letter?' he asked her, softly.
4 Pardon the rude fashion of its arrival for the sake
of the sincerity of its contents.'
41 found it,' she answered, her voice reaching
him in return, low and clear, across the chasm of the
passage which divided them. 41 thank you very
much for what you say. I did but little for your
dog, and there is no need that you should think of
what I did for a moment.'
41 rejoice to think of it,' replied Castiglione,
warmly. 4 It was a noble and courageous action.
Let it be a strong and enduring link between us;
will you not ?'
The extreme sadness of her face grew still more
pathetically grave as she shook her head.
4 There cannot be even any acquaintance between
102
RUFF IN0
us, Signor Duca. You are a great nobleman, and I
am a poor person, a work-girl. I only speak to you
to-night because it seemed so churlish, so ill-bred, to
say nothing in answer to your generous words. But
I beg you never to address me again. It is the only
kindness you can do to me.'
'Why?'
' For a thousand reasons. You may have seen, or
guessed, that I work for my bread, and—and I do not
always gain it. If you notice me you can only hurt
me. I have promised one whom I love dearly, and
who has but little time left on earth, never to speak
to you; and though I break the promise to-night in
order to thank you for your letter, I do wrong, and
I will never do it again.'
The words were quiet and resigned, but there was
an intense hopelessness in their sound which was in
dreary contrast with the youthfulness of the lips
which uttered them.
'The man who lies yonder?' said Castiglione
quickly, and with a sense of personal offence and
anger. ' The man who is ill ? It is he whom you
care so much for. What is he to you? and why
should he warn you against me, alone, of all the
human race ?'
' He is my brother, and he is dying. He did not
RUFFINO
103
warn me against you especially., He made me pro-
mise when we came liere never to speak to any
strangers whatsoever.'
' Your "brother !' said Castiglione, with a sense of
relief and pleasure at his heart, which was succeeded
by that vague scepticism which becomes second
nature to men of the world. 1 Is it your brother,
then, who lives with you ? Is it he for whom you
toil so hardly ? Tell me a little more. "What
country are you from ?—Russian, if my ear does not
play me false.'
1 Yes, we are Russian. Yolodia, my brother, is
the Count Nelaguine. My name is Yera Nicolaievna.
My brother was an officer of the Guard, but he
became a Revolutionist; he was driven into Nihilism
by the arrest and banishment to Tomsk of a dear
friend; he would have been sent himself to Siberia
if he had not left the country secretly. He brought
me away with him, quite suddenly, one night. Our
parents were dead, and our relatives were harsh, proud
people, who abhorred his doctrines, and would not
have raised a hand to save his life. We came to
Rome because Yolodia has great talent as a land-
scape painter; and for the first two years we could
live fairly, though only in this little house. We had
brought nothing with us except some pearls which I
104
RUFFING
had round my throat, for we had to fly at a moment's
notice. But Yolodia sold his sketches well, and we
were happy. But six months ago he was caught in
a thunderstorm on the Campagna; he was drenched
to the skin; it brought on rheumatic fever, which
left him stone-deaf, and his heart is weakened by it.
I think he cannot live long.'
Her voice shook, and she was silent from the
strength of her emotion. Castiglione was silent, too,
from a sense of the utter insufficiency of any words
to give her any consolation; he felt, no doubt, that
she told the truth—there was a simplicity and a
sincerity in the expression and utterance which for-
bade him to doubt her for a moment.
Standing by the window, with the light from the
skies upon her face, she looked so young, and sad,
and desolate, that any man who could have doubted
her would, he thought, have been a monster.
' I am very sorry that you should have to bear
such great sorrow so early,' he said at last; 11 can
only repeat what I said to you in my letter—let me
be your friend. Allow me to do for you what I
can.'
She shook her head.
Yolodia would never consent. He would be
Very angry if he knew that I had even told you as
RUFFINO
105
much, as this. Your gardens, and the birds in them,
have been a great comfort to me. Do not force me
to shut the shutters; it is so dark and so dull then.'
£ Force you to shut them ? What can you mean ?
I am too rejoiced if you have gained any pleasure in
this place.'
£I must shut them if you will talk to me. I
cannot disobey Volodia. I think he is calling me
now. Good night.'
£ But surely I may come and see your brother ? *
£ Oh no, indeed! He would not see you if it were
to save his life. Good night.'
'Wait; I will go away in a moment. On my
honour I will go away. Only, for heaven's sake, have
your window open this warm night.'
£ Will you really go away ? '
£ I will really, if you wish it.'
£I do wish it. I mean—I must obey my
brother.'
£ I will go away this time, at all events. Enjoy
the moonlight and the nightingales in peace. But
I want to hear so much more, so many details. Would
you write me your story, that I might understand it
better ?'
4 Yes; I should think I might do that, if Volodia
does not mind.'
io6
RtlFFINO
1 Why should you tell him ? •
' I tell him everything.'
' That is very honourable and noble of you.
Heaven forbid that I should tempt you to any
secrecy. But you must remember that sick men are
often apt to be tyrannical, capricious, and unjust. At
least, you must promise me that you will not shut
your windows.'
' I will not shut them if you also promise not
to speak to me. I cannot disobey Yolodia. He is
helpless, and cannot see or know what I do.'
' That is a delicate and noble scruple. I would
not tempt you, if I could, to stifle your conscience.
But it pains me to think that my mere presence
should debar you from the enjoyment of looking on
my trees and listening to my birds.'
i We have been here three years,' she said with a
sigh, 1 and I think it has been the pleasure of these
gardens and the sweet air from them which has
kept me alive. Ho, I have never been into them.
But that does not matter: I can see into them, I can
see the birds making their nests, and I can watch the
leaves budding and the flowers coming, and when
there is no noise in the lane I can hear the splash of
the fountains. You know, without a garden one
cannot tell how the seasons come and go: those
RUFFINO
107
tea-roses are a calendar; tlie birds are like a clock.
I can tell tlie weather, and the months, and the
hours, all by the birds. Every moment that I can
spare I spend in watching them. I wonder you are
so much away from this beautiful place.'
' Alas! I have lost the fine sense that would
make me content with these fair and innocent things,'
said Castiglione. ' But it rejoices me that you have
found such pleasure here. You have passed three
summers in this place ? Without change ? Without
fresh air?'
'It has not hurt me,' she answered; 6 it has hurt
Volodia. You know a young man frets and chafes
so cruelly; a girl is naturally more patient. And
then I learned to bear disagreeable things at the
convent, and I was used there to long, dull days. He
had always enjoyed himself, and only knew what it
was to enjoy; it has been so much worse here for him
than for me: he misses so much more, he needs so
much more.'
' You have a generous heart,' said Castiglione.
' It is the fault of your brother that you have this
misery to endure.'
' He cannot help it. He was drawn into these
conspiracies. I think he sees now the uselessness
and madness of them. But it is too late.'
io8
RUFF1N0
' How could he, an officer of the Guard, plot
against his sovereign!'
' Yes, it was disloyal; it was wrong and treache-
rous, perhaps: but the suffering of the people makes
any extremity excusable in those who feel for them.
You know, the worst excesses of Nihilism has a cer-
tain beauty; there is a great courage, and devotion
to the nation; it is heroic, it is unselfish.'
4 You are more so.'
'1 ? Oh no; I only do what must be done; and
that comes to so little. I have no great talents; I
am not like Volodia.'
'But, unaided, you have maintained him for
eighteen months.'
' Yes, that was nothing. And I am disobeying
him now, and that is wicked.'
' You adore your brother ?'
She hesitated, and he concluded that it was less
affection than pity, habit, and duty, which chained
her there.
' He has no one but me,' she answered, with a
little colour passing over her pale cheeks. ' I must
go to him now, if you please. You will force me to
shut the shutters.'
' Why should you be afraid of me ? I admire,
revere, I '
RUFFINO 109
cI am not afraid; I am not at all afraid now.
But I have promised him.'
If yon wait a moment, only a moment, I will
bring yon some flowers.'
He went into the salon, where he had caused a
bouquet of orchids and stephanotis to be put a little
while before in readiness for what he wished to do
with it if the occasion offered.
' Catch! ' he cried to her; and he threw the
delicate blossoms at her from the balustrade.
She caught them skilfully, and her pathetic,
Cenci-like face flushed and lightened with childlike
eagerness and delight.
'You are very good to me,' she said, simply.
' But do not give me any more. Yolodia would not
like me to take them, if he knew. But I will tell
him when he wakes that you meant well. Good
night.'
' Good night,' said Castiglione, who would
have, fain followed the road that his orchids had
taken, and been received as they were. ' Good
night, and do not forget your promise to write
to me.'
She smiled: a smile which momentarily chased
away the sadness of her face, and showed what it
would look like were her fate a happy one.
no
RUFFINO
' I will write once, if you wish it so much.
Adieu; take care of the little dog.'
Then she turned from the window, and Castiglione,
keeping his promise, went away with reluctant steps
from the balustrade.
VII
One person beside Ruffino had noticed the attrac-
tion which the loggia possessed for the future
master of the palace; and this was Don Antonio, the
chaplain, whose rooms, contiguous to the chapel,
looked on the lane, and, obliquely, to the loggia.
He had imparted his information to his comrade,
Magliabecchi, whose own apartment was far away, on
the other side of the house; and Magliabecchi had
immediately taken the loggia under his observation.
From one of the adjacent windows he kept an eye
on Castiglione's movements, and he saw that the
Duke did indeed pass a great deal of time there; and
saw also, that the point of interest was evidently that
little house which joined the convent walls.
The following evening, when he was watching, his
quick eyes caught the sight of a letter tied to a stone
being thrown through the creepers over the balus-
trade. Castiglione was safe indoors at dinner at
RUFFINO
HI
the time, and the physician, with a daring which
would have become a better cause, stole out into
the gardens, and from'the gardens came up into the
loggia, trusting to the shadows of evening to conceal
him, and went with noiseless movements towards
the balustrade. If only the dog inside would not
bark, he thought.
Ruffino, inside, did hear, and did bark; but his
master was dining, and did not attend.
So, stealthily glancing around him, Maglia-
becchi picked up the little piece of marble, undid the
string, and read the note. Contempt and astonish-
ment blended on his features. The contempt was
for a man who, commanding all that the world could
offer, could waste his time thus; the astonishment
was that a girl who had nothing in the world could
fail to avail herself of the advantage of having found
favour in the eyes of such a man.
There is always one domain into which the rogue
cannot enter, even in imagination : it is the domain
of high and delicate impulses, of fine and generous
sentiments. This region is to the rogue closed by
an impassable barrier, and, when he fails, he fails
for want of being able to comprehend the language
which is spoken in this kingdom of the soul.
1 The girl must be an archi-comedian,' thought
112
RUFFINO
Magliabecchi; 'and our Duke is a fool, an exaggerated
fool, as lie lias always been.'
Then he tied the note on to the bit of marble
again, and put it back on the spot where it had been
lying previously.
The note was signed by her full name, and that
name struck a chord of remembrance in the busy
brain of the doctor. He could not immediately
recall what was connected with it, but somewhere,
somehow, he had heard or seen it before. He stood
in the moonlight pondering, his big, bloated, crafty
face puckered up in meditation.
After a while he remembered fully, and he went
indoors, into that chamber where it had been the
habit of the dying Prince to conduct all his corre-
spondence, and have all letters answered under his
dictation by his secretary, or, occasionally, by Maglia-
becchi himself. Magliabecchi had duplicate keys
of all the bureaus and cabinets in that suite of
apartments, and had often laughed to himself,
noiselessly, to see his master so carefully locking
drawer after drawer, believing their sanctity in-
violable.
He went now to one, and, opening it, took out
several files of letters. He found what he wanted
after some search. It was a letter from the French
RUFFINO
"3
Ambassador at St. Petersburg, an old friend of Monte-
feltro's, asking him to inquire for and befriend a
young girl named Vera Nelaguine, who had shared
the flight, for political reasons, of her brother, one of
the Counts Nelaguine, and lately an officer of the
Guard; the writer added that, for obvious causes, he
could not be seen himself to stir in the matter, but
would personally be glad if Montefeltro would find
out these young people, who, as he understood, had
hidden themselves in Rome, it was thought some-
where in the Trastevere.
The letter was three years old. On the back of
it was written, in Montefeltro's stiff, small writing:
' Replied that I could not interest myself in
revolutionists and persons of the Greek Church; no
more heard of this matter.'
Magliabecchi slipped the letter in his pocket, put
back all the others, and locked up the bureau.
He had no definite idea of what he could do
with the paper, but in view of Castiglione's present
caprice it was possible that it might be of value,
either to keep or to destroy, as it was clear, unbiassed
evidence of the right of the girl to the name which
she bore. Magliabecchi's experience had always
shown him that knowledge is always, in some way
or another, a power.
*
ii4
RUFFINO
Then lie composed his countenance into the
professional expression suited to the bedside of his
illustrious master and patient, and took his way
across the house to the Prince's rooms.
It was none of his business, indeed, if Castiglione
made love to his neighbour; but Magliabecchi for
forty years had made it his business to know every-
thing that went on under the palace-roof, treasuring
it all up for possible use, and deriving from it a
pleasurable sense of omniscience and omnipresence.
It was thus that, for a score of years, he had managed
to keep in leading-strings which were unfelt and
unseen, the haughty, suspicious, and tyrannical
character of the Prince of Montefeltro, who, seeing
in the doctor a minion, had in reality had in him a
master.
Castiglione dined with little appetite this evening,
and paid slight attention to the conversation of his
cousin of the Guardia JSTobile, who dined with him.
His mind was entirely absorbed with what he had
heard, and with the remembrance of the girl's face
as she had given him that one brief, sweet smile,
whilst the flush from the evening skies had fallen
upon her.
All his own comfort and ease, and the luxury
which surrounded him, seemed to him unkind and
RUFFINO
115
unjust, as base evidences of the cruel inequalities of
chance.
'You are not well, my dear Ezzelino,' said his
cousin to him. 'You are shut up too much. You
should go out, and ride once a day, at least, over the
Campagna.'
'I am well enough,' said Castiglione, with im-
patience; ' and as my father may pass away at any
moment, I cannot leave the house until the end
of all has come.'
After dinner his cousin proposed 6cwte, and they
played several games. The card-table was set out
on the loggia, but Castiglione had it carried to the
opposite end of the long terrace, on the plea that
there might be a noise from the lane which would
disturb them disagreeably. He was very absent-
minded and inattentive, and lost almost every game.
'Are you in love with one of the nuns of the
Sepolte Yive ?' said his cousin; ' you are abstracted
enough to be Oliviero carrying on with Virginia
de Leyva.'
'Those times are past,' he answered, angrily;
' romance is dead.'
But in his heart he was passionately eager to
pursue his own romance, and goi and see if there
were any letter for him lying by the balustrade.
1 2
ii6
RUFFI.NO
"When Ms cousin, having won a good deal of
money from Mm, took his departure, Castiglione
went to the marble chair, from which he had
watched the windows of the little corner house.
On the pavement was the same fragment of marble,
to which his own letter had been tied, and a little
note was fastened to it; the shutters of the corner
house were open, but all was dark within.
He carried the note to the light which fell from
a lamp suspended in the loggia-roof, and opened it
with eagerness, unconscious that Magliabecchi had
been beforehand in its perusal.
It was written in haste, and with much agita-
tion, and was at once formal and simple; yet in its
sedate lines there were that pathos and veracity which
touched his heart as no lamentation and exaggera-
tion would have done.
She did not add very much to the outlines of
the history which she had already given him. She
and her brother were of a noble family of the pro-
vince of EsthoMa; the young man had been an
officer in the Imperial Guard, had been involved in
Nihilist schemes, and, to avoid arrest, and a certain
doom of either execution or lifelong exile to Siberia,
had been forced to fly in disguise at a moment's
notice; he had taken his sister with Mm, leaving
RUFFINO
117
lier no choice, and carrying lier off from her first
ball at the Winter Palace. They had been already
three years in Rome; he had had talent as a
draughtsman, and sold his sketches fairly well. One
fatal day he had been overtaken by a storm of rain
on the Campagna, when he had been heated by long
walking; he had the malarian fever, and after that
had been seized-by rheumatism; he had never re-
covered the use of his lower limbs, and he was now
stone-deaf. She coloured religious images by day,
and sewed linen by night. The Russian doctor,
Basilewsky, who lived in the neighbourhood, was,
she said, very good to them; they wanted for no-
thing. On this point she was very resolute: they
wanted for nothing; she repeated it again and again.
Of course, it was possible that all she had said
and all she had written was mere acting, mere
admirable acting; but he did not think so. Unseen,
he had observed her laborious life, her constant
exertions, her patient acceptance of a toil for which,
visibly, neither her tender age nor her social con-
ditions were fitted.
If her tale were true—and he did not doubt it
—how profoundly pitiful was her fate! A fate so
terrible that it was wonderful she should find such
courage and such calmness to support it. And how
IIS
RUFFINO
could lie help her? He could perceive no way to
do it, for he was certain that nothing which would
seem a gift or an alms would be accepted either by
her or by the young man who had dragged her down
into this sordid and friendless existence.
In a postscript she added that the owner of the
house, who at first had been unkind, had now con-
sented to give them time to pay their rent. The
letter concluded with thanking him for his offered
kindness, but begging him to allow her to discon-
tinue his acquaintance, as her brother disapproved
even of her writing thus. It was signed by her full
name: Yera Nicolaievna, Countess Helaguine; and
as a second postscript she had added: ' Pray take
care of your dog, for he is venturesome.'
The whole note was written in French, in pure
and elegant language, and its style was calm, direct,
and simple, plainly narrating facts, and seeking no
theatrical effect.
'They want for nothing, she says!' thought
Castiglione. £ Good Heavens! what an heroic lie!
What can one do in the face of such a declaration ?
They want for nothing, while every hour of her
existence is toil or misery! What a brave child!
The soul of St. Agnes is in her, with the face and
the body of Beatrice.'
RUFFINO
119
He read the note again and again by the light of
the lamp, whilst the songs of the nightingales, sing-
ing in rivalry, came clear and strong from the dusky
gardens.
Then he sat down and wrote back a reply to her,
and when it was written went down the staircase
into the grounds beneath, bidding Ruffino stay above.
He went to the farthest end of the great gardens,
where the tropical glass-houses were, and entering
one of them, made a bouquet with his own hands
of the finest gloxinias blossoming there, carried the
flowers upstairs, tied his letter to them, and threw
them across, in at the open window of the little
darkened house.
It was a rude passage for the hothouse
blossoms, and they were sadly bruised as they
struck on the cold brick floor; but she would be
sure, he thought, to find them there some time
that night, and, as she was so fond of flowers, they
would please her.
' She was your good angel, Ruffino,' he said, as
if to excuse himself to his four-footed friend for so
sentimental an act. Ruffino, who was more occupied
with the wrongs done him by the arnica, and the
unavenged insults of the yellow cat, licked his
bruises, and made no response.
120
RUFFINO
The episode had been a painful one to bis body
and to bis spirit; be wished to make baste to get
well, and forget all about it, being convinced of the
wisdom of the advice, i Oubliez! oubliez! G'est le
secret de la vie' All the same, be meant to pay off
bis enemies with interest some time, and be equally
intended to befriend bis saviour, if the occasion
occurred.
Castiglione read the note once more, and then,
again, a third time.
41 will send in the morning for this Doctor
Basilewsky,' be said to himself, as be watched the
dark, open window through the leaves.
In balf-an-bour's time be saw her enter the little
chamber, bearing a very faintly-burning little lamp,
which threw no light around her. He saw her stop
and stoop, then saw her lift the gloxinias from the
floor, and hold them up to the light in astonishment;
then, hurriedly, she closed the shutters, and he saw no
more; but he strove to be content with the fact that
she had kept his flowers.
It was then midnight.
"With early morning he sent for the old Russian
doctor; a small, dark, aged man, with an ugly,
intelligent countenance, who was much amazed and
disturbed at the summons to the Montefeltro Palace.-
RUFF J NO
121
He was an obscure person, an exile, and wholly
unknown beyond the poorer classes of the foreign
students.
Castiglione met him with a charming urbanity
which put him at his ease very soon, and told him
candidly that what he had observed and guessed of
the pressing needs of his poor neighbours made him
desirous to ascertain all he could about them, with
the hope of alleviating their troubles.
Basilewsky was willingly communicative. He
confirmed the -statement of the young girl: her
family was of high rank; her brother a self-exiled
revolutionist, who had only escaped the scaffold or
the mines by flight; their parents were dead, and the
other branches of their family would have nothing to
do with them; their estates and all they possessed
had been forfeited to the State. The young man, he
said, was obstinate, wayward, talented, and was
wearing his soul out of his body by impatience at his
calamity and shame at his dependence on his sister.
Of her he spoke with tears in his eyes: it was
impossible to praise her too highly; all the mute
heroism, the saintly endurance, of which the Russian
character is capable, were at their finest and fullest
essence in her. He had known her all the three
122
RUFFINO
years that she had been in Borne, and he had never
heard a murmur from her lips.
She had great cause of reproach against her
brother, who had dragged her into exile and misery
when he might have left her in peace in her own
land; for she had been only sixteen years old, and
fresh from her convent, and her relatives would have
dowered and married her well if she would have
detached her fortunes from his. But he had never
heard her utter a word of blame or of repining, and
he believed that she had never spoken or hinted one
to her brother.
1 And he is content to live on what she gains ? *
said Castiglione, with disgust.
Basilewsky smiled mournfully.
4 Content ? What can he do ? His limbs are
useless, and he is stone-deaf. He suffers agonies of
shame and of remorse; but that is of no use. He
cannot undo what he has done, and he cannot rise
off his bed, or gain a crust of bread, with his crippled
hands. He would kill himself, were it not for the
misery that he knows his suicide would cause his
sister.'
1 But is his malady incurable ? If he is so young,
there may surely be hope ?'
1 It is incurable when allied to poverty. Perhaps,
RUFFINO
123
if lie had means to move, to go to Royat, Mont Dore,
Champel, Contrexeville—any one of those places
where miracles of recovery are wrought—such a
miracle might take place for him. But he cannot
stir out of this city, out of that house. He can have
nothing that he needs. She starves herself to give
him the best she can, but that best is poor indeed.
He grows weaker and weaker; he cannot last
long/
' It is dreadful,' murmured Castiglione, strongly
affected by the desolate and hopeless story. ' It is
frightful. I would do anything that was possible.
Would they not accept ?'
'The man will accept nothing until he draws
his last breath,' replied Basilewsky, 'and the girl
will never disobey or deceive him. We cannot
quarrel, my lord duke, with these qualities; it
would be well for the world if they were more
general.'
' Certainly. But '
' There is no " but," sir,' said the old man.
'They are proud people, nobly-born people; they
will perish miserably before they will take an alms
or live on others.'
' But that is suicide.'
'Our nation sees no harm in suicide. In this
124
RUFFINO
case it would be a more honourable choice than life
lived on the bread of strangers.'
' Then you will not urge on him or on her to
allow me to do for them this common charity ?'
' No, my lord; I must decline the office.'
Castiglione was perplexed, distressed, and irri-
tated.
' What mule-heads of obstinacy!' he said, with
anger and regret. Tine! Yes, it is fine, but
there is no sense in it; it is suicide, and it is murder.
The young man will die, and the girl will follow him
to the grave from over-work and scanty food. He
will kill her with his insane exaggeration and
monomania. We could save her, and we could
save him. I would get him the advice of the first
physicians of Europe. I would send him to Mont
Dore, or any other place, to be cured, and he would
probably recover. Does he ever think, in his heroics,
what may be the fate of that child when he shall have
left her on the earth all alone, friendless, penniless,
with a broken heart and ruined health ?'
It seemed to him that the dying youth was a
monster of false sentiments and selfishness.
' Can nothing persuade this young madman that
I am not an ogre or a monster ?' he said, impatiently.
'He shuts his sister up because I have spoken to
RUFFINO
125
her across the wall. It is intolerable! I would be
their friend in any way they would allow. I will send
him wines, fruits, meats, medicines—anything. I will
send a portable chair for him, and my men can carry
him into these grounds to have the air in the early
mornings, or after sunset. Cannot you persuade
him of my willingness, of my good faith ? He may
have a right to kill himself by inches, if it pleases
him, but he has no right to starve his sister to
death, and refuse all honest assistance.'
The old man listened deferentially, but replied
that it was impossible to alter a stubborn and
rooted prejudice; a wrong-headed conviction that in
obstinacy lay honour.
4 He considers that to accept your kindness
would be a disgrace/ he added ; 4 he will die in that
hole yonder sooner than grasp any stranger's hand
to raise him out of it. It is a false view of honour,
in my esteem, but it is his view, and we cannot alter
it. The girl must suffer from it. "We can do
nothing.'
4 She shall not suffer, if there be a heaven above
us!' said Castiglione, with a passionate irritation at
being powerless to force his benefits on a sick and
headstrong lad. It hurt him intolerably to look at
those closed shutters, and to know that this gentle
126
RUFFINO
child, who loved light and flowers, and the voices of
birds, was behind them, working laboriously in the
gloom, deprived of her one solace.
'You are a great lord, a great prince,' said
Basilewsky, 'but there is one thing which you
cannot do—our Tzar could not do it—you cannot
turn away a high and delicate spirit from the paths
of sacrifice and honour!'
' Sacrifice and honour! Folly and suicide, you
mean!' said Castiglione, beside himself with rage
and the chafing sense of his own impotence.
He had, at least, been able to keep their roof over
their heads; but he had no doubt that, were they
to know that, for his interference they would curse
him. Honour was a noble thing, and a rare one in
modern life; but this view of it seemed to him a
morbid exaggeration, a criminal folly. The girl was
a victim of her brother's quixotism and selfishness.
He wrote to her a third time.
' It requires a greater nature sometimes to accept
than to give,' he said in his letter; ' will yours not
be great enough to confer upon me the simple and
innocent pleasure of restoring, or trying to restore,
your brother to health and strength ? I have seen
Basilewsky, who tells me that there would be hope
for him if the right measures were taken. I shall
RUFFINO
127
esteem it an infinite favour if you will allow me to
be the means of giving back to your brother the
enjoyment of life and of youth. I am a stranger to
you, but all Rome will tell you, and him, that no
one has ever repented having placed their trust
in me. Command me in any way you will, and I
shall be honoured by your confidence.'
He hesitated as to the way of conveying this
note to her: he was afraid that, if he threw it, the
action might be seen by some one passing under the
wall: and yet it seemed preferable to him to risk
this than to send it by a servant, who would inevi-
tably gossip about the errand he had done. After
some indecision, he chose the former way: he found
another fragment of marble, and flung it, with the
writing attached, into the room opposite, at a
moment when there was no one in sight below. The
interest of his new acquaintance possessed him en-
tirely: it had come into his life at a moment of ennui
and solitude like a little song in a silent chamber,
like a jewel found on a flat and marshy shore.
The thought that, with all his possessions, all his
social influence, all his wide estates, he was powerless
to force his friendship on a dying boy and a friendless
girl, seemed to him a grotesque irony of fate.
He remained in his apartments without ap-
128
RUFF I NO
proaching the side of the loggia from which he could
watch her windows ; he wished to leave her in perfect
liberty, and not take from her such simple conso-
lation as she was able to find in the air, and the
fragrance, and the birds of his gardens.
Ruffino was glad that he should be thus inactive,
and thus remain in the library, in lieu of the loggia,
for his own wounds were still unhealed, and made
locomotion disagreeable to him, and one of the deep,
soft velvet chairs more pleasant than the marble
pavement. Besides, he had no doubt that the yellow
cat was sitting aloft, on some rain-pipe or house-eave,
waiting to witness and enjoy the spectacle of his
crippled state. -
About ten o'clock, as Castiglione, tired of pacing
to and fro in the sifence and splendour of the vast
library, was about to seek his own rooms, the major-
domo came to him to inform him that the physicians
feared the worst from his father's present state, and
doubted if he would outlive the night. He went
once more to the sick chamber, and there remained
while the slow-passing hours were tolled from the
bells of Borne. He saw and felt that this lingering,
feeble flicker of existence must soon lapse into the
sadness and rigidity of death itself. He fell asleep
himself, now and then, in the great chair in which
RUFFINO
129
lie sat; but rarely, and lie beard all tbe bours toll
from tbe many church-clocks around.
Tbe waxlights burning in tbe silver sconces
sbed a soft, pale ligbt on tbe immovable form
stretched beneatb tbe great gold-alid-purple canopy
of tbe bed wbere, for tbree centuries, tbe Princes of
bis bouse bad breathed their last; even when a
Lord of Montefeltro bad fallen in battle or in a duel,
bis body bad been always brought and laid there in
state upon this bed for all bis retinue and dependents
to come and do bim their last act of homage.
Tbe time seemed interminable: the watching
Sisters counted their beads, and whispered their
paternosters; Magliabecchi ever and again moistened
tbe lips of tbe dying man, or held a mirror to them;
Don Antonio, with bis bands folded across bis ample
paunch, dozed and prayed, and dozed again, and held
bis crucifix between bis folded fingers, now and then,
as be nodded, letting it sink limply from bis bold,
and then awakening himself and recovering tbe holy
object with a nervous grasp. Ruffino slumbered, 01*
seemed to slumber, at bis master's feet; bis black
eyes, half-closed, glanced ever and again at the
churchman and tbe leech, whom be bated. On the
air there was that faint, oppressive scent of drugs, of
anodynes, of anaesthetics, which medicine-men love
K
RUFFINO
to diffuse around a sick-bed, even when the sufferer
who lies on it is far beyond the aid of stimulants or
the solace of sedatives.
Castiglione felt the oppression of the atmosphere ;
and the confused memories and desires of a new-
born and ill-timed passion were warm in his veins and
busy in his mind.
The fleeting, sweet smile of the girl's soft brown
eyes, liquid and deep as flowing waters, and of her
tender lips, the same colour as the pale Malmaison
carnations blossoming in his gardens below, was for
ever before his memory, even in this solemn and
melancholy scene. He could not shake off the
impression which she had made on him; he could
not forget her heroic, innocent, wretched life passed
there within a stone's-throw of his palace; he could
not persuade himself that what he felt for her was
a mere passing caprice, a mere impulse of admira-
tion, such as he had felt a thousand times.
All those many hours in which he had watched
her, himself unseen, had sunk indelibly into his
remembrance, and touched his heart to the quick.
It seemed to him as if she were a part of the summer
skies, the nightingales, the flowers; as if she had, in
the words of the Spanish poet, entered his soul
through his eyes, never to be driven forth from it.
RUFFINO
* X love you! I love you !' lie thought; ' if you
be what I think you, I will give you all I have.'
As he sat in the silent chamber, the things of
the world seemed very poor and useless to him-, and
the joys of the heart seemed the only treasures which
were worth the seeking, or were likely to endure.
VIII
When the bells around tolled five of the clock
he arose,' as he had done in the other nights of his
vigil there, and walked across the quiet room, and
drew the curtains aside from one of the windows, and
opened it, so as to let the earliest white light of day
into the chamber. Then he went out, to cross the
house to his own apartments.
For the first time in their lives he was not fol-
lowed by Buffino.
Buffino, withdrawn from observation behind the
heavy bullion fringes of the. draperies of the bed,
was intensely watching Magliabecchi, and remained
beneath the curtains, letting^ his master leave th'e
apartment without him. So quiet and so motionless
,had the little dog been for so long, that the physician
and the chaplain had alike forgotten that their
arch-enemy was there.
K 2
132
RUFFINO
As soon as Castiglione had gone out of sight and
hearing, Magliabecchi, who was standing by the bed,
turned, and said to the nun in attendance:
4 My Sister, retire for a while; Don Antonio
and I are sufficient for this morning watch; praise
be the Lord, our beloved patron sleeps.'
The nun, willing to obey, made but feeble resist-
ance, and soon left the room. Magliabecchi looked
at the now widely-awakened eyes of Don Antonio.
4 Is it near ?' whispered the chaplain.
4 It is the end,' murmured Magliabecchi.
Valets and servants were keeping vigil in the
adjacent room. The doctor softly closed the great
door opening on to the place where they sat. Th'e
chills of dawn were dangerous.
An hour went by; the dawn broadened into
•day, and the clear, limpid rose-light of morning came
into the room, and fell, through the purple curtains
of the bed, on to the face of the dying man. There
was a look upon it which was not that of sleep.
Don Antonio was the first to observe it, and twitched
the sleeve of his colleague, who was dozing with his
chin on his breast. Magliabecchi started, and rose,
and bent over the bed, raised the eyelids, and laid
his fingers on the pulse.
4Gone at last!' he murmured to the chaplain.
RUFFINO
133
'Hush! call no one; there will he time; we are
alone/
Then, quick as thought, he raised the head of
his dead master with no gentle hand, lifted the
pillows on which it had rested, and took two keys
which were beneath it; secret keys, of fine work-
manship, of which he knew well the destination.
Then, with rapid steps, followed closely and noise-
lessly by the ecclesiastic, he stole silently to an iron
safe contained in an ebony cabinet, moved the
hands of its dial to form the letters necessary to
unclose its bolts, and turned the key in the lock.'
Inside the safe were many other keys, quantities
of bonds and scrip, and heaps of gold wrapped up in
bits of old paper and old envelopes ; there were also
uncut diamonds and other gems. The whole amount
was of great value.
' There is not time for anything else/ he
whispered to the chaplain; 'but these cannot be
missed—nothing is known of them by any living
soul.'
And he proceeded to stuff the jewels and the
packets of gold-pieces into his inner pockets, whilst
Don Antonio did the same. But they had reckoned
without one witness: from where he lay hidden
under the bed, Ruffino, with only three legs to serve
154
RUFFINO
him-, but with -the speed of lightning in those three,
forgetting his wounds, his bruises, and his stiffness,
sprang upon the doctor, and seized him by the ankle.
All the wrongs of the past—the oil, the arnica,
the threatened pills, the black looks, the sly cuffs,
the smothered hatred— all that he owed to Maglia-
becchi, were paid off now, as he pinned his adversary's
ankle-bone as in a vice, clinging hard and fast, whilst
Magliabecchi shrieked and Don Antonio fled, and the
chest lay open, with its jewels and gold and bonds in
a confused heap, within its yawning iron jaws.
The servants, awakened from their drowsy vigil
in the ante-room, rushed in; but no one dared touch
the little dog, who having at last got his own and
his master's foe well within his grasp, would have
allowed his body to be pulled asunder rather than
leave his hold at any hireling's command.
£ Murder ! Murder ! Help !' shrieked the
physician, delirious with terror. 'Take him off!
Shoot him! Brain him! He is mad! He has
gone mad, I say! Help ! Help ! Help!'
But the servants stood together, frightened,
motionless, some grinning to see his plight, some
guessing his attempted crime, all afraid to risk the
teeth of Ruffino for themselves.
' Call "the Duke! Call the Duke! He alone can
RUFF1N0
take off the dog!' cried one of the varlets; whilst
Magliabecchi, yelling and cursing hideously, struggled
to free himself, and in his frantic efforts to shake off
Euffino shook out the precious stones, and the gold
ducats, and the loose letters from his coat pockets
upon the floor.
' What is all this ?' said the voice of Castiglione
behind the confused and inactive varlets. 4 Euffino,
let go!'
At that moment, unsummoned, he had entered
the chamber, and seeing the open cabinet, the dis-
ordered papers, the terrified man, the avenging dog,
comprehended at a glance what had happened.
4 Euffino, let go ! Come here, do you hear me ?
Come here!' he said to the little dog; and looked
at the thief, and from him glanced to the cold, still
figure on the bed.
4 You have robbed my father forty years in life;
could you not respect him even in death ? ' he said,
in a low voice; then he made the sign of the Cross,
and knelt down by his father's corpse.
-Euffino had let go his hold, with sad reluctance,
at the word of command, and stood, breathless and
panting, pride, hatred, and satisfied vengeance
swelling his little soul with glory; whilst the
.servants, surrounding Magliabecchi, pinioned his
RUFFINO
arms, and held him fast from all possibility of
escape. A solemn silence fell upon the chamber
whilst the son was kneeling by his father's death-
bed: the rays of the sunrise, slanting through the
panes of the lofty windows, illumined the pale,
startled faces of the household; the dark, knavish,
terrified countenance of the thief; the diamonds,
rolling and- shining on the mosaic floor, the gold
crown and arms of the baldachino.
In a few moments Castiglione rose, and motioned
to the household to leave him alone.
' Let the rogue go,' he said to them, { but put
him out of the gates, and see that he never enters
them again.'
Then he stooped, and stroked Euffino.
' Thanks, little one; yon were wiser than we.'
Magliabecchi, as the servants pushed him to the
door, turned, and looked back with longing eyes at
the room where he had so long vaunted himself
master of life and of death.
1 Don Antonio is as guilty as I,' he said, as he
was thrust from the chamber by the lacqueys; he
could not even be true to the man who had schemed
with him, robbed with him, shared with him,
through so many years of plenty and of plunder.
iDear not; your accomplice shall have his
RUFFINO
137
deserts,* replied tlie man who was now his master;
and then he shut the massive doors on them all, and,
remained alone with the dead body, Kuffino rever-
ently watching by his side.
And without, a great awe fell upon the household,
for they knew that the new lord would set crooked
ways straight, and have gorged maws cleared, and
would sweep away the carrion crowd who had settled
there, feeding and fattening, like crows upon a rotting
carcase, on the credulity and suspicion, the bigotry,
and the superstitious fears of their dead master:
the conscience was clear of few of those who dwelt
beneath that roof.
The forty-eight hours which followed were full of
those painful and oppressive duties and ceremonies
with which the death of a great person is followed
for his heir and successors: the obsequies of a
Prince of Montefeltro were always as magnificent
as those of a Prince of the Church.
The etiquette, the ceremonial, the splendour, the
formality were very burdensome to him on whom the
onus of them fell, and seemed to him unending. All
the members of the family, and of the other great
families to which the deceased had been allied, flocked
thither to greet his successor as the chief of the
house, and pay their last respects to the corpse of
!RUFFINO
the dead lord. All patrician and ecclesiastical Rome
passed through his palace-gates.
When at length the coffin, draped in velvet, with
a prince's gold crown resting on it, was left in the
mortuary-chapel, to be taken, later on, into the
mausoleum of the castle in the Abruzzi which had
been the mountain-stronghold of his race, Castig-
lione, now Prince of Montefeltro, was left for the
first time in peace.
It was peace which would speedily be broken by
a thousand demands and duties thrusting on him
from all sides; but for the time being he was alone,
and could breathe freely, and realise all the changes
which the last three days had brought about: he
was absolutely his own master, and arbiter as well
of many lives and many lands.
' I will do what I :can to do good to the people,
and bind myself neither to Church nor State,' he
thought: and it is the only resolve which a man
can take which has any true wisdom in it; for the
Church and the State alike emasculate and imprison
those who remain subject to their dictations.
But it was a prospect which had its terrors for
a lover of ease, of pleasure, and of day-dreams. He
knew well the mass of corruption which covers the
whole administration of property in Italy, and
RUFFING 139
lives like an ulcer in the flesh, in the whole of the
national existence. In the endeavour to administer
all which would come to him honestly, justly, and
with true benevolence, he knew that he would be:
plunged up to the throat in a quagmire of moral filth,
from which it would be difficult to emerge without
being odious to the many human creatures who
crawled and basked and had their paradise in its
slime. He was by temperament and character dis-
posed to like repose and indolence and amusement,
and the vista of intricate and arduous duties which
opened before him in the twilight of the future, on the
threshold of which he stood, was oppressive to him.
For many centuries the stewards, and accountants,
and writers of the Casa Montefeltro had sat in the great
stone chambers of the ground-floor allotted to them,
and spun their financial records, like spiders weaving
webs, undisturbed and unquestioned. From time to
time, when their lord of the moment had wanted
money, he had sent for his head steward, and said:
'1 want so much ; see that it is ready.' And ready
it had always been, in every century, supplied unfail-
ingly, no matter what pressure or what difficulty
had gone to the procuring of it. So long as the men-
of-business were never asked how they got it, they
got it cheerfully, squeezing it out of the land, or the
140
RUFFINO
dwellers upon the land, and quite content so that they
could themselves pocket whatever they chose. Folia
on folio were piled in the muniment room, yellow
and dusty, filled with crabbed characters and millions
of cyphers : to the eye the accounts of the house of
Montefeltro, like the accounts of every great Italian
family, were kept with perfection and exquisite ex-
actitude, the smallest fraction being duly recorded
and accounted for. But all these fair rows of figures
and precise balancing of receipts and expenditures
have never prevented, have only smoothly covered,
that gigantic system of daily robbery by which the
fortunes of these families are undermined by their
underlings as secretly and surely as Eastern timber
by white ants.
Castiglione knew that this system could only be
successfully uprooted and destroyed at the cost of
long and painful effort, and by the acceptation of
infinite odium and misconception; and he knew
that the cleansing of this Augean stable was the
first clear, inexorable duty which stood out before
him in the future. To stop the extortion in the
land, he must first check and choke the robbery of
the administrators.
' And I am no Hercules, to cleanse this filth and
strangle this python,' he thought, ruefully. His
RUFFINO 141
father had let matters go on thus partly out of fear,
partly out of the sense that it was in the main
serviceable to himself, because, only so long as he
allowed these parasites to gorge would they suck
the blood of others at his bidding. But the idea
of turning to his own profit a system so cruel and
iniquitous revolted the new lord.
The days seemed long, dull, and empty.
He had, indeed, many affairs to attend to, and
many persons sought audience of him. He was all-
powerful now, and would be so hereafter; all the
innumerable connections, parasites, and pensioners of
the Casa Montefeltro were eager to propitiate the
rising sun, and were ready to worship him with that
form of gratitude which has been designated as a
lively sense of favours to come. But all this was
uninteresting to him, and was often disgusting, by
the mean aspects of human nature which it revealed;
and the loggia, with its fragrance of flowers and
harmony of birds and waters, seemed like a haven of
rest to him after the mean servility and cringing
avarice of many of his visitors.
Custom had prescribed that he must not leave
the palace whilst his father's body was lying in state
"upon the bed where he had died; but at night, when
sure that he was not observed, he had gone out on
•142
RUFFINO
to the terrace, and looked at the corner house. The
shutters had always been closed, and the clear, white
moon-rays had streamed on them without entering
within.
It disquieted and pained # him to see no sign
of life there.
Was the young man dead? Was his faithful
companion ill ? Had they both, by some miracle,
fled away, and gone elsewhere to hide their silent
misery ?
Ruffino, who disregarded his injuries in the joy
and triumph which he felt in having at last been
even with his hated enemy, went out after him,
and looked also at that little house. His supreme
mission—the confusion and annihilation of the phy-
sician—having been so thoroughly fulfilled, he had
leisure to think of other things, and, amongst them,
; of the debt which he owed to the girl yonder. Ruffino
hated women almost as much as he did cats; but he
did not allow his prejudices to obliterate his sense of
gratitude. But for her he knew that his skin would
be, ere now, hanging on a nail in that horrible den
• below. He would have liked to show his feelings,
and prove that he had a soul filled by that sentiment
of gratitude which is so much stronger and more last-
. ing in dogs than men; he would have liked to jump
RUFFINQ
through her window, and thank her; but the
shutters were always closed, and it was impossible'.'
'She will not accept anything, Ruffino, nor
believe in our good faith,' said his master; -and
Ruffino, a little stiff in the loins, and somewhat
ragged in appearance, sat down before the tea-rose
foliage, and said, repeatedly and irritably: ' Wuff!
wuff! wuff!'
When both he and his master wanted her, why
should she persist in concealing herself ?
The yellow cat was crawling over the roof in
odious ostentation and staring conceit.
That day, and the next, and the next, the
shutters were still shut.
Castiglione was infinitely distressed. He missed
the supreme interest of his days, and it pained him
exceedingly to think that she was deprived of the
pleasure which the waving of the trees and the sing-
ing of the birds had afforded her in all the cooler
hours.
He threw a pebble several times at the wooden
bars, but without obtaining any response. Then he
abstained entirely from approaching that side of the
loggia, and only Ruffino thrust out his little white
head through the foliage to look into the lane which
had cost him so dear.
144
RUFFINO
On the evening of the sixth day after his father's
"burial, Castiglione, wearied, perplexed, and disap-
pointed, telling himself that he would leave Home
on the morrow, for the first time remembered that
it would be as well to look at the various papers
and precious stones which had been dropped from
Magliabecchi's pockets, and which he had hastily
thrown back into the cabinet whence they had come,
without examination of them, when the lawyers had
affixed their seals, as to all other drawers and desks.
The seals were now broken, and the contents be-
longed to himself. He traversed the great, silent
house to the room where his father had died, the
waxlight which he carried with him shedding its
faint light before his feet, and leaving all the Vast
apartment in deep gloom. He opened the drawer,
and took out the uncut diamonds and rubies, and the
three or four letters which had fallen from the rogue
in his flight. The jewels were of great value, the
letters of no interest, except the one which he took
up; that was the letter from St. Petersburg, with
the memorandum written in his father's writing.
He read it again, and yet again. It caused him
at once pleasure and pain: pleasure at the witness
which it bore to his neighbour's veracity, pain at
the knowledge that, through his father's bigotry and
RUFFINO
145
hardness of heart, three years of useless suffering
and want had been caused to this hapless child.
' Oh, Ruffino, what a wise little dog you were
to stop that villain!' he said, as he locked up the
jewels again, and put this Russian letter into his
coat-pocket.
Ruffino, sitting bolt upright, blinking at the
candle, gave a little sound, half-sniff, half-snort,
which meant in its own language:
'Wise!—of course I was wise. It is for their
superior intelligence that dogs are hated and hunted
by human jealousy. You thought the man a rogue,
indeed, but you did not think him so until I had told
you of it again, and again, and again; and though
you knew he was a rogue, you allowed him to insult
me with arnica, and he would also have poisoned
me with a pill but for my own discretion, which you
considered obstinacy and disobedience.'
His master, who did not understand the lan-
guage of these just reproaches, sat awhile, lost in
thought, beside the jewel-cabinet, until the wax
candle, unsuited to the draught of air in that great
chamber, burning furiously, expired before its time,
and left him in darkness. Then he arose, and
feeling his way through those familiar rooms, passed
out into a vast corridor, where the rays of the moon
L
146
RUFFINb
were falling full on the Olympian gods and Thracian
shepherds of the frescoed walls, and went back
through the silent house to his own apartments.
In the morning he sent for the old man, Basi-
lewsky, and in vain renewed all his proposals and
all his arguments.
' Papers have come into my hands which corrobo-
rate the truth of the history which you have told me;
and it is frightful,' he said, earnestly, ' frightful to
think that this young man will die in his obstinacy,
and drag his sister down into the grave after him.
There should be some law against such indirect
murder and self-murder. You will be guilty as an
accomplice if you will not take this madman any
message from me.'
'1 am sorry that you blame me, sir,' said the old
man, meekly. ' But I cannot act otherwise. He is
intractable, and tenacious, as cripples and deaf people
are. He is aware that he has ruined his sister's
present and future. If I were to irritate and offend
him, he would forbid me to go there, and she would
be deprived of my poor services. Besides '
He hesitated a little, and then resumed:
'Pardon me, your excellency, if I speak with
what may seem to you a brutal frankness; but in
such a moment candour is permitted. You are ,a
RUFFINO
147
very great person, of illustrious rank, of large
fortune; no offers of assistance could be accepted
from you by tbese people, nor could I make myself
your ambassador to tkem. That your motives are
pure, I have no doubt; but who would believe that ?
A man of your rank and of your age could not
possibly befriend a girl like the Countess Vera
without creating a position which, you must grant,
no man belonging to her could possibly permit or
profit from without disgrace.'
' No, I do not see it; I deny it, I deny it utterly,'
said Castiglione, with great anger. 4 It requires a
finer nature to accept benefits than to confer them.
I see that your invalid and yourself have both low,
ungenerous, base views of human nature; and as my
views and feelings are honest, and with neither ego-
tism nor infamy behind them, I resent your suspicions
as an affront; and if you let this mad youth perish in
his pride because you cannot bring yourself to believe
in the truth of what I say, you will have killed him
as certainly as though you cut his throat; and you
will have killed her, too, for she cannot long resist
so unnatural, so cruel, so miserable a life!'
He was passionately angry: he had been too
used to have his whims and wishes obeyed to en-
counter opposition without amazement and indigna-
l 2
148
RUFFINO
tion; the goodness of his heart made any doubts as
to his motives appear to him the most intolerable of
outrages; and, beyond all these purely personal feel-
ings, there was the extreme pain of knowing that, do
what he would, this child, with her soul of St. Agnes
and her face of Beatrice, was leading the most
wretched, poverty-stricken, and laborious life—a life
which might at any moment fatally overcome the
weakness of her sex and youth.
Her brother was a madman, Basilewsky was a
monster, and she was as cruelly sacrificed to them
both as any maiden to the Minotaur of old.
Later in the day he asked for and obtained with
the Minister for Foreign Affairs an audience at the
Consulta, and afterwards an interview with the
Bussian ambassador. He was given full confirmation
of the truth of their story, and of their identity with
the young exiles who had been recommended to his
father's pity ; but when he further pressed for some
clemency, some intercession which should restore the
youth to his rank and to his country, he was met by
a polite but peremptory refusal. The offence had
been too grave : criminal in all, in an officer of the
Imperial Guard the revolutionary principles and
intrigues were high treason which should have been
punished by the gallows. Not all his influence and
RUFFING
149
entreaty conld induce tlie Muscovite envoy to promise
him the slightest possibility of pardon.
' Well, it does not matter,' thought Castiglione, as,
after these fruitless efforts, he took his way back to
his own palace, Ruffino, who had now recovered the
use of his fourth leg, trotting beside him, shaking his
new silver bells. ' It does not matter,' he repeated
between his teeth. 11 will marry her ; and then this
wretched youth shall be cured, and provided for,
whether he chooses or no.'
The verification of the absolute truth of her
narrative had removed from his mind for ever those
vague doubts and fears, which had assailed him at
times, lest the romance of his temperament and the
personal beauty of his young and hapless neighbour
should hurry him into an uneven and ill-founded
passion.
To the generosity of his nature, it was the purest
delight to think that the creature1 whom he loved
O j
should receive everything from his hands, should be
lifted up by him, from obscurity and misery, into the
fulness of happiness and the serenity of joy; should be
led, at a bound, from the barren chambers of poverty,
into the splendours of an illustrious and omnipotent
rank.
' My poor, pale, nipheto rose from the north,' he
i5o
RUFFINO
thought, with a tender smile, 1 you shall flower in
full luxuriance, and no wind but the wind of the
south shall blow on you; and your children shall
blossom around you, and you shall give them all your
fair white soul and your valorous heart!'
IX
He dined somewhat more quickly than usual that
evening, dined alone, and left the table to go out on
to the loggia as the golden disc of the moon rose
above the dark woods of his gardens. It was still
early in the night: deep bells were tolling in all
directions around, for it was the vigil of Corpus
Domini; young nightingales were trying their tender,
slender pipes against the full and sustained melody
of their elders' song; and the voices of choristers,
chanting in the chapel of his own palace, rose softly
and mournfully in the chaunts of the Church.
In the lane below there were quarrelling, cursing,
crying; the screams of women, the outcries of
viragos, the mewing and miauling of cats. The dis-
cordant sounds jarred on the peaceful beauty of the
night. He sat down on the marble chair, and waited
until they should cease, and leave the place to its own
-pure fragrance and the notes of the birds. He was
RUFFINO
still lost in thought. The discovery of the letter had
impressed him greatly ; the knowledge that his father
might, by a single kind action, have spared this poor
child near him three long years of labour and priva-
tion, affected him as though it were some slur on his
own conscience, some brutal neglect of his own
doing. He was oppressed by the sense that she
had been so long close to all the luxury of
their daily lives, and had lived in misery which
would have been spared her if she had been given
one fraction of all that the dishonest household
pilfered and purloined every day. It made him feel
guilty and ashamed : so near him all this while, and
denied the bread that the swans on the garden-water
ate, the money that one tropical plant in the hothouses
cost to rear! His heart went out to her with an
infinite tenderness: he had so much, and she had
nothing.
Hour on hour went on; the fragrance grew
deeper as the night lengthened; the noises of the
lane grew less and less; the singing of the nightin-
gales rippled like flowing water through the dark.
He had no light in the loggia; he had extinguished
even the lamp which hung from the roof; he had
hoped thus to tempt her, perchance, to open her
window, in the belief that there was no one there to
152
RUFFINO
see her. But, to his own disappointment, and
Ruffino's great vexation, there was nothing to be
seen of the tenant of the corner house. The shutters
were closed, and neither moon-ray nor sunbeam could
enter into the rooms behind. He alternately paced
up and down the loggia, and sat at watch in the
marble chair, but all was useless. No sign nor sound
rewarded his long patience.
Ruffino, peering through the ivy, could see the
yellow cat, and other of his enemies, but his master
could see nothing of the young Yera.
' It is absurd, intolerable, odious,' thought Cas-
tiglione, all his anger against her brother increasing
tenfold and twentyfold. Had he been less person-
ally interested and vexed, he would have admitted
that it was natural and honourable in the sick
Russian to withdraw his sister from the observations
and attentions of a man of rank, from the dangerous
admiration of a too-illustrious neighbour. But he
was too keenly intent on his pursuit of her, too
sincerely conscious of the purity and generosity of
his own intentions, to be capable of exercising
philosophic judgment. The young man seemed to
him to be a monster of brutality and egotism, and
he bitterly blamed the vile suspicions which could
see in himself a Lothario and a Lovelace.
RUFFINO
153
He was only sensible of his own insufferable
disappointment as the hours passed away, and the
wooden shutters remained closed against all the
brilliancy and fragrance of the summer night.
1 Where is your friend, Ruffino ? ' he said, wist-
fully, to the little dog; and Ruffino cocked his head
on one side, and looked wise, yet puzzled. He knew
that some question was asked of him to which he
could not reply.
Castiglione only left the loggia as the dawn
broke, its clear, white light rising above the crowded
domes and towers and roofs of Rome. With the
morning she must open the house, he thought;
they must be stifled in it as it was. But when the
morning came, and even the noonday, the shutters
were still closed on the upper windows.
Below, the door stood open, and the old woman
was seated at it, surrounded with her vegetables,
and her brooms, and her sacks of dusty, half-
charred charcoal; but at the upper windows there
was still no sight nor sound of life. A chill and
nameless dread came over him. Was it possible
that this Nihilist fanatic had persuaded or com-
pelled his young, sister to die with him, and by
him, in their proud and hopeless wretchedness ?
He knew that men of that character and opinions set
154
RUFFINO
little store upon life, and often regard suicide
as an heroic end to all sentient woes. His appre-
hension mastered him : who knew what dread secret
might lie hidden behind those worm-eaten, un-
painted, wooden bars ?
The girl's devotion to her brother had seemed so
largely infused with fear and obedience, that she
might very possibly have surrendered herself, in
despair, to his will, even in this dread sacrifice.
The full, broad brightness of a midsummer noon-
day was streaming on the lane below and on the
walls of the wretched house. The yellow cat slept
soundly, stretched upon the stones; the people took
their siesta within doors, or under such shade as
tilted carts or mounds of rubbish afforded them ; the
poor, starved dogs forgot their aching stomachs in
blissful dreams, stretched upon the flags; there were
for all those moments of, oblivion which soothe the
most miserable into momentary peace.
In that midday silence the click of the shutter-
hasp sounded sharply. Castiglione, who was stand-
ing in the sun-bathed loggia, went eagerly to the
balustrade, with an exclamation of delight upon his
lips. Alas for his hopes ! It was the horny brown
hand of the old hag, Yeneranda, which was opening
the wooden blind, and it was her frowsy grey head,
RUFF I NO 155
with, a red rag of a handkerchief wound round it,
which peered out from the now open casement.
She had a broom in her other hand, and when
she had flung open the other shutter, he saw her
begin to sweep, with a fierce, desultory dashing of
her broom hither and thither, at wall and floor and
ceiling; the little iron bed was turned up as if it
had not been slept in; the Venetian mirror and
the Eikon were gone ; the table on which the photo-
graphs and prints had been used to lie was bare.
Castiglione cast his dignity to the winds, and
leaned over the balustrade, and called out to her:
'Why are you there? Has anything happened?
Are your tenants ill ? What is it ?'
The old woman dropped her broom, and came to
the window.
' The saints above us, Signor Principe ! how you
frightened me! I thought, of course, it was you who
took them away, or I should have come at once and
told your servants to apprise you of it. How was I to
know ? And I thought, though the rooms are paid
for, that your most illustrious would let me get
another tenant, for I am a lone, half-starved, and
miserable creature, and every farthing is sore
needed '
' What has happened ?' said Castiglione, breath-
156
RUFFTNO
lessly; whilst Puffino, at the sight of the Sor' Vener-
anda's grizzled pate, filled the air with volleys of
barks, which woke the poor mongrels sleeping on
the stones.
The old woman stared hard with her sharp
black eyes. Her surprise was genuine and extreme.
' It is not your excellency, then, who has taken
them away ?'
' Why should I take them away ?' said Castiglione,
angrily. 11 had no interest in them, except pity.
What has happened ? Where are they gone ? Speak
plainly, and I will pay you well.'
Yeneranda Pilotti had a vivid remembrance of
the two new gold-pieces which had passed from his
hand to hers a few days earlier. She tried to speak
as clearly as she could. In the dusk of the previous
evening her tenants had gone out of the house; a
facchino had carried the sick man down to a cart, and
the girl had got in the same cart, and they had been
driven away; it was a common cart, with a mule in
it. They had taken their clothes with them, and the
old picture, which she supposed was their god;
nothing else. They had said nothing to her, and she
had said nothing to them, supposing that the Signor
Principe, having befriended them before, was assist-
ing them again.
RUFFINO
157
She did not say, what was the fact, that the fine
red wine, of which she had bought a barrel with
one of the Napoleons, had been so much too strong
for her that she had been lying drunk in her back
room, upon a heap of empty charcoal-sacks, at the
time of their departure, and so had only learned the
details of it by hearsay from her neighbours when
she had found the rooms vacated early that morning.
She had had no doubt in her own mind that their
illustrious neighbour had removed them, a cart
being used in lieu of a carriage merely for the sake
of attracting less notice in the lane. The experi-
ence of Sor' Yeneranda had not been of a nature to
acquaint her with generous or disinterested senti-
ments, and the interest taken by her princely neigh-
bour in a poor girl who sewed linen and coloured
prints for a livelihood could, in her estimation, have
but one motive and conclusion.
CI hope your excellency,' she whined, as she
leaned from the window-ledge, waving her bony hands
in eloquent protestation, ' will believe me that I was
like a mother to that sweet young soul. I loved her
like my own daughter, and many's the good turn I
have done for her in secret; for she was so proud that
one had to creep like a mouse and hide like a mole
to put the least bit of bread in her mouth. The day
53
RUFFINO
your most illustrious told me that I spoke too quick
to her, I was crossed in the grain because she was
so proud-stomached and masterful, and shut-up in
her misery. But, Lord! your excellency, they were
only words; I was good as mother's milk to her.
My temper may be hot like a peppered risotto, but
my heart is good as gold and true as steel. I was
only now dusting out her room, because, if I may
let it, though it is paid for by your most noble lord-
ship, the gain will be great to me; and if the dear
maiden is gone to a finer home and a better fate,
I will thank the Holy Virgin on my knees every
night, for a sweeter creature never breathed than
she is, and looking a princess born.'
1 Hold your peace!' said Castiglione, sternly. ' I
have nothing to do with her flight, and if you dare
to say that I have, it will be the worse for you.
Ho what you choose with your rooms, but do not
dare to take her name in vain, or you will answer
to me.'
Then he turned away from the balustrade, and
went within to his own house; whilst Veneranda
Pilotti wagged her unkempt head over her broom-
stick.
' He, he, he! Ho, ho, ho!' she chuckled. ' A
fine way my Lord Prince is in because I guessed
RUFFINO
159
his pranks! What is the use of all those lies?
Haven't I seen his flowers, and his letters, and his
star-gazing all these weeks since he first espied the
girl sitting here at this lattice? Nor do I know
why he should be so afraid of having it known. The
old man is dead, and this young lord has got no
wife.'
She vexed herself over the problem all the while
that she swept and garnished and banged about her
rooms; but she could make nothing out of it: a poor
girl was a poor girl; she could not see why the new
Prince should be mightily ashamed of taking one for
sport, as a child plucks a cherry.
' But, holy angels! she's been in luck!' she
said to herself twenty times that day; ' a poor, puny
thing, with no colour, and red hair !'
If he had taken Poppea, now, the daughter of
Pompeo, the scavenger, a fine, black-browed, full-
breasted goddess, who danced the tarantella in a
manner wondrous to behold, then indeed she could
have understood this great lord's condescension to
what was so far beneath him.
Castiglione went indoors with one dread light-
ened, but another substituted for it. Into what
depths of misery might not her mad and heartless
brother have hurried this poor child? Without
i6o
RUFFINO
money, without help, without friends, what could
become of her, with a paralysed invalid on her hands,
and deprived of such shelter and support as she had
derived from a little home familiar to her ? He
divined that Volodia Nelagnine had been the cause
and mover of this sudden disappearance, and that the
obstinacy and rashness of his character had made
him force his sister into an act which multiplied her
difficulties, and drove her out into wholly unknown
conditions of life. Three years, at her age, seem long,
and three years' residence in the little corner house
had endeared its poor shelter to her: the gardens
had been, as she had said, her consolation, her
calendar, her one undying pleasure. Into what
darkness, what foulness, what danger, what horrible
contact, might she now be thrust by her brother's
despotic folly ?
Castiglione lost not a moment in seeking out the
Russian doctor; but Basilewsky's distress and amaze
and anxiety were so genuine on hearing of their
disappearance, that the greatest sceptic could not
have doubted his absolute ignorance.
£I am shocked, and I am grieved. I did not
foresee such a possibility,' he said, when he
recovered his calmness. ' Nelaguine has taken his
sister away from you ; there is no doubt of that; his
RUFFINO
161
body was helpless, but his will was iron, and'his
authority over her was great. He must have had'
some trifle of money hidden, which he employed for
this purpose ; probably some small sum saved to pay
for his burial. With those coins he must have paid
the man who carried and the cart which transported
him, and the new hole in which he has gone to
earth. You would not listen to me, Signor Principe.
I told you that he was a youth of savage honour, of
unalterable obstinacy; to such a man, what must
your attentions and letters to his sister have seemed ?
Only an insult to be avoided at any cost, even at that
of death for both herself and him.'
' He is a madman!' said Castiglione, as his
forehead grew red under the just reproach and
inference of the speaker.
1 He is not wholly sane,' said Basilewsky. ' No
man is who lies on his back, helpless, torn to pieces
by remorse and regret, and seeing no more of the
living world around him than if he were lying dead
in a church-vault. You must be just. He saw only
one way to save his sister from what he considered to
be impending dishonour. He has taken that way.'
' I will find her, if I spend every day of my life
and every thought of my brain,' he said impetuously,'
forgetful of the presence of a stranger.
M
RUFpINO
1 And if you succeed, my lord,' said Basilewsky,
' lier brother will only take her away again, only
Du?y her five fathoms deeper. A youth who braved
the Tzar of all the Bussias fears no ills, physical or
mental; when anyone, of his own deliberate choice,
risks Siberia or the scaffold, nothing afterwards can
have terrors for him. If it be necessary, Yolodia
Nelaguine will fire his revolver into his sister's bosom
sooner than see her in any danger from your admira-
tion. I speak bluntly. You will pardon me ; I am
no courtier, and it hurts me to think that this child
should be hidden like this, even from me. I am her
only friend.'
'Not her only one,' said Castiglione, with re-
pressed emotion.
' You cannot be her friend,' said the old man,
harshly. 'That her brother knew; and for once,
fool though he be, he is right.'
' Are you so sure ?' said Castiglione, dreamily.
1 Well, let us find her first; then we will see.'
' If I can find her, I shall not tell you of it, my
lord,' said the old man, curtly.
' You will be wrong,' said the younger man, with
sadness; for why, he thought, must everyone think
that he had neither pity nor chivalry in him ?
' We will find her ourselves, Ruffino,' he said to
RUFFINO
163
his little dog; and Ruffino put his head on one
side, and assumed his most sedate and sympathetic
expression.
He did not know what troubled his master; he
supposed that it was the yellow cat.
Ruffino was very human in his mental vision;
his own enmities and amities were to him the
measure of the world's. He could imagine no one
being altogether at peace so long as the yellow cat
crawled in freedom over the tiles, and cleaned its fur
unmolested in the sunshine. The whole universe
was out of joint whilst such a wrong endured.
'I will find her,' Castiglione said to himself,
passionately, ' if I spend on it every day of my life
and every thought of my mind.'
And, at first sight, to discover her retreat seemed
easy enough to a man who knew the city in which
she was so well, and commanded such resources of
wealth and service as he did. But the time slipped
away, and to find her did not prove to be so easy. He
could not bring himself to employ the police in the
search; he could not bear to give her over to such
vulgar surveillance, and he was not sure what harm it
might not do to her companion. He endeavoured to
conduct the investigations himself, employing only
such men in his own service as he could entirely trust.
M 2
RUFFINO
But tlieir efforts were in vain, and he "began in
despair to believe that, miraculous as such an escape
would seem, they must have got by some means to
Civita Vecchia, and thence by some sea-route to
another land. Yet their extreme poverty, and the
physical helplessness of Nelaguine, forbade this
explanation to be seriously entertained. The alter-
nate conclusion, that they were hidden somewhere in
the city, was more probable. Borne was large, and
had many obscure portions, which strangers could
remain in, untroubled by inquiries municipal or
fiscal. It was likely enough that they were close
by, in some one of the narrow passages of the
Trastevere, "where the population burrowed like
rabbits. He made every investigation that was
possible, but of the man and mule who had carried
them away there was no trace to be found. No one
in the lane had taken any notice of so common an
event as a common cart stopping at a door in
the dusk. Unassisted, however, no invalid would
have been able to arrange so rapid and secret a
change of habitation; and Castiglione felt sure
that the young girl herself had been no willing
agent in the abandonment of her little home, and
of the neighbourhood of those gardens which were
so dear to her: he was sure that she had been the
RUFFINO
victim now, as she had been in the flight from
Russia.
But all his suspicions, all his anxieties, were
useless; no one could tell him anything, and he him-
self walked the streets of Rome, in all its poorest
quarters, without success.
Again and again he implored, menaced, com-
manded, entreated Basilewsky to reveal the truth;
but the old man declared that he knew no more than
the dead: and the visible trouble in which he was
plunged by the loss of his country-people confirmed
the truth of his declaration. Had he known where
his young favourites were, and merely concealed it
from a sense of duty, he would not have been, as he
evidently was, distressed at the want of confidence
which they had shown in him, and the mystery
which surrounded their disappearance.
But Castiglione had a patrician's scepticism as to
the good faith of revolutionists; and Basilewsky was,
by his own admission, a -Nihilist, who had been driven
out of his own country by the doctrines which he
followed and professed. He caused the old doctor to
be followed day and night for a week; but nothing
.was learned or gained by it, except the proof that
his charity to the poorest of the population was
inexhaustible, and that a love of botany took him
iG6
RUFF1N0
often out on to the Campagna, and to the meadows
and woods of the various villas. He was a lonely
man, and lived hardly, and tramped about with a
stout stick as his only aid, and a tin case for his
botanical specimens slung across his back.
It was quite certain that he could hold no com-
munication with the fugitives, for the record of his
days, to every minute, was brought to Castiglione
by those whom he employed to watch the move-
ments of this harmless anarchist.
The great heats of the full summer had now
come, and he was unused to, and oppressed by,
them; for so many years he had passed every
summer month in green pleasure-places of Germany
or France, in English country-houses, or on cool,
northern seas, in his steam-yacht. The vast accumu-
lation of affairs consequent on the death of his father
gave him excuse enough to remain in Eome ; but he
was conscious that his people wondered at his long
delay in leaving the city, and Saverio, his old body-
servant, ventured several times to suggest that the
mountain air of the great Montefeltro castle, on the
slopes of the snow-crowned Leonessa, would be better
for his master's health than these close heats of
Trastevere.
'The Holy Father is shut up in Trastevere/
RUFFINO
replied Castiglione, curtly, with, a motion of his hand
towards the pile of the Vatican; and the opinion
gained ground amongst his household that he was
going to alter his ways and views, and become a
devotee, as the late Prince had been. But Saverio
shook his head when he heard them say this.
' It is not priests he is thinking of; it is a
woman,' said Saverio to himself. Nothing but a
woman would have kept his lord here, in the melan-
choly and silent magnificence of his Roman palace,
when the canicular heats were burning brown the
lawns of his gardens, and making the carp in
his fishponds lie faint and gasping amongst the
yellowed leaves of the water-lilies.
Saverio saw, as Ruffino saw, that his master was
distressed and angered. These long wanderings on
foot through the worst portions of the city fatigued
and depressed him. By them he became acquainted
with the haunts of misery and crime; he saw
hunger and nakedness in their worst forms; he
understood want, as it existed side by side with
luxury and power.
Whilst tender-hearted, and by temper generous,
he had led the careless and selfish life of a man of
pleasure: he had given liberally, but he had thought
little of whore his gifts went, and of why they were
168
RUFFINO
wanted ; he had been often imposed upon, and he had
been content with the surface of things. But in
these weeks in which he searched for Vera Nelaguine,
his eyes were opened, and his mind was filled with the
true meanings of the misery which lay .without his
gates, grovelling in the filth of rags and in the horrors
of disease.
To think that this gentle child, whose labours he
had watched so long, was lost to him amidst these
unutterable desolations of the city, cut him to the
quick; to know that she must be in one of these
dens where the poor were crowded during the torrid
heat, the noisome fever-mists, the sights and scents
and sounds of some squalid alley, or some foul nest
made between the broken columns of what once had
been a temple or a palace, was to him an almost
unendurable torture. The scorching cloudless days,
the heavy, dewless nights, were trying enough to him
in his vast and noble house, with its cool, marble
courts, its wide, long corridors, its shadowy, fragrant
gardens, and its superb halls and chambers, which
were so lofty that the eye gazing upwards saw the
angels and the gods of their frescoed domes lost as
in a vision, Ezekiel-like, of the heavens opened.
If even here and thus the canicular weeks were
hard to bear, what, he thought, must they be where
RUFFINO
169
she was; doubtless in some festering, filthy, crowded
passage, where the blackened walls shut out the sky,
and the air was made hideous by screams and oaths
and blows and children's shrieks !
To think of her thus was an almost insupport-
able pain to him, into which Self-reproach entered.
If he had not approached her, she would at least
have remained in this little house which was familiar
to her, with the verdure of his own gardens and
the ripple of his own fountain-waters near at hand
to give her at least some sound and solace of the
summer.
' She did us good, Ruffino, and we have done her
nothing but ill,' he said to the little dog as he paced
the loggia one evening. Ruffino shook his head,
making his new silver bells ring where they were
hidden under his ruff.
Life was dull to him in Rome. At this season
he was always trotting on the green edges of some
promenade at Spa, or Homburg, or Karlsbad, or Vichy,
flirting with Elsa or some other canine fair at Baden,
or scratching up the sea-sand on the shore of
Schweningen or Blankenberghe, or some other marine
resort where the white-and-gold sides of his master's
yacht shone in the sunshine amongst similar pleasure-
craft. Rome made Ruffino hot and cross. Fleas were
i7o
RUFFINO
many; flies were legion; and the very marble itself
grew warm where the sun-rays baked it all day long.
Besides, the supreme interest of watching for his
enemy, Magliabecchi, was now a thing of the past;
Magliabecchi and l)on Antonio had alike faded out
from the range of his vision, and the vigil over
the yellow cat was only a source of exasperating
and hopeless irritation; for, to prevent any possibility
of his ever again descending after her into her lane,
his master had caused the balustrade to be fenced in
with copper netting, and Ruffino could only get the
tip of his nose between those closely-woven wires;
and it seemed to him that the yellow cat, safe in her
shamelessness, looked up at him, and grinned at him
in derision from below.
On the whole Rome was dull to him, and there
was no amusement for him except to eat; and in that
amusement he indulged liberally and unchecked.
But Ruffino, eating the foie gras and scorning the
aspic, picking out the truffles and leaving the salmi,
was occasionally visited by the Nemesis of all gour-
mets, and did not digest as well as the poor mongrels
below, who had stomachs which could cope with bits
of wood and bones swallowed entire. Besides his
dyspepsia, Ruffino was often pained by his ignorance
of, and exclusion from, the movements of the man he
RUFF I NO
171
loved. To have a plate of good things set before him,
and be bidden to lie still in the loggia or in the library
whilst his master went out on unknown errands, was
a vexation to his devoted and enterprising spirit.
Castiglione did not take him into all these
dangerous and poverty-haunted portions of the city,
because he was afraid that harm might come to the
small dog owing to his audacious temper and insatiate
curiosity ; but Ruffino could not tell his motive, and
was only vexed and wounded at being left behind.
The valorous exposer of Magliabecchi should, he felt,
not be deemed unworthy to accompany his lord any-
where. When his lord said to him, ' Stay at home,
little one,' he obeyed, because he could not do other-
wise, but he felt that he was outraged and ill-treated.
That yellow cat was allowed full freedom; and he,
Ruffino, her superior in every way in the scale of
creation, was treated like a baby, and shut up on the
loggia or in the library, with a china bowl of iced
milk and a plate of chopped liver, there to yawn away
the long, empty hours as best he could. He could
hardly bring himself to be sympathetic when his master
returned, as he inevitably did, from his solitary ex-
cursions, jaded, fatigued, and evidently disappointed.
1 Where can she be, Ruffino ?' said Castiglione,
often, with a tired sigh; and Ruffino, although he could
172
RUFFINO
not understand tlie words, knew very well that his
lord was worried and depressed about something.
It was not Magliabecchi now; therefore it must
be the abominable yellow cat. Ruffino wrinkled his
brows, and pondered anxiously: he did not see how
he could ever help his master if he were left behind
in the palace, and for all excursions confined to the
lawns and alleys of the gardens below.
He observed that his master never now sat on the
marble chair by the balustrade, and whenever he did
pace up and down the loggia, looked now and again
out at the evening skies with an impatient sigh.
'There is something wrong,' thought Ruffino.
' But what ? '
He, with all his wisdom, could not guess why
his dear friend never now opened a book, and had no
heart to watch the constellations loom large, as night
waned, above the ilex woods.
'And we see no ladies ever now,' he thought.
Ruffino hated ladies ; but they amused him because
they were always so terribly afraid of him, and yet
complimented and caressed him (or would have
caressed him) so flatteringly, to please his owner.
Nothing had ever better diverted him than to show
his little, pearl-like teeth at them and make them
scream.
RUFFINO
173
Things must be in a strange way, he thought,
when there were none of those living packets of lace,
and pearl-powder, and jewels, and blonde curls, any-
where about the steps of his master.
He remembered, when he was a pnppy, pulling
one of the blonde curls once off one of them ; and how
the lady had blushed and fidgeted ; and how every-
body else near them had tittered; and how his
master, convulsed with laughter, had called him
1 enfant terrible a. quatre pattes,' which had seemed
to Ruffino approbation.
But such merry days were now no more ; and no
ladies ever crossed the threshold of the Montefeltro
palace, except an austere Mother Superior of an aris-
tocratic Order, who was Castiglione's aunt and god-
mother, and who, under dispensation, called solemnly
on him once to propose an alliance to him with a
cousin, which he ungratefully declined.
X
1 Where is she, Ruffino ? ' said Castiglione, restlessly,
seeing through the open windows of the little corner
house some frowsy women, in gaudy-coloured petti-
coats, who were hanging out strings of sliced tomatoes
in the sun to dry. He repented him that he had
174
RUFF I NO
not forbidden tbe old Yeneranda to let tlie rooms. It
seemed odious profanity to see those beldames there
in the little chamber where he had thrown his glox-
inias, and where Vera had slept her innocent sleep,
and prayed to her familiar Eikon. It was a humble
common place, but it had been spiritualised and
poetised by the presence of a pure and heroic youth.
He was incensed against himself that he should
not have prevented such a sacrilege: it seemed to
accentuate and confirm more hopelessly the entire
loss of her, when he saw those hags leaning out of
her casement, and heard them chattering in guttural
voices, as they hung out their tomatoes.
' I wish to buy that lane; I give you full powers,'
he said that day to his steward. 1 Yes, of course the
price will be utterly out of proportion to its value;
that one must expect: but it is an eyesore, an un-
utterable and intolerable nuisance. I desire to annex
it to the palace, and throw it into the gardens. Deal
with the owners as best you can, but purchase the
whole place; the old woman owning the corner house
will drive a hard bargain, but to clear it all away
I shall not grudge the price.'
' It shall be done before the week is out, most
illustrious,' said the steward.
But he had reckoned without Yeneranda Pilotti,
RUFFINO
175
The first hint which she received that her illustrious
neighbour wished to buy her premises sufficed to
make her hold to them tooth and nail.
His agents seduced, cajoled, tempted, dazzle^
finally threatened her—all to no avail.
1 Oh! he wants my poor house, does he ?' she said
to all of them. 1 Well, he will not have it, then. No,
not if he filled it chuck full of gold-pieces from cellar
to rafter. There is law in the city,' she added, as
the miller of Sans Souci said to Frederick the Great,
' and we will see if a young noble can despoil a poor
lone widow. Pay ? Why, yes, he would pay; I hear
that well enough, but I do not choose to sell; go tell
him so. He wants it to please his puny, pale-faced
dama, and he shall not have it; it is mine—mine—mine
as much as the Vatican yonder is our Holy Father's.
I will not sell—no ! no! no ! no ! Go, tell him so !'
She fully intended to sell, but after the manner
of her nation she walked backwards to spring farther
and spring higher.
She had bemoaned herself a hundred times a week
that the house ruined her, wretched little hole as it
was, and yet taxed as if it were a palace; she had
longed to sell it, tried to sell it, over and over again,
meaning if she could do so to go and live in the
place of her birth, a village under Castel Gandolfo.
176
RUFFINO
"But the power of refusing her great neighbour any-
thing was sweet to her, and as her shrewdness
divined the tender emotion which moved him to
take it out of her hands, she said to herself that she
would make him go on his knees to her before he got
it, and pay for every brick of it its weight in gold.
That their lord could spend his summer in the
Trastevere, and vex his soul over the purchase of the
lane, stupefied his household. Even his father, who
had loathed change of any kind, had never remained
later than June in Home, and had always gone at the
end of that month to the castle on the Leonessa, or to
his marine palace by Palo.
' I must go away,' said Castiglione every night to
himself, as the fever-breeding mists stole up like
smoke from the baked, cracked earth, and the myriads
of gnats and mosquitoes circled round every lamp
which hung from the palace-walls or burned in the
old bronze sconces.
But when the morning came he said, invariably,
' I will stay one more day. Perhaps I shall hear of
her to-day.'
Invitations of all kinds lay in piles on his table :
women whose wishes had always had magic over
him wrote in vain, and in vain beguiled and besought
him to join them by northern waters, under western
RUFFINO.
177
woods, or in voyages of pleasure and pastime. He
took no notice of all their proposals and entreaties.
The death of the Prince of Montefeltro was known
all over Europe; he let all the world suppose that he
was absorbed in grief or overwhelmed in affairs. The
printed letter of the faire part addressed to them by
his secretary was all. that his most intimate friends
received.
He had no memory for any one of them : all he
saw was a Cenci-like face, with brown, soft, dove-
like eyes, and a thin, small, white hand, for ever
working—working—working. He could not bring
himself to leave the city while she was still unfound.
She could hardly fail to be in great wretchedness,
unless she had discovered some new friends, of whom
he knew nothing; and this did not seem to him likely.
Her brother might have dragged her down into still
lower deeps of poverty and sickness; her own health
might have given way under the severe strain which
she put on it: there was no end to the various shapes
of misery in which his imagination pictured her. He
could not sleep for thinking of all which might have
befallen, which might still befall her; and Ruffino,
who liked to enjoy a good night's rest undisturbed,
justly deeming the daylight long enough for toil and
trouble, was much annoyed by the manner in which
N
i78
RUFFINO
his master got up and walked restlessly about in the
hot and windless hours which immediately preceded
dawn.
A sense of duty made Euffino sit bolt upright all
the time, on the watch lest there should be any rat
or cat from which his friend required to be delivered;
but he yawned frequently, and felt that an owner
troubled with insomnia was a severe trial to the loyalty
of a dog. To occupy himself, and keep himself
awake, he made drowsy dashes at the tapestries,
behind which he could hear mice rustling stealthily;
but it was fruitless work, and Euffino preferred sound,
uneventful sleep to a campaign against rodents who
defied him in their secure intrenchment behind the
historic draperies designed by John of Flanders.
One morning, Castiglione, who rose little re-
freshed from his bed, went down after his bath, in
the early morning air, into the gardens. It was that
season of great heat in which the daybreak even is
not cool, and the sultry night sinks languidly into
the oppressive fever of the dawn.
1 Decidedly I must go away,' he thought, { or I
shall lose my mind and my health in this solitude.'
Yet he could not endure the thought of leaving
Eome in continued ignorance of her fate; it seemed
to him incredible that all the resources of money and
RUFFINO
179
of intelligence should be of no avail to trace her steps.
His dread lest death should have sealed the mystery
of her fate returned, and increased upon him. The
poor and forlorn die unnoticed, unnamed, unmourned,
even as they live. She might, very possibly, have
passed from the obscurity of poverty and exile into
the eternal exile of the tomb, without any human
being having mourned for her. He shuddered as he
thought of her delicate beauty hustled by rough hands
into the deal shell of a pauper's coffin, and thrown
into the common pit where the poor are left to rot
together. If it were so, he said to himself, bitterly
her maniac of a brother would have murdered her as
surely as though he had shot her dead as BasileWsky
had imagined.
1 And that is fraternal affection! that is family
honour!' thought Castiglione, passionately, as he
paced the long aisles of clipped arbutus and bay
which closed in fragrant darkness above his head.
Ruffino paced thoughtfully beside him, thinking a
little of Thuringian Elsa, but more of the minced
chicken which would be ready for him when he should
go indoors.
Suddenly he stopped, growled, and sniffed the air;
the scent of something wicked was borne on it to
his sensitive olfactory nerves; then he ran forward,'
K 2
i8o
RUFFINO
and pounced upon a square white envelope lying on
the grass, and would have torn it into a hundred
pieces with his teeth and claws had not his com-
panion taken it from him.
' Stop, Euffino!' said Castiglione, as he rescued it;
' it may be from her.'
Euffino let it go reluctantly; it had a wicked
smell.'
Castiglione tore it open in haste; its cover was
inscribed to 'The Most Noble the Prince of Monte-
feltro, Duke of Castiglione and Marquis of Vivalda.'
On" a broad sheet of paper were written a few
lines:
' The Russian maiden for whom you caire so much
is in ill-health; her brother is dead, and she will soon
follow him. This is for your information, from one who
is your friend. Cease to search for her, for you will
never find her; you will not even find her grave.'
The brutal "words were as the echo of his direst
fears, his dreadest forebodings. He stood still, like
one stunned, whilst the deep black shadows of the
arbutus and bay fell across his path.
This letter from a friend! It must have come
from his bitterest enemy, he thought. Euffino had
been right in scenting the hand of a foe.
It must have come, also, from' some one con-
RUFFINO
181
versant with the gardens, and acquainted with his
preference for this alley above all other parts of the
many avenues and green walks.
' Oh! Ruffino, you are wiser than 1/ he said, with
a heavy sigh.
Ruffino coughed politely; it was his way of de-
precating a compliment, yet allowing its accuracy.
He knew from whom the letter came. He could
smell in it the fingers of Magliabecchi. But, alas ! he
could not say so in any language which should be
intelligible to the blunt and finite senses of man.
Castiglione walked to and fro the grassy path
with agitated, aimless haste, affrighting the nightin-
gales amongst the bay thickets, and startling the
blackbirds from their breakfast on the arbutus-fruit.
He did not doubt the truth of what the letter said,
for it accorded too well with his own fears, and it
bore the stamp of a brutal and malignant veracity.
From whom could it come ? If her brother were
dead, who could have any interest in separating her
from him ? Her very existence was known to
hardly any one out of all the population of Rome.
Basilewsky, indeed, might have found her: but no;
Basilewsky had always shown himself a kind and
honest man; he would be incapable of this act ot
devilish malignity.
182
RUFFINO
Then, remembering the little dog's fury at the
sight and scent of the letter, and the knowledge of
his own daily habits which its place in that especial
walk betokened, his slower human sense arrived at
the same suspicion which Ruffino's quick canine
instincts had reached at once.
'It is from Magliabecchi,' he said aloud; and
Ruffino, hearing the detested name, stopped in his
walk, and lifted up an eloquent little face with
black lips upcurled over two rows of small, sharp
teeth.
' Ah! you knew it, Ruffo ?' said Castiglione.
' Great heavens! if she be in that fiend's power!'
All his possessions, all his riches, all his position
seemed vain and useless things; he felt as helpless
as an animal caught in the jaws of a trap.
The letter was not in the handwriting of either
Magliabecchi or of Don Antonio, but he had no doubt
that it was a revenge of one or both of them; a return
for the clemency with which he had let them depart
unmolested and unpunished. He hurried to the
house, and bade his people inquire what and where
had been the actions and residence of the physician
and the chaplain since their dismissal on the day of
his father's death. They were both well-known men;
they had been forty years in his father's service; it
RUFFINO
183
would be easy, he thought, to find them, even if they
were in hiding.
Of Don Antonio he soon received tidings; he was
in retreat with a religious fraternity outside the walls:
of Magliabecchi, everyone declared, truly or falsely,
that they knew nothing; only one of the gardeners
testified to having seen some one who had looked like
him under the south wall of the lower garden on the
previous evening. No doubt,^Castiglione thought,
he had laid the letter there himself for greater
security, and it was the scent of his touch upon it
which Ruffino had recognised with so much rage.
He communicated with the municipal police,
although he had no confidence in them, and gave
them the errand of finding Magliabecchi; of her
he could not bring himself to speak to the Questura.
The news given him might be the mere malicious
inventions of a revengeful and false rogue; but he
could not be sure of that, and they agreed too
completely with his own presentiments to be doubted
or rejected.
Magliabecchi had probably been the cause of her
disappearance, perhaps by some information or
suggestion given to- her brother, whose suspicions
had been so easy to arouse; and the youth had
probably died of the excitement and exertion of the
184
RUFFINO
removal, perishing in some nameless hole in the city,
like a wounded fox in its secret earth.
Never before had Castiglione been so conscious of
the impotency of rank and wealth. He would have
given a,ll that he had just inherited to trace and save
one fragile, fleeting life; and he was as helpless as
if he had been any penniless labourer working on
the mud banks of the Tiber, with the woman whom
he loved left behind him to perish of ague in a rush-
hut on the Agro Romana.
' Rank is an irony sometimes, Rufflno,' he said to
his only confidant, who did not entirely understand,
but knew that something was wrong, and felt that if
the wire had not been put up to separate him from
the yellow cat, this wrong would probably have
been set right long ago. He never doubted that
the cat was at the bottom of everything, and that
Magliabecchi had originally created her.
Castiglione read and re-read the cruel lines which
had, as it were, plunged a knife into his breast. He
could not doubt the truth of them, passionately as
he longed to do so. He showed them to Basilewsky,
and once again, before the genuine distress of the old
man, was forced to believe that he was as ignorant as
he declared.
i See into what your refusal to press my friendship
RUFFINO
185
on her brother has led herself and him !' he said, in
bitter anger and reproach.
Basilewsky bent his grey head in meekness
under the rebuke.
' I acted according to my light; I did what I
considered my duty,' he said, gently. 'Besides,
it is quite certain, my lord, that nothing which I
could have said cr done would have altered this
poor youth's views of your desire to befriend him.
I have little hope that this letter you show me is
untrue. It is only too likely that the effort of his
removal has resulted in his death, and that the strain
so'long put before her strength has broken it down.
She has been his victim from first to last. He had
no right to drag her down to share his self-sought
miseries. She was a delicately-nurtured, aristocratic
child, a' hot-house flower; and he brought her
where she had to work like a common drudge, and
hardly earn every bit and drop which passed her lips
and his. He felt intense remorse; but that was of
no use. The evil was done when he dragged her
after him away from her home and her friends. No;
I do not know anything of her. I give you my
word that I do not. But I agree with you, it is
only too probable that all which this letter says is
true.'
RUFFINO
'Ill-news is always true,' said Castiglione, bitterly.
* It is only our joys which deceive us.'
Basilewsky looked at him earnestly.
' You are not well, my lord, yourself,' he said;
'you should leave Borne. You have set your soul
upon this thing because it eludes you. But you
would do better to put it out of your mind altogether.
You are young, you are powerful, you are exception-
ally favoured by Nature and by fortune. Put this
unhappy child out of your thoughts, and seek your
pleasures and affections in your own world. Even if
Volodia Nelaguine be in his grave, she will not dis-
obey him if she has promised him to flee from you.'
' I will find her, and we shall see,' said Castiglione,
obstinately. ' I will not leave Borne until I find her—
living or dead.'
' You will waste your own life uselessly,' said the
elder man.
' And has not hers been wasted?' said Castiglione.
All his accustomed luxuries, all his pleasant habits,
all his ephemeral passions, all his physical indulgences,
seemed to him like a crime against her.
' "Whilst I was dining or playing icarte, those
brutes were bearing her off out of my reach,' he
thought, with a heavy sense as of some sin against her.
He felt that he should have been more vigilant,
RUFFINO
i*7
quicker; more resolute to take her from her brother's
domination, more swift and eager to assure her of his
own tenderness and protection. His father's death,
his engrossing affairs, his own hesitation, his vacilla-
tion between belief in her and doubt of her, had let
slip time which now he would have given half his
possessions to recall.
It seemed to him as if he had been so miserably
lacking in decision, in energy, in faith, that the
burden of her loss lay at his own doors.
He regretted, with a despairing knowledge of how
useless all regret was, that he had not disregarded
her entreaties, and forcibly made his way into the
presence of her brother.
He put the search for her in the hands of one of
his men-of-business. It was odiously repugnant to
him to speak of her; but he dared waste no more
time, or leave untried any chance or possibility which
might lead to her discovery. Magliabecchi had
easily been traced; but he was living, quietly, on a
third floor in the street of the Quattro Fontane, and
there was nothing in his daily habits and occupations
to connect him in any way either with the composition
of the letter or the disappearance of the fugitives.
The certainty existing in Castiglione's own mind
admitted of no proof. He had the rogue watched
188
RUFFINO
carefully, day after day, but nothing was recorded,
except wholly uninteresting details of such sober
amusements and blameless occupations as became a
man of his mature years and respectable calling. He
had laid by enough in his long service in the
Montefeltro palace to live at ease, to dabble in some
safe speculations on the Bourse, and water his capons
and quails with the best and oldest wines, and make
his fifteen per cent, snugly in private loans and
judicious mortgages.
Of his dismissal from that palace, as it had been
followed up by no arrest or criminal proceedings, he
made light in all appearance, however fiercely and
bitterly his soul chafed at it in secret.
'I did wrong to let him go unpunished,' said
Castiglione ; ' but he had served my father so many
years, and I counted on some decency of gratitude.'
The lawyers to whom he said this smiled
discreetly. Rogues, they knew, no more feel grati-
tude than they feel remorse. Magliabecchi forgot
the clemency; but he remembered very keenly the
loss of the jewels and the ducats, the exposure before
servants, and the sharp incisions of Ruffino's little
stiletto-like teeth.
One evening, in the loggia Ruffino saw a nice,
brown, tempting-looking piece of fried meat, lying on
RUFFINO
189
the pavement near the balustrade; he was not hungry;
he was, indeed, as usual, so completely satisfied, gas-
tronomically, that he had not a grain of appetite
left, so that he was indifferent and cautious, and
merely sniffed gingerly at the morsel. The scent of
it seemed to him unusual and suspicious, and he let
it lie where it was; and in the morning the servants
going to polish the marble pavement found two
garden rats lying stiff and stark and swollen in the
place where the fragments of the poisoned cutlet were.
It had been the good physician's parting gift for
Ruffino.
But Magliabecchi made no more of such dan-
gerous presents. He aimed at higher vengeance,
and to that end led a sober and blameless life quite
openly in the sight of all men.
' Little devil!' he said viciously, whenever his
thoughts reverted to his victorious four-footed foe,
4 you should not live a second were it not that, if I
kill you, I may miss something that will hurt your
master more.'
For Magliabecchi knew that if Ruffino died a
violent death he would be certainly judged to be the
dealer of it, and observation and suspicion would be
attached to him by that act which might baulk him
of the greater blow he so carefully prepared.
19 o
RUFFINO
51
The days passed on, and neither the espionage
on the physician nor the acute investigations of Cas-
tiglione's lawyers produced any effect. No traces
of the fugitives could be found; it seemed as if
death indeed had closed in its eternal mystery over
them both.
The Jews who were the owners of the lane had
all agreed to sell their rights over it; the price asked
was exorbitant, but Castiglione bade his represen-
tative accept it, and the Yiccolo of St. Anastasia at
last became his, with the exception of Yeneranda
Pilotti's corner house. She still held out, partly
from the keenness of over-reaching avarice, partly
from the triumph of feeling that she, old, poor, and
disreputable as she was, could refuse what he wished
to the Prince of Montefeltro in all his power, youth,
and plenitude.
She guessed that he hated to hear the jar of
drunken voices, the clatter of wine-flasks, the hissing
of frying lard, the uproar of quarrelling boys, where
the gentle vision of his lost love had been seen in
the serenity of the moonlight and the warm flush of
sunrise. She guessed that her presence and that
of her lodgers irritated and sickened her patrician
RUFFINO
191
neighbour when he paced his marble floor, under
the lofty arches of his loggia, behind his screen
of tea-rose foliage and thickly-woven noisettes;
and the sense of power and malign superiority
which it bestowed on her was too sweet to be
readily parted with. She had not forgotten the
censures which he had passed on her when he had
paid her those two gold-pieces for her rent.
1 My fine gentleman! you shall dance like a
dancing dog after my pleasure!' she said, with a
glow of coarse delight. ' You want my house, and
you want your dama. Well, you shall get neither
until you go on your bended knees to me.'
For she had found out where her last tenants had
gone, and knew their fate; but it was a secret which
she meant to keep, as she meant to keep her house,
until she had wrung out of him such a stream of
wealth that she should be able to drink lachryma
Christi by the pailsful, and stuff her mattress with
bundles of bank-notes instead of dry leaves. But
being almost constantly more or less drunk, she was
confused in her ideas, and did not realise that unless
she offered both her secret and her house, her dreams
of Paradise could never even be started upon the
road to realisation.
' You'll stand out till you will lose all,' said one
T92
RUFFINO
of her neighbours, shrewdly. ' Sure it will not be
for ever, nor for long, that a great prince like him
yonder will fret his soul out of his body wishing for
a bit of a cottage and a puny work-girl. You should
take him whilst the whim is on him and the cat
jumps.'
Startled and terrified by this argument, Sor'
Veneranda, after the manner of her class, rushed
from one extreme to another; from the heights of
wily and triumphant cunning, she fell headlong
down into the lowest deeps of agonised trepidation.
If she should have outstayed her market ? If, in
her excessive greed and caution, she should have
killed her goose ere it laid any golden eggs at all ?
The terror of having missed her mark and overshot
her arrows fermented hotly in her scheming brain,
and produced in her that temerity which is seldom
wanting in those who are confused with the fumes of
wine.
(Maybe I will sell my house, but I will not sell
stick or stone of it unless I see the Prince himself
about it,' she said, doggedly, to his agents, who in
vain protested to her that he never transacted any
business himself, and could not be approached upon
the subject. She was dogged and unchangeable.
11 will see his most illustrious himself, or I will
RUFFINO
193
not sell my house,' she repeated; and finding that
the agents and stewards and servants were all firm
in declaring such a stipulation to he inadmissible,
she set herself to watch for his coming out on to the
loggia. He was there but little now, for nowhere
did he suffer so much from the loss of the pale
maiden, who, like a snowdrop from the north, had
used to come into his vision with the moonlight and
the starlight. But still, sometimes, in the sultry
evenings, he strolled there for the sake of coolness
when he was tired out from his hot and dusty
wanderings in the streets.
One evening she saw him thus, standing behind
the smooth green foliage of the rose-trees which
formed so thick a screen between the lane and loggia,
although the roses themselves bloomed no more.
She leaned as far as she could out of the upper
window—the window of Yera—and made a trumpet
of her big and bony hands.
'Signor Duca! Signor Principe! I have some-
thing to say to you. Will you hear ?'
Castiglione, on whose nerves the harsh, coarse
voice grated, came to the balustrade, moved by a
sudden revival of that hope which every day grew
fainter and fainter within him. Perhaps this old
wretch knew something.
0
i94 RUFFINO
' What do you want with me ?' he asked curtly;
whilst Ruffino, with his slender nose thrust as far
as it would go through the wires, growled his dis-
approval of her audacity.
It was late at night; the lane was quiet, the
moon was full and high in the heavens, and poured
its silvery brightness on the bold brown face and the
rough grizzled head of the old Roman, as she leaned
eagerly from her lattice.
'Excellency!' she whined, trying in vain to
make her rude voice soft and persuasive: 'you
have always wronged me, excellency, and never
believed in my zealous devotion to that sweet
creature, who was as dear to me as if she had been
my granddaughter. And now I hear you want to
buy my house, just by way of remeinbrance of her;
but the price your people offer me, most illustrious,
is robbery, sheer robbery! I am a poor lone crea-
ture, and wholly at the mercy of a great gentleman
like yourself, but sure am I that your generous
and benevolent heart would never take any advan-
tage of a widow's needs '
' Name your price to my agents, and they will
give it if they think it a proper one,' said Castig-
lione, disappointed in his hope, and losing patience.
'If you have anything more to say to me, say it
RUFFINO
195
quickly, and without roundabout falsehoods. You
are a cruel and bad woman. You cannot impose
upon me.'
' The saints above us befriend me!' cried the
Sor' Yeneranda. ' Never was any poor creature so
belied and so unjustly blamed. Your excellency
will learn one day how you have wronged me.
Meantime, my house is my own, and what I know
is my own, too. Neither prince nor pontiff can get
either house or secret out of me.'
'1 am ready to pay for your house, and I am ready
to pay for your secret,' said Castiglione, sternly;
'but if you want to sell either one or the other,
or to sell both, you would do well not to trifle with
me, for I may be in no mood to buy them another
night.'
The soul of the old woman quaked within her.
It was just as her neighbour had suggested: he might
alter his mind and change his fancies, and then
' adieu veau, vache, cochons'l'
She hastened to change her mind before he could
change his.
'I have always said I would take a thousand
scudi for the house, and it is too much honour
for a poor miserable creature like me to have
anything which can please your most illustrious
o 2
196 RUFFINO
self,' she whined in her most servile and cajoling
accents.
'A thousand scudi! It is not worth three
hundred. You know that.'
1 A thousand scudi; and that is less than the nuns
of the Sepolte Vive would have given me for it last
year. And it is solely because I know your
excellency wants it out of memory of the poor
young thing, that I consent to give it up for such a
pittance.'
Castiglione shrank from the coarse, rough touch
on his tenderest sentiment; it was horrible to him
that this old wretch should have guessed, and, thus
guessing, be able to spread abroad the reason of
his tenacious desire for the purchase of her free-
hold.
' My father wished for years to purchase the lane,
and I do so because it is a nuisance and a scandal,'
he replied.- 41 shall not treat with you. If you
wish to sell your property, acquaint my people. They
will settle it.'
' But if I could tell your excellency where the
signorina is ?' said the old woman, insidiously. ' You
would not like me to go to your men-of-business with
her name ?"
A thrill ran through him as he heard. He
RUFFINO
197
realised how completely a noble, delicate, and lofty
feeling can at times place those in whose breast it
dwells at the mercy of coarse brutality and avaricious
cunning.
He was silent; and the old woman whispered, as
gently as her hoarse voice could do so:
' If I tell your most illustrious what I know, will
you order your people to give me a thousand scudi
for this house ?'
' If you tell me what I find true, I will. The
price is absurd, enormous; but if you tell me the
truth you shall receive it.'
'And a hundred crowns for myself, for good
will ?'
' No; not a farthing more. Speak, or keep silent,
as you choose.'
She perceived that it was his last word; she was
sharp and shrewd when the wine-fumes were not in
her head, and she saw that she must limit her
aspirations or lose all.
' Well, well,' she said, piteously, ' it is a great
honour that your most illustrious should hearken in
person to such as I; far be it from me to haggle and
huckster with a great prince, who surely will never
let a poor old creature lose by doing him a service.
This is what I know, your excellency, though, as
198
RUFF/NO
these heavens are above us, I only learned it yester-
night. It was the leech who served the most high,
your father, and who was put out of the house by
you with contumely, who got those poor young folk
away/
Castiglione was silent.
He knew that it was very possible that from the
first she had known both the cause of their depar-
ture and whither they had gone: the baser and
coarser she was, the more likely was it that she had
purposely concealed her knowledge to traffic in it
thus. It might be only a lie to raise the price of her
tenement; but, again, it might be the truth. For
even such creatures as she can tell the truth when
they are likely to gain money by it.
' If you indeed know anything,' he said, cutting
short her repeated flatteries and asseverations, ' say
it, and say it as it is. You are already likely to be
in trouble with the police for not having given due
• notice of your tenants' change of place, and you will
best consult your own interests in being honest—if
you can be so.'
Yeneranda Pilotti leaned farther out of the window,
the whole of her brown, fierce, wrinkled face working
eagerly with avarice and fear and longing, the brass
earrings she wore glittering in the bright moonlight,
RUFFINO
199
and riveting the stern, inquisitive gaze of Ruffino's
black eyes.
' Great gentlemen like you, your excellency,
always forget that there may be venom in the worm
which you tread under heel: the puff-adder looks like
a dry, dead stick in the dust, but there is life in it—
and there is death in it. The leech—his name I can-
not remember—got in here, pretending to the girl—to
the signorina—that you had sent him, and that he had
a marvellous cure, with which he could raise her
brother from his bed and make a man of him. She,
being beguiled by your name and her own hopes, let
him in; and he got to the sick youth's side, and then
shut the door on her; and when she was safely got rid
of began to write things to her brother on the slate
which she always used, for you know the lad was
stone-deaf. Myself, I listened, and looked through a
chink in the wall—a chink I made on purpose twenty
years ago, for it is always well to see what one's
lodgers do. The leech only wrote on the slate, and
I cannot tell what he wrote; but I guessed it was
about you and the girl—the signorina—for the young
man, he raved against you like a madman, and
I heard him say that he would sooner shoot his sister
dead than you ever again set eyes upon her. And
then I know no more what they agreed on, for the
200
RUFFINO
youngster whispered, and the leech wrote on the
slate. But in the dusk that night the cart took
them away, and yesternight, by mere chance, I
learned that they went across the water to that
passage-way, called after Papa Bonifazio, which joins
the Ghetto ; and I learned that the young man died
there of chills taken in his removal, and that the girl
—the signorina—had fallen ill of grief, and perhaps of
hunger, too, and had been sent to some poor hospital,
and whether now living or dead no one in that
quarter could say. I suppose the leech took no
thought or care of her; he only frightened her brother
away to be avenged upon your most illustrious. And
this is truth, so help me our dear Mother! and all
the truth, and your excellency can go to this lane of
Papa Bonifazio and ask for yourself; and you will
order your agents to pay me the thousand crowns
to-morrow, and no more ado.'
By the white light of the full moon she saw
the face of her auditor grow grey and colourless,
and his hands close on the stone edge of the
balustrade as though they gripped the throat of
Magliabecchi.
' By the Yirgin and by Yenus!' muttered the
old woman to herself,' if I were a great prince and a
rich lord, who can buy what he wishes, like you, much
RUFFINO
SOI
would I care for a pale, puny beggar like ber! What
queer mad creatures tkey are, these mighty folk,
with, the pick of the plums in their hands, and only
hungering for a wretched windfall.'
Briefly, he ordered her to go on the morrow to
his agents to receive her price and put her cross
to the necessary documents, and then he bade her
begone. She withdrew from the window her frowsy
and witch-like head, and he, delivered from her
presence, paced up and down the loggia, and sought
the shadows of the gardens with a ceaseless rest-
lessness which sorely tried the patience of Ruffino,
who, half-asleep, paced after him drowsily, only
allowing himself to slumber at intervals, when his
master sat down on some stone bench or marble
chair.
Castiglione knew what the hospitals of Rome
were: he had visited them often. The thought of his
lost love in their dirt, their neglect, their foul atmo-
sphere, their crowded corridors, made his heart grow
sick, and tainted the sweet-perfumed air of the
gardens around him. How could he hope that her
already overtaxed strength had resisted the grief of
her brother's death and the trials of physical as well
as mental suffering ?
In that little house facing the loggia she had
202
RUFFINO
been sustained by familiarity, babit, hope, the
support of regular work, the incentive of a strong
affection; but her brother dead, and she alone in a
strange place, and incapacitated by illness from seek-
ing or doing work, even her youth and heroism could
have found no force against such accumulated trials.
He scarcely doubted that death had taken her
also from her misery, and a poignant self-reproach
added its bitterness to his sorrow.
"Why had he let pass those earlier summer days,
in which she had been within the reach of his voice,
the touch of his hand ?
' I was a coward,' he thought; e I could not bring
myself to admit that I loved a woman of whom I
knew nothing. I was afraid to look a dupe in my
own sight and the sight of others.'
With earliest morning he sent his men to the
place where Magliabecchi lived, and to the various
quarters where permission to visit the hospitals, lay
and clerical, was to be obtained. The orders of
admission were at once accorded to him by the civil
and by the ecclesiastical authorities; but of the
physician there was no news : his apartment was shut
up, he had gone away the previous day, saying that
he was going to the sea; several heavy boxes had
gone with him. He had no doubt become alarmed
RUFFINO
203
by the sense that he was watched, and had left the
city in which his evil ways so long had prospered,
having made sure of his revenge before he had looked
his last on Rome.
Castiglione, with a heavy sense upon him that all
he could do now would be done too late, turned his
steps first to that wretched passage-way which the
old woman had indicated to him as the alley of Papa
Bonifazio. It was still scarcely more than Ave
Maria, and the network of streets had the stillness
and comparative freshness of early morning in them.
The place named after the hapless Boniface was
one of the most wretched haunts of Borne, close to
the fish-market, and inhabited only by the poorest
of the poor. Twenty-four hours in its sights and
sounds and odours would surely have been enough
to strike down with fever such a delicate organisa-
tion as that of the Russian girl.
He found there that what the woman Pilotti had
said had been true : two young people answering to
the description of the young Nelaguine and his sister
had been dwellers for a little time in one of the
upper floors of a wretched house reeking with damp
and dirt, black with charcoal smoke, and hung about
with fishing-nets and rags of all kinds. The people
of the street told him that the young man had died,
204
RUFFINO
soon after his arrival there, of ague and fever they
believed; that his sister had fallen insensible when
the pauper's shell had been brought for his body, and
the beccamorti had carted it away. No one con-
fessed to have noticed what had become of her: they
thought some nuns had carried her away in a litter,
but they were not sure. Nobody seemed to think
that it could matter; and they all stared in amaze
to see this grand gentleman vex his soul over such
a search.
Weary and heart-sick, he returned to his own
palace to seek the orders to visit the various asylums
and hospitals. It was now noon. Kuffino came to
him, and gently claimed his recognition.
Ruffino knew that his master was u,nhappy and
ill at ease, and his sympathetic nature made him
subdue his proud temper, and put aside his sense of
injury at having been left at home alone, and offer
all such condolences as it was in his power to
express.
' Why leave me here ? I am your one safe guide
and counsellor,' said his black eyes, wistfully and
eloquently.
Even in the profound sorrow and anxiety of his
own thoughts, Castiglione was touched by that mute
appeal.
RUFFINO
205
' Poor little Ruffo ! will you come witli me ?' he
said to his little comrade. 'Perhaps your finer
senses may find her; mine are too blunt, and dulled
by too long selfishness.'
Ruffino understood the permission, and capered
wildly, turning round upon himself like a teetotum,
and springing thrice his own height in the air.
Then, conscious that he compromised his dignity
in the eyes of the servants standing about the ante-
rooms, he sobered down, and with a shake to adjust
his new gold necklace properly under his ruff, he
assumed a staid and grave demeanour, and walked
after his master, step for step, out of the ante-rooms,
down the staircase, and into the court, where Castig-
lione's mail-phaeton awaited him.
Grave as a judge, Ruffino sat upon the cushion
beside his owner. He was well used to that seat of
honour, and many a time, from a similar eminence, had
surveyed the world in the Allee des Acacias of Paris,
in the Ringstrasse, and in the drive in Hyde Park.
But now his spirit was too anxious to take pleasure
in looking around him; he knew that his friend was
out, not for pastime, but in trouble. The spectacle
of the streets had no interest for him; his loyal
little soul was sad because his beloved one was not
happy.
2o6
RUFFINO
They drove from one hospital and refuge to an-
other, entering them all, searching them diligently;
but with no avail.
' Let my dog come in with me, for I seek a lost
friend, and his recognition will be quicker than
mine,' said Castiglione to the authorities, who were
scandalised at the sight of a four-footed visitant
trotting through their wards and corridors. The
rank of a Prince of Montefeltro procured indulgence
to his caprice, and Ruffino came through these ter-
rible abodes of woe, his nose to the ground and his
intelligence on the alert, not knowing why he was
brought thither, but fully determined to do his duty
whenever he should find out what it was.
He looked diligently under all the beds, for he
thought that it was the yellow cat who was wanted
at last by a just, though too slow, Nemesis : and wan
smiles came on colourless, thin lips, and faces dark with
pain and rage cleared for a moment as the little busy
form, ringing its silver bells, trotted briskly from one
pallet to another, bringing to the wretched beings
lying thereon memories of mirthful, healthful hours,
gone for evermore, when, with just such a little dog as
this, they had run through the blowing grasses after a
hopping quail, or driven a wine-cart cheerily, through
the fresh autumn nights, up to the gates of Rome.
RUFFINO
20 7
Castiglione, worn with disappointment and weary
with apprehension, was made more wretched still by
all these scenes of torture, which he could do so little
to alleviate.
4 As God lives above us,' he swore to himself,4 if
I find her I will give my life to help the poor !'
All his past life of pleasure looked to him a
frivolous, base thing, beside this immense, unquench-
able, unpitied, utterly useless, world of woe.
He visited every refuge for the ailing and the poor;
but neither in the wards of the hospitals nor in the
entries of their books could he discover any trace of
her; she seemed totally, irrevocably lost under the
deep and swift oblivion which attends the wretched
in the crowds of a great city.
Untiring, Ruffino and he went forth each day,
and looked all shapes of misery in the face, and saw
all forms of pain, and even all forms of crime and mad-
ness.
4 What is it ?' Ruffino's little face asked, inquir-
ingly and wistfully, knowing that they looked for
something, but not knowing what: unless, indeed, it
were the yellow cat. But she, he came to think, it
could not be, because every evening from the loggia
he saw her sitting, in bumptious and insolent security,
upon roof or lintel or gutter, and of her his master
208
RUFF I NO
took no kind of notice whatever. Ruffino came to
the conclusion, so painful to all of us, and coupled
with such sad disillusion, that what he thought was
of such supreme, universal, imperial importance really
did only interest himself alone.
XII
On the fifth day after the news he had received
from Yeneranda Pilotti, he heard that Magliabecchi
had been traced to Brindisi, and there had taken
steamer to Constantinople, safely putting seas and
mountains betwixt himself and danger. The fox had
got away, and no force or skill could find him, and
make him disgorge the secret which he carried.
' If she is dead,' thought Castiglione, (I will
follow him, and run him down, if I hunt through
every town in Asia: she shall not perish unpitied
and unavenged.'
He had now searched through every hospital, every
refuge, every asylum. There were only the prisons
left to search ; it was possible that under some false
charge she had been taken there, or even on no
charge at all; for utter poverty and friendlessness are
crimes punishable and punished in every State. The
weather was cooler; the first rains had fallen; the
RUFFINO
air was fragrant with the scent of orange-flowers and
of the odorous ^olive : as he stood on the loggia in the
evening silence, he felt as if his heart would break,
that he could not find her in her misery, and raise her
up, King Cophetua-like, into all that peace, that
beauty, that sweetness, which were around him. He
had so much to give, and he could not reach her to
give her anything.
' Let us try once more, Ruflino,' he said, sadly;
and he and his little comrade went out, and down
through the great Piazza of St. Peter's, where the
fountains were leaping in the moonlight and the
ebon shadows were lying between the great pillars
of the, colonnades. From the square, the mighty
mass of his own palace, with its gardens rising
behind it, could be seen dark against the lustrous,
starry skies.
He left the Piazza, and descended the street
where the Fornarina once dwelt, and where beautiful
Raffaelle must so often have passed, with passion-
winged feet, going to and from his garden-pavilion
in the Borghese woods. As he reached the end of it,
one of his own servants, running breathless after
him, handed him a telegraphic message which had
just been left at the palace. He had of late given
such imperative orders that any message or missive
P
2IO
RUFFINO
of any kind brought to his house should be delivered
to him immediately, that his people, having seen
him cross the square, had sent this on after him.
He tore it open, vaguely hoping against hope
that it might bring him some news of her, though it
was scarcely possible or probable that it would do so.
He read the printed words by the light of a lamp in
a doorway. They said:
1 The girl is dying of the perniciosa. If you find
her, and get all the shill of Borne, you will not keep
her alive. I leave Italy, taking my honest savings
with me. Adieu. You will remember Magliabecchi
as one who paid his debts
The telegram had been sent from the port of
Brindisi.
Castiglione's hand clenched on the paper as if
it were a living thing which stung and poisoned
him. The snake had crawled safely away, leaving its
venom behind it.
Dying of the worst form of .Roman fever, and
none knew where, in what haunt of misery, in what
den of torture! He walked on and on like a blind
man, taking his way where chance led him, followed
like his shadow by Ruffino—a little white figure
glancing in the moonlight, with bright eyes which
shone like balls of phosphorus.
RUFFINO
211
Castiglione felt as if lie could not ever again
return to his own home, where every luxury awaited
him, and where art and ease were his willing hand-
maidens, whilst she, the innocent and hapless child,
was dying, or already dead, alone and unpitied,
amidst the haste and heartlessness of a great city.
He wandered on and on, not noting whither he
went, for once forgetful of the faithful friend "by his
side. The Roman streets were unsafe at such an
hour for a man so well-known for his rank and
riches: but of that he took no thought; he walked
on and on, until he had unconsciously reached the
labyrinth of poor tenements which lie along the
Tiber under the vast shadow of St. Angelo.
Ruffino, checking all his impulses of curiosity and
investigation under the stern duty of watching over
his master's safety in these foul and noisome places,
walked steadily, with his nose to the ground and all
his fine and delicate senses sharply on the alert,
ready at the smallest sign of danger to give alarm.,
and leap with all the courage of his race on any
assailant.
As he reached the edge of the river, even the
restless wretchedness of Castiglione's meditation
could not wholly blind him to the beauty of the
scene: the moonlight made the Tiber waters a
p 2
21-2
RUFFINO
silver pathway fit for the perished gods of Home;
the boats rocked silently upon the rippling surface;
grand masses of white cloud sailed above head where
the angel in mockery crowned the Mausoleum of
Hadrian.
He stood still on the brink of the river, and
gazed at the illumined loveliness, with a vague sense
of its awful beauty penetrating the gloom of his
passionate thoughts.
It was late, and there was little sound or move-
ment near: a string of mules was going along the
opposite shore, a priest was passing over the bridge,
from a boat under the walls of the fortress there came
the voice of a boatman chanting a barcarolle.
Ruffino, subdued by the stillness and the shadows,
was mute, standing small and white against the
gloom from the massive walls.
Suddenly he whimpered, moved restlessly, and
pricked his ears, as his wont was when excited or
disturbed.
His master did not heed him; he was gazing
down the river: never, never, he thought, would he
find his lost love on earth.
But Ruffino grew more and more agitated: his
hair stood erect, his body trembled, his tail moved
over his back; he whined, and gave little short,
RUFFINO
213
sharp barks; then, without waiting for leave or
sympathy, he darted away, across to a litter of cord-
age and sail and boats turned keel upwards which
were lying black and shapeless on the shore. Eeach-
ing them, he scratched and whined and barked, and
ran to and fro, and returning to his master, leaped
on him, whimpering and quivering, his phosphores-
cent eyeballs flashing in the dark.
' What is it, Ruffo ?' said Oastiglione, absently ;
he thought the little dog had found some rat, or cat,,
or sleeping lizard.
But Ruffino ran back again to the boats, and ex-
pressed in his own language such intense excitement
and such rapturous pleasure, that his master followed
him, lifted the old sails which hung above a broken
oar, and there, by the light of the moon, he saw a
woman's form, sleeping or senseless. As her face
was turned to the rays of the moon, and he put
aside the heavy hair which covered it, he recognised
the face which had haunted him through so many
days and nights.
With a loud cry, he fell on his knees on the sandy
grass.
A rat hurried away from beneath the rotten wood
on which her head was lying, as a rat ran once from
the skull of Dante.
214
RUFFINO
' My love, my love, awake!' he cried to her.
1 It is I. Look at me. Listen to me. You must
live, and live for me!'
The girl, who was lying in the heavy stupor of
fever, vaguely understood; her great brown, pathetic
eyes unclosed and looked up at him. She had been
driven out of her miserable lodging a few hours
before, and had crept down to the riverside to die.
A shudder shook her frame; she recognised the dog
.and his master.
'Yolodia is dead,' she whispered. 1 He bade me
never—never—never see you; I promised '
Castiglione kissed her worn and wasted hands,
her burning brow, her hair, damp with the dews of
the night.
£Volodia, if his spirit lives, forgives me now,'
he murmured in her ear. ' My poor pale angel of
sorrow, I will teach you what happiness means.'
XIII
On her marriage-day, three months later, he pre-
sented her with the title-deeds to all the land and
houses contained in the Yiccolo of St. Anastasia.
4 You can do as you will with it all,' he said to
her: c pull it down, build it up, lay it into the
RUFFINO
215
gardens, or make an orphanage or a hospital there,
just as it pleases you best. It is wholly yours/
She smiled, with tears in her eyes.
1 If it may be so indeed, I will send the bad
people away, but not the good ones, because, though
it is all so poor, yet it is a home to them, and I think
we have no right to turn them out of it. But we will
purify it, and plant it, and make it sweet and whole-
some, and everyone shall be happy there, and lead
peaceful and cleanly lives; and all the animals shall
be well cared for and kindly treated in it; and at the
little corner-house—my little house—we will make a
dwelling-place for some poor old, friendless women,
and we will put over the door a little statue of San
Bocca and his dog, for the sake of my dear friend
Buffino/
Buffino heard his name, and coughed discreetly,
to remind them that he also had his own views on
the subject of that lane, which was now part of his
kingdom. No beauty of art and architecture, no
holiness, or cleanliness and sweetness, no verdure
of foliage and blossoming of flowers, could be so
delightful, or so excellent, or so acceptable, either, to
San Bocca or to himself, as the successful destruction
of the yellow cat.
It is still his dream of the future.
AN ORCHARD
AN ORCHARD
£ Yes, I planted it all myself, fifty years ago come
Easter. Easter fell early that year. I had married
at Epiphany, and that made me more willing to
work. Yes, I planted every tree, then and later
on. Of coarse, they have had to be renewed, some
of them. But every bit of it is my own labour, the
work of my own hands. I never let my lads have
aught to do with the trees/
So said the master of the orchard, with harm-
less pride. The trees were almond, peach, and
pear trees, lying full south on a sunny hillside. He
who had planted it was a Tuscan peasant, whose fore-
fathers had dwelt there for four hundred years. The
place was called Satinella, and the family name was
Nerozzi; but they were always called the Satinelli,
the name of the ground replacing the name of the
race for all their country-side, as is so often the
custom in Tuscany.
Lindoro Nerozzi (il Satanello to all his neigh-
220
AN ORCHARD
bourhood) was a tall, hale, handsome man of seventy
years old, with black eyes, still full of light, and an
abundance of white and curling hair. He had lived
here all his life, and had improved the soil vastly,
for it lay on a mountain slope, and was by nature
barren; but he, with patience and perseverance, had
made the stony earth fruitful, had carried up fresh
soil, and laboured on it ceaselessly from morning to
evening, and this orchard of his own creation sur-
rounding the house was the apple of his eye, the joy of
his soul. In January the almond-trees were clouds of
rosy blossom; and the pear-trees were, later on, white
as snow; and the peach-trees, still later, were marvels
of pink-hued blossom; and in the grass beneath the
trees daffodils and narcissus and hyacinths grew, and
in the boughs nightingales often made their nests. Of
all this loveliness the old Satanello had not much per-
ception: he liked it vaguely, without knowing what
it was that he liked. The mind of the peasant is
usually slow, and dull in its perceptions, as the mind
of the oxen that he guides before his plough. But
the place itself he loved passionately : he had seen it
grow little by little; he had called it out of the barren
ground, as Moses, called the water-spring; and its
blossom and its fruits were doubly his own, because
without him they would never have been there.
AN ORCHARD
221
He paid the half of the value they brought
honestly to his landlord, for the Tuscan is always
obedient and conservative by nature. But the orchard
seemed none the less his own to him ; his people had
been on that same soil for centuries, and,he himself
had run about there in his. childhood with brown,
naked feet, and every day of every year all through
his manhood had seen the sunrise widen in the
east, and the sunset flame and fade in the west,
through the straight stems of the pine-trees and
cypresses which stood like sentinels round his home.
Far down beneath him stretched the Yale of Arno,
a sea of verdure flecked with golden lights; and up
above him rose the woods, with their stone-pines, and
their heather, and their yellow-flowering gorse. He
had known misfortune ; he was old, and his children
had died before him, and almost all his grandchildren,
too: only one girl, Candida, and one boy, Lucio,
were left to him, and lived there with him. And he
was satisfied as to their future: ' for you will be
here after me,' he said to the lad, ' and you will
marry early, as I did, and then you will wed Candida
to some honest, hard-working fellow, who will take
her off your hands; and the trees are all sound, fine,
full-bearing trees, and they will keep you and yours
for many a day, never fear.
222
AN ORCHARD
Lucio was a good little lad, only fourteen, but
strong and sturdy, and very docile. Candida, a year
or two older, was not so good: she was lazy, and
could be saucy, and liked her own way, and did not
like work. She was pretty, too, and knew it, and
when she could get a few pence to herself spent
them on finery, and sulked for a week after every
feast-day because her grandfather would not give
her her grandmother's pearls.
4 They shall be yours when you marry, but not
before,' said Satanello; and she thought it very hard.
4 You only love the trees, Nonno!' she said,
angrily; and the old man laughed. ' When you are
as lovely and as useful as the trees, my wench, then
you shall have the pearls; but I see no sign of that
yet. You are only a weed, bambina; a pretty weed,
like the mouse-ear, but of no use at all to any one.'
For she let the soup burn, and scorched the linen
when she ironed it, and made the bread heavy as
lead, and let the pig get amongst the young peas
and the fowls scratch up the spinach-plants, and
spent all her time looking at her own face in a bit of
cracked mirror; so that often little Lucio had to turn
cook instead of her, and her grandfather was forced
to scold her seriously, which he hated to do, for she
was the child of the son whom he had loved the
AN ORCHARD
223
most. Nevertheless, they were very happy together
at Satinella; and if the girl were idle and wayward,
* marriage cures all that,' thought her grandfather,
and he had his eye on a youngster on whom he
meant to bestow her, a fine young fellow at the
forge at the foot of the hill.
' That will leave Lucio's hands clear, and the land
will keep him and his when I am gone,' the old man
thought, as he pruned his fruit-trees in autumn.
But although he said, ' when I am gone,' to him-
self and to others, he did not in the least realise that
he was old, and that life could not last very long for
him. He was strong and hale, having lived in that
pure, high air all his years ; and it seemed to him
that he was rooted in the soil like his old pear-trees :
very old they were, the pear-trees, gnarled and
mossy, and grey with lichens; but they bore richer
fruit still than the young ones.
' They could not get on without me, nor I without
them,' said Satanello a hundred times a season.
He worked amongst them early and late, and
when he rested, it was on the low stone wall facing
them that he liked best to sit. Pears, and peaches,
and almonds, they all grew together in amity, their
boughs touching, their roots crossing, their shadows
wavmg on the sunny, thick grass below them, free
224
AN ORCHARD
and careless and beautiful, like apple-trees in Devon-
sbire or Normandy.
It was bis world to bim, and all its population was
familiar to bim: tbe great green beetles, tbe little
green lizards, tbe big. deatb's-bead motbs, tbe buge
water-beetles, tbe stoat coming stealthily tbrougb tbe.
gloom, tbe chattering tree-frog, tbe beautiful butter-
flies. He never hurt any of them more than be could
help, and bis shrewd observation bad told bim of tbe
good birds; be never molested tbe nests that were
made upon tbe branches and down in tbe grass "of
his orchard.
If the snake do not eat me,
If the thorn do not prick me,
If the man do not kill me,
I shall sing my zee, zee, zee 1
says tbe Tuscan rhyme; and Satanello used to say
the rhyme, and like to bear tbe ' zee, zee, zee,' which
began to be beard everywhere around, from bush and
briar, as soon as tbe wild sorrel blossomed in January.
He used to talk to tbe trees, as people who are
much alone grow apt to talk to anything which is
tbe daily companion and constant witness of their
solitary lives.
' I have done well by you, and you have done
well by me,' he said to them, straightening bis back,
and resting for a minute from, bis work. 1 You will
AN ORCHARD
241
was all the reply lie received; lie had wasted the
whole day uselessly. ' Never mind, I will go back
next week,' he thought; and he cheered himself
with the thought of his evening's rest and his good
bed of sacking and maize leaves.
The sky had clouded over in the afternoon, and
the evening shadows had fallen early, and his sight
not being so clear as it had used to be, he thought
his eyes were at fault because there was a look about
his home which was unfamiliar. It looked barer,
colder, less sheltered.
* It is the way the light falls, and I grow blind
as a mole,' he said to himself, with a cruel pain of
vague apprehension gnawing at his heart.
He pressed on up the steep path, regardless of
his fatigue, his aching limbs, the stones over which
he stumbled. With a shrill cry the little figure of
Lucio flew through the shadows.
' Oh, Nonno! Nonno!' he shrieked. ' Nonnc .
the trees are down! Don't go up, don't go up I the
trees are down!'
With a great and terrible oath, the old man threw
the boy out of his path, and tore headlong up the
slope, as though the blood of youth were boiling in
his veins. The trees were felled, the orchard was a
thing of the past. Hewn through at their roots, they
K
242
AN ORCHARD
lay prone on the ground, fallen one on another, their
"branches entangling like the hair of dead bodies,
their shattered trunks eloquent in their mute ruin;
their boughs and bark and lichen strewing the grass
in confused litter; the startled birds flying still, in the
gloom, with unhappy lamentation, over the prostrate
shapes of the friends which so long had sheltered
them. The trees were down. Nevermore would the
nightingales nest and the narcissus blossom beneath
them.
The old man stood and gazed, his eyes wide open,
his veins swollen, his breath choking in his throat.
Then, without a word, he fell forward, and lay, as the
trees lay, flat and helpless on the earth.
Life lingered in him three days, and consciousness
came back to him in a measure; he kept saying
perpetually, day and night: i The trees, the trees,
save the trees !' and then, again, would cry out that
the butcher was at his throat, was cleaving his skull,
was severing his limbs: for he was dying like the
trees.
On the night of the fourth day Death took him,
his eyes staring to the last through the lattice to
look at the trees where they were stretched on the
earth.
Lucio wept passionately, flung, face downwards
AN ORCHARD
243
upon the old dead body; and the dogs, trembling
and moaning, pressed close to his side. But Can-
dida found the keys of the oak chest, took the pearls
out of their hiding-place, clasped them round her
throat, and stole away from the house of mourning.
TROTTOLINO
TROTTOLINO
Trottolino came singing through the canes.
It was a day in early summer, with light, fragrant
winds, which blew the riband-like leaves of the canes
to and fro, and ruffled into gentle ripples the green
waters of the stream by which they grew. Trottolino
had received many baptismal names from Holy
Church; but none of them were ever used. He was
Trottolino to all the world, though he now was
twenty-one years of age.
He was a very pretty lad, small, but admirably
made, and lithe as a deer. He had a round face,
with laughing eyes, auburn curls, a mouth like a
pomegranate flower, and shining, snow-white teeth.
He was always gay and merry.
He was a baker's boy, and went about the country
with the big, moon-like loaves piled in a small, blue,
covered cart with a white awning, drawn by a donkey
which was very small, too, but sturdy and swift, and
on the best of terms with its driver. What busi-
24B
TROTTOLINO
ness was it of anyone's if Trottolino and his donkey
took a nap on the roadside grass, or loitered where
the fish were leaping in the river, or plucked a peach
or two from a wayside tree, or strayed now and then
into the grassy paths under the vines? The cus-
tomers waited for their bread, indeed; but then, when
Trottolino did appear, his laugh was so irresistible, as
he murmured ' Pazienza !' that none could ever find
it in their hearts to scold or to report him. Trotto-
lino could sing very cheerily, too ; and he had an old
mandoline tucked in the back of the cart, which, when
he traversed lonely lanes or bits of solitary moorland
he would take out, and, with the reins safe knotted
away on his arm, would wake the echoes with its
chords, while he sang, with a full, gay, tenor voice,
the songs of the country-side.
Many a lonely cottage and waterside mill had its
doorways filled by women and children as these
echoes floated to them. il Trottolino' (Here is
the little spinning-top!) they said to one another,
and would laugh, and call out, and ask him in;
and though the delivery of the loaves was sadly
hindered by his popularity and his melodies, his
days were much the brighter for both. Hot very
many years ago Tuscan people all made their own
bread, and would no more have thought of eating
TROTTOLINO
249
bakers' bread than of eating the smooth white stones
of the river-bed ; but now, except in farmhouses, no
home-made bread is seen, and everyone goes to the
baker's,' to the injury of their digestions and finances
—an example of that curious increase of improvidence
and indolence which is the especial sign of all modern
progress. So Trottolino's rounds were long, and his
halting-places many, in the fragrant, fertile country-
side which he traversed.
The donkey knew as well as he every house by
heart, and would quicken his steps of his own accord
whenever they drew near any doorway, more hos-
pitable than others, where a draught of mezzo vino for
his driver was likely to be accompanied by a wisp of
tares or an armful of grass for himself.
Trottolino's master was more honest than many
bakers are, and his loaves were solid, and of fair
weight. He was a big, brawny man, who spent most
of the day on his threshold, stripped to the waist in
warm weather, and wearing a red, conical cap. His
share of the business was to display himself thus ; the
.bread was made and baked indoors by his women
and his apprentices. Trottolino did little with oven or
trough; his merrier mission was to scour the country
with the little blue cart.
His people were poor : his father was a bricklayer,
250
TR0TT0LIN0
and Ms brother a mason. There were three sisters :
pretty, sancy girls, younger than he, who were always
straying about the lanes with their straw-plaiting as
an excuse for being idle. They had a little cottage
at the angle of a wood, a mile from the village where
the bakery was. It was old and tumbledown; but
the sweet-smelling firs stood around, and above it,
and near it.
The shallow green river purled over its stones,
carrying trout and perch in its clear ripples, and
often brushed by the low-flying wings of freshwater
birds. The mother and grandmother did the house-
work: cooked, sewed, spun, and kept the family
together; they were happy, cheerful, affectionate
people, and it was the pride of their hearts to see
Trottolino, in the blue cart, winding up the sandy
path into the pine-woods, and disappearing behind
the tall canebrakes by the river.
He was a favourite with his employer. His
small weekly wage was a vast help to his family.
And the baker's daughter, who wTas sixteen, looked
with favouring eyes on his auburn curls: she was
herself a pretty blonde. She was always called
Biondina; so that the couplet,
0 Biondina 1 Come sta ?
Oggi sto ben', ma doman' chi sa ?
TROTTOLINO
was often shouted by him to the pastoral solitudes,
while the hoofs of Peppino, the little ass, went pit-
pat, tic-tac, on the sand of the roads. It was a high-
vaulting ambition, no doubt, to dream of wedding
Biondina and succeeding to the bakery. But less
likely things had happened; and the baker was
known to look on with an indulgent smile when
Trottolino, tout endimanche, brought the girl, on
Sundays, a bunch of carnations and a few china roses
from his own strip of garden: and Biondina, who
was a gentle child, but a little coquette, put them
in the front of her bodice or in her waistband, and
went with them, thus honoured, to Mass or to
Vespers.
' How can you encourage it ?' said the baker's
wife; 'the son of a bracciante, a lad who drives your
ass!'
And the baker laughed, and answered, with good
humour: 'Eh! he might be an ass himself! That
would be worse. Trottolino has stuff in him, though
he is always laughing and singing: he has doubled
the custom, and never is there a centime wrong.
These are qualities, my woman: these are qualities
that are not picked up every day. Let things wag
as they will; they are children as yet, but if they
keep in the same mind when he has served his time, I
252
TROTTOLINO
am not sure tliat I shall say no. He is small, yon say.
Yes; he is not a giant. But a bee is a very little
thing, and where will you find anything that beats a
bee for work ?'
This complacency in his master was more or less
known to the lad, and made him feel secure as to
his future. He was in love with Biondina, but in a
simple, innocent, youthful way, with a touch of self-
interest in it which made him gay and sanguine.
Always in the open air, and living with the utmost
frugality, the fumes of passion were unknown to
him, and his courtship was a playtime. He would
talk a great deal about Biondina to the donkey, who
moved its soft ears at her name, because it often
got a sour apple to munch from her hand; and
Biondina was always in his head as he sang of lilies,
and roses, and stars, and doves, and fountains, and
all the other gems of the stornelli. But it was a
boyish love, sweet, not eager, content to wait, into
which neither impatience nor bitterness entered.
Tr otto lino, too, always saw everything as he wished
it to be: to live in the same place all his life, and
go his daily rounds, and laugh and sing and chatter
and dance in the farmhouses at vintage-time and
carnival-time, this was Paradise to him; he could
conceive no other life that could possibly be better.
TROTTOLINO
253
Everybody was bis friend, and every door stood open
to bim.
He was sorely startled in bis bappy and nncon-
scious optimism wben, one day, a miller to wbom
be bad gone for some flour for bis master said sud-
denly to bim:
' Do you know tbat tbey will take almost all tbe
lads of your year next autumn ? Tbey want so
many men for Africa; tbe beigbt-standard bas been
lowered again, and the numbers also.'
Trottolino's fresb face lost its ruddy colour.
'Do you mean—no, you don't mean ?' be
stammered.
' Yes, I mean tbat very likely you will have to
serve, my poor Trottolino,' said tbe miller, who was
an authority in tbe neighbourhood, being a rich man,
and one who read tbe newspapers, and one who bad
even been known to contradict tbe syndic of tbe
commune.
' All tbe lads go into tbe regiments; all grist
comes to tbe mill; anybody is good enough to be
shot by the blacks, or killed of thirst. Tbat is
what we pay taxes for—to lose our lads, and
bury good money in foreign sands. It is all wrong,
Trottolino, all damnably wrong. Tbe boys and
the money are tbe strength of tbe country, and
254
TROTTOLINO
they throw them both away as if they were mildewed
barley.'
Trottolino, caring nothing for generalisations,
stared at the speaker with distended, horrified eyes.
' I made sure—we made sure ' he muttered;
* they always said there was no sort of fear for me.'
c Times change,' said the miller. ' Who could
tell they would go and make fools of themselves in
Africa ? You are short, to be sure, but they have
lowered the standard; and you are very well made.
Mark my words, come September they will take
you!'
The first tears that he had ever shed in his life
rushed into Trottolino's eyes, and he hid them on
the short, thick mane of Peppino.
c I could not serve! I could not!' he said,
piteously.
The miller, who was not an unkind man, yet
who liked to thrust unwelcome truths home to other
people, patted his shoulder.
' Hundreds of them say that, but they go. You
will see it will be as I say. You won't get out of it.
And it won't be playing the lute, and petting the
donkey, and ogling Biondina all day long there, my
poor fellow!'
The mill stood on the river some little way
TROTTOLINO
255
distant from Trottolino's home. It was a lovely,
laughing day in April, with the furrows of the green
corn starred with hyacinths and daffodils, and roots
of primrose blossoming all along the grassy banks.
But all the gladness of it was clouded over for
the boy, and the blue heavens ceased to wear a
kindly smile for him. He let Peppino amble on his
own pace, unhurried, and crop mouthfuls here and
there at pleasure; and he went past more than one
open door not even hearing the cries from within of
' Trottolino! Eh, Trottolino !' The dread terror
of the conscription had laid its cold hand on him,
and frozen the laugh on his lips and hushed the
music in his soul.
It was late; and when his rounds made him late
he was allowed to stable the donkey in a shed at
home, on condition that he presented himself with it
at the bakery by daybreak. He was met some yards
from home by his sisters, who, laughing, and full of
glee, climbed up into the cart, and seized the reins,
and chattered like so many sparrows in an acre of
green peas.
But Trottolino had no heart nor heed for them.
When he reached his father's cottage, he bade them
see to Peppino, as they often did; and he him-
self walked up the garden path of shingle.
256
TROTTOLINO
' Granny! Mother !' he said, in a low, unsteady
voice, to the two women sitting in the evening
shadows in the porch. ' They say they have lowered
the standard; when autumn comes they will take
me; everybody is going to Africa.'
' Ah, no!' shrieked the women together; while
the girls left Peppino at the entrance, and ran in,
terrified, to listen. ' Ah, no! The Madonna forbid!
Never, never must they take you, Trottolino—you,
our one comfort, our one treasure, our bread-winner,
our staff, our darling!—never, never! The dear
Mother in Heaven will never permit it!'
' Our Mother in Heaven never moves a finger
for a conscript,' said Trottolino, sadly. ' Does she
not let all the lads be taken, till half the land lies
untilled? They always said I was too short; but
it seems they have lowered the standard, they want
soldiers so much for Africa.'
'Where is Africa?' said the eldest girl; while
the mother and grandmother rent the air with their
outcries and supplications to Mary, who had been a
mother, and ought to know better than to tear lads
away from their mothers.
' Africa is—is ' muttered Trottolino; ' I don't
know what it is. It is a place where they bury
men and money every day; a sort of oven, I think,
AN ORCHARD
241
was all the reply he received; he had wasted the
whole day uselessly. 1 Never mind, I will go back
next week,'. he thought; and he cheered himself
with the thought of his evening's rest and his good
bed of sacking and maize leaves.
The sky had clouded over in the afternoon, and
the evening shadows had fallen early, and his sight
not being so clear as it had used to be, he thought
his eyes were at fault because there was a look about
his home which was unfamiliar. It looked barer,
colder, less sheltered.
' It is the way the light falls, and I grow blind
as a mole,' he said to himself, with a cruel pain of
vague apprehension gnawing at his heart.
He pressed on up the steep path, regardless of
his fatigue, his aching limbs, the stones over which
he stumbled. With a shrill cry the little figure of
Lucio flew through the shadows.
' Oh, Nonno! Nonno!' he shrieked. ' Nonno!
the trees are down! Don't go up, don't go up! the
trees are down!'
With a great and terrible oath, the old man threw
the boy out of his path, and tore headlong up the
slope, as though the blood of youth were boiling in
his veins. The trees were felled, the orchard was a
thing of the past. Hewn through at their roots, they
R
242
AN ORCHARD
lay prone on the ground, fallen one on another, their
branches entangling like the hair of dead bodies,
their shattered trunks eloquent in their mute ruin;
their boughs and bark and lichen strewing the grass
in confused litter; the startled birds flying still, in the
gloom, with unhappy lamentation, over the prostrate
shapes of the friends which so long had sheltered
them. The trees were down. Nevermore would the
nightingales nest and the narcissus blossom beneath
them.
The old man stood and gazed, his eyes wide open,
his veins swollen, his breath choking in his throat.
Then, without a word, he fell forward, and lay, as the
trees lay, flat and helpless on the earth.
Life lingered in him three days, and consciousness
came back to him in a measure; he kept saying
perpetually, day and night: ' The trees, the trees,
save the trees!' and then, again, would cry out that
the butcher was at his throat, was cleaving his skull,
was severing his limbs: for he was dying like the
trees.
On the night of the fourth day Death took him,
his eyes staring to the last through the lattice to
look at the trees where they were stretched on the
earth.
Lucio wept passionately, flung, face downwards
AN ORCHARD
243
upon the old dead body; and the dogs, trembling
and moaning, pressed close to bis side. But Can-
dida found the keys of the oak cbest, took the pearls
out of their hiding-place, clasped them round her
throat, and stole away from the house of mourning.
TROTTOLINO
TROTTOLINO
Trottolino came singing through, the canes.
It was a day in early summer, with light, fragrant
winds, which blew the riband-like leaves of the canes
to and fro, and ruffled into gentle ripples the green
waters of the stream by which they grew. Trottolino
had received many baptismal names from Holy
Church; but none of them were ever used. He was
Trottolino to all the world, though he now was
twenty-one years of age.
He was a very pretty lad, small, but admirably
made, and lithe as a deer. He had a round face,
with laughing eyes, auburn curls, a mouth like a
pomegranate flower, and shining, snow-white teeth.
He was always gay and merry.
He was a baker's boy, and went about the country
with the big, moon-like loaves piled in a small, blue,
covered cart with a white awning, drawn by a donkey
which was very small, too, but sturdy and swift, and
on the best of terms with its driver. What busi-
24B
TROTTOLINO
ness was it of anyone's if Trottolino and his donkey
took a nap on the roadside grass, or loitered where
the fish were leaping in the river, or plucked a peach
or two from a wayside tree, or strayed now and then
into the grassy paths under the vines? The cus-
tomers waited for their bread, indeed; but then, when
Trottolino did appear, his laugh was so irresistible, as
he murmured ' Pazienza !' that none could ever find
it in their hearts to scold or to report him. Trotto-
lino could sing very cheerily, too ; and he had an old
mandoline tucked in the back of the cart, which, when
he traversed lonely lanes or bits of solitary moorland
he would take out, and, with the reins safe knotted
away on his arm, would wake the echoes with its
chords, while he sang, with a full, gay, tenor voice,
the songs of the country-side.
Many a lonely cottage and waterside mill had its
doorways filled by women and children as these
echoes floated to them. e it Trottolino' (Here is
the little spinning-top!) they said to one another,
and would laugh, and call out, and ask him in;
and though the delivery of the loaves was sadly
hindered by his popularity and his melodies, his
days were much the brighter for both. Not very
many years ago Tuscan people all made their own
bread, and would no more have thought of eating
TROTTOLINO
249
bakers' bread than of eating the smooth white stones
of the river-bed ; but now, except in farmhouses, no
home-made bread is seen, and everyone goes to the
baker's, to the injury of their digestions and finances
—an example of that curious increase of improvidence
and indolence which is the especial sign of all modern
progress. So Trottolino's rounds were long, and his
halting-places many, in the fragrant, fertile country-
side which he traversed.
The donkey knew as well as he every house by
heart, and would quicken his steps of his own accord
whenever they drew near any doorway, more hos-
pitable than others, where a draught of mezzo vino for
his driver was likely to be accompanied by a wisp of
tares or an armful of grass for himself.
Trottolino's master was more honest than many
bakers are, and his loaves were solid, and of fair
weight. He was a big, brawny man, who spent most
of the day on his threshold, stripped to the waist in
warm weather, and wearing a red, conical cap. His
share of the business was to display himself thus ; the
bread was made and baked indoors by his women
and his apprentices. Trottolino did little with oven or
trough; his merrier mission was to scour the country
with the little blue cart.
His people were poor : his father was a bricklayer,
250
TROTTOLINO
and his brother a mason. There were three sisters :
pretty, saucy girls, younger than he, who were always
straying about the lanes with their straw-plaiting as
an excuse for being idle. They had a little cottage
at the angle of a wood, a mile from the village where
the bakery was. It was old and tumbledown; but
the sweet-smelling firs stood around, and above it,
and near it.
The shallow green river purled over its stones,
carrying trout and perch in its clear ripples, and
often brushed by the low-flying wings of freshwater
birds. The mother and grandmother did the house-
work: cooked, sewed, spun, and kept the family
together; they were happy, cheerful, affectionate
people, and it was the pride of their hearts to see
Trottolino, in the blue cart, winding up the sandy
path into the pine-woods, and disappearing behind
the tall canebrakes by the river.
He was a favourite with his employer. His
small weekly wage was a vast help to his family.
And the baker's daughter, who was sixteen, looked
with favouring eyes on his auburn curls: she was
herself a pretty blonde. She was always called
Biondina; so that the couplet,
0 Biondina 1 Come sta 7
Oggi sto ben', ma doman' chi sa 7
TROTTOLINO
251
was often shouted by him to the pastoral solitudes,
while the hoofs of Peppino, the little ass, went pit-
pat, tic-tac, on the sand of the roads. It was a high-
vaulting ambition, no doubt, to dream of wedding
Biondina and succeeding to the bakery. But less
likely things had happened; and the baker was
known to look on with an indulgent smile when
Trottolino, tout endimanche, brought the girl, on
Sundays, a bunch of carnations and a few china roses
from his own strip of garden: and Biondina, who
was a gentle child, but a little coquette, put them
in the front of her bodice or in her waistband, and
went with them, thus honoured, to Mass or to
Vespers.
c How can you encourage it ?' said the baker's
wife; ' the son of a Iracciante, a lad who drives your
ass!'
And the baker laughed, and answered, with good
humour: cEh! he might be an ass himself! That
would be worse. Trottolino has stuff in him, though
he is always laughing and singing: he has doubled
the custom, and never is there a centime wrong.
These are qualities, my woman: these are qualities
that are not picked up every day. Let things wag
as they will; they are children as yet, but if they
keep in the same mind when he has served his time, I
252
TROTTOLINO
am not sure that I shall say no. He is small, you say.
Yes; he is not a giant. But a bee is a very little
thing, and where will you find anything that beats a
bee for work ?'
This complacency in his master was more or less
known to the lad, and made him feel secure as to
his future. He was in love with Biondina, but in a
simple, innocent, youthful way, with a touch of self-
interest in it which made him gay and sanguine.
Always in the open air, and living with the utmost
frugality, the fumes of passion were unknown to
him, and his courtship was a playtime. He would
talk a great deal about Biondina to the donkey, who
moved its soft ears at her name, because it often
got a sour apple to munch from her hand; and
Biondina was always in his head as he sang of lilies,
and roses, and stars, and doves, and fountains, and
all the other gems of the stornelli. But it was a
boyish love, sweet, not eager, content to wait, into
which neither impatience nor bitterness entered.
Trottolino, too, always saw everything as he wished
it to be : to live in the same place all his life, and
go his daily rounds, and laugh and sing and chatter
and dance in the farmhouses at vintage-time and
carnival-time, this was Paradise to him; he could
conceive no other life that could possibly be better.
TROTTOLINO
253
Everybody was bis friend, and every door stood open
to bim.
He was sorely startled in bis bappy and uncon-
scious optimism wben, one day, a miller to wbom
be bad gone for some flour for bis master said sud-
denly to bim:
c Do you know tbat tbey will take almost all tbe
lads of your year next autumn ? Tbey want so
many men for Africa; tbe beigbt-standard bas been
lowered again, and the numbers also.'
Trottolino's fresb face lost its ruddy colour.
'Do you mean—no, you don't mean ?' be
stammered.
' Yes, I mean tbat very likely you will have to
serve, my poor Trottolino,' said tbe miller, who was
an authority in tbe neighbourhood, being a rich man,
and one who read tbe newspapers, and one who bad
even been known to contradict tbe syndic of tbe
commune.
' All the lads go into tbe regiments; all grist
comes to tbe mill; anybody is good enough to be
shot by tbe blacks, or killed of thirst. Tbat is
what we pay taxes for—to lose our lads, and
bury good money in foreign sands. It is all wrong,
Trottolino, all damnably wrong. Tbe boys and
the monev are tbe strength of the country, and
254
TROTTOLINO
they throw them both away as if they were mildewed
barley.'
Trottolino, caring nothing for generalisations,
stared at the speaker with distended, horrified eyes.
' I made sure—we made sure ' he muttered;
1 they always said there was no sort of fear for me.'
1 Times change,' said the miller. ' Who could
tell they would go and make fools of themselves in
Africa ? You are short, to be sure, but they have
lowered the standard; and you are very well made.
Mark my words, come September they will take
you !'
The first tears that he had ever shed in his life
rushed into Trottolino's eyes, and he hid them on
the short, thick mane of Peppino.
' I could not serve! I could not!' he said,
piteously.
The miller, who was not an unkind man, yet
who liked to thrust unwelcome truths home to other
people, patted his shoulder.
' Hundreds of them say that, but they go. You
will see it will be as I say. You won't get out of it.
And it won't be playing the lute, and petting the
donkey, and ogling Biondina all day long there, my
poor fellow!'
The mill stood on the river some little way
TROTTOLINO
255
distant from Trottolino's home. It was a lovely,
laughing day in April, with the furrows of the green
corn starred with hyacinths and daffodils, and roots
of primrose blossoming all along the grassy banks.
But all the gladness of it was clouded over for
the boy, and the blue heavens ceased to wear a
kindly smile for him. He let Peppino amble on his
own pace, unhurried, and crop mouthfuls here and
there at pleasure; and he went past more than one
open door not even hearing the cries from within of
* Trottolino! Eh, Trottolino !' The dread terror
of the conscription had laid its cold hand on him,
and frozen the laugh on his lips and hushed the
music in his soul.
It was late; and when his rounds made him late
he was allowed to stable the donkey in a shed at
home, on condition that he presented himself with it
at the bakery by daybreak. He was met some yards
from home by his sisters, who, laughing, and full of
glee, climbed up into the cart, and seized the reins,
and chattered like so many sparrows in an acre of
green peas.
But Trottolino had no heart nor heed for them.
When he reached his father's cottage, he bade them
see to Peppino, as they often did; and he him-
self walked up the garden path of shingle.
TROTTOLINO
' Granny! Mother !' he said, in a low, unsteady
voice, to the two women sitting in the evening
shadows in the porch. ' They say they have lowered
the standard; when autumn comes they will take
me; everybody is going to Africa.'
' Ah, no!' shrieked the women together ; while
the girls left Peppino at the entrance, and ran in,
terrified, to listen. ' Ah, no! The Madonna forbid!
Never, never must they take you, Trottolino—you,
our one comfort, our one treasure, our bread-winner,
our staff, our darling!—never, never! The dear
Mother in Heaven will never permit it!'
' Our Mother in Heaven never moves a finger
for a conscript,' said Trottolino, sadly. 1 Does she
not let all the lads be taken, till half the land lies
untilled? They always said I was too short; but
it seems they have lowered the standard, they want
soldiers so much for Africa.'
'Where is Africa?' said the eldest girl; while
the mother and grandmother rent the air with their
outcries and supplications to Mary, who had been a
mother, and ought to know better than to tear lads
away from their mothers.
' Africa is—is ' muttered Trottolino; ' I don't
know what it is. It is a place where they bury
men and money every day; a sort of oven, I think,
TROTTOLINO
257
far away beyond the seas; it is a pit, a furnace; I
don't know what exactly, but they keep on trying
to fill it, and it is never filled.'
A shudder of horror seized the women, and
checked in awe, for a moment, their frantic outcries.
'But what have we to do with it?' asked his
sister Rosa, who was of a clear and logical mind.
' I don't know. It has to be so,' said Trottolino,
with that acquiescence in inscrutable and undisputed
authprity which is so embedded in the national
character, and is as passive as the fatalism of the
oriental mind.
' But I cannot go !' he cried aloud. ' I cannot
go! Oh granny! oh mother! I cannot go! I shall
die if they take me away from Biondina, and Pep-
pino, and the cart, and all of you!'
Then he threw himself down on the threshold,
and sobbed, and writhed, and moaned. It was
indeed the end of all things for him, poor boy.
A moment later his father and brother came in,
tired and hot, their bare feet wet with dew, their
open shirts wet with perspiration; they had been
digging trenches to plant young vines.
But the miller had been right in his foreboding,
and Trottolino, with other lads of the district born
in the same year with himself, was forced to go in
s
258
TROTTOLINO
due course to the neighbouring town, and be stripped,
and examined, and draw his number like the rest.
The Government wanted men, and the standard of
height was lowered, and even many youths far from
healthy or well-shaped were accepted.
Trottolino, who was of short stature, but as
healthy as a fine-grown colt, and as admirably
shaped as the Faun statue, had no possible physical
chance of escape. He drew a fatal number, and
was doomed to serve. All his agony was of no
avail; he had to go.
In vain the women at home wept, and knew that
their chief mainstay was to be torn from them; for
the father was weak of health, and the elder lad a
cripple and drunkard. If the wheels of the con-
scription could be stopped by women's tears, it would
rust inactive for ever. In due course he had to go.
1 You will wait for me, Biondina ?' said the boy,
imploringly.
4Ah, who knows?' said the girl, lightly and
unkindly. 41 could not promise that, Trottolino.
Who can say what one will do to-morrow, or next
year ?'
'.But if you love me you will wait,' stammered
Trottolino, aghast and timid.
4 Eh!' said the little maiden, with a shrug of the
TROTTOLINO
259
shoulders, ' I like you now you are here. "When you
are gone, who knows ?'
Trottolino did not protest. His spirit was cowed.
All his sunny, merry, careless life was killed in him,
as a blue lupin growing in the grass is cut down by
a mower's scythe.
Biondina was cruel; but so was fate. It seemed
natural, inevitable, that one calamity should come
on the top of another. It always was so. The
king, or the Virgin, or the saints, or somebody, was
angry with him, and would have it so. Trotto-
lino was wretched, unspeakably wretched, but he
did not rebel. The lamb bleats, but goes meekly
to the slaughter. So did he.
And in a little while the village knew him no
more.
The baker bought a bigger donkey, and sent a
man out with the loaves, a surly, silent, uninterested
person, who delivered the bread as a machine might
do. The mandoline hung on a rusty nail for awhile,
and then was sold by the eldest girl, Rosa, that
she might buy'a necklace of coloured beads for her-
self. The mother and grandmother sighed and
grumbled and wept for the lost help and the vacant
chair. The weeds grew thicker in the little garden,
and the soup-pot rarely saw a slice of meat.
s 2
266
TROTTOLINO
ings, when the girls were away dancing at farmhouses,
shook their heads together, and said to one another:
' How warm and well it was when Trottolino was
here! what "big branches he used to bring down
from the woods! and always a merry tongue, and
always a useful hand!'
When the next Easter-tide came round there was
a fine wedding in the village under the hill. Gian il
Morone espoused Biondina, and so splendid a bridal
had not been seen in those parts for many a day.
Both the father and the bridegroom were men who
could spend, when they chose • to open their purse-
strings. Such eating and drinking, such dancing
and singing, such uproar and gaiety, had never been
as were now in the baker's house in honour of his
little daughter. It was mid-April, and all Nature
seemed to rejoice with the red tulips and the blue
irises, the wild roses, and the hawthorn in the hedges
all blossoming all over the wide fields. Only the
donkey was left hungry in his stable while the men
feasted. And two women who had not been bidden
to any feast thought sadly, as they dug up their
patch of vegetable ground in front of their hut:
' The poor lad! Not a thought of him, though
once he was half-promised he should have the bride-
groom's place. Not a single thought of him; and
TROTTOLINO 267
the little blue-eyed doll is smirking, and blushing,
and kissing, and making a fool of Black John, and
thinking herself a fine lady, with the strings of pearls
round her neck, and all the village wishing her joy!'
It was hard. It seemed very hard to Trottolino's
mother and grandmother, as they painfully hoed the
heavy black earth, and weeded the speedwell and
vetch out from the rows of peas. It was the way of
the world, no doubt; but the way of the world is apt
to seem hard to simple folk.
Some months later, when the green peas had long
been gathered and sold, and the heat of the summer
had been heavy on the earth, though the vines loved
it, and flourished in its sultry dust, the miller who
lived at the water-mill, and who was a kindly man,
though rough and sarcastic in speech, walked down
by the side of the stream one evening, when his
wheel was at a standstill because the water was so
low, and said to the two women working together as
usual, hanging out linen on lines under the pear-
trees:
1 Say, wife, do ever you hear from your lad in
Africa ?'
The women shook their heads.
They had heard nothing since March; then he
had written only a few lines, which had said that
268
TROTTOLINO
it was hot as hell in those foreign parts, and he had
been ill with fever. Ever since then, never a word.
If only the king would please send him back! His
father had been bedridden ever since that accident
to his foot; it was thought it would end in gangrene;
and the girls were giddy-paced wenches, good for
naught; and the son left to them spent all he
got on wine and tobacco at the village drinking-
places; and the Lord only knew how things would
end—two women could not keep the roof over their
heads and find bread for everybody. Was there any
way in which Trottolino could be got back ? He had
been away nigh on two years. And what would he
say when he heard that Biondina had got married,
and was big with child already ?
The miller shook his head. He sometimes bought
a newspaper; he had bought one in the town the
previous day, and he had seen a story of Africa:
of a forced march; of men gone mad from heat and
thirst; of young soldiers shot by their officers; of
others shot by their own hand to get out of their
torture. There had been no names given, except
those of two captains and some subalterns who were
dead; but eighty-five privates were said to be killed
or missing. And what he had read had made him
think of one young lad who was in Africa, and come
TROTTOLINO
269
down through, the canes to ask if there had been of
late any news of Trottolino. He said nothing of what
he had seen or of what he feared to the two women,
but went sadly to his home, where the mill-wheel
was standing still in the blue evening shadows, the
swallows and the bats wheeling above its waters* All
the evening long he saw, in memory, the pretty,
merry, brown face of Trottolino, with its blowing
curls, and its laughing lips, and its gay eyes so wide
open to the sunshine. All the evening long he
seemed to hear the notes of the old mandoline, as it
had used to sound above the muttering of the mill-
water, and the trot of the little donkey's hoofs.
4 A good lad, a happy lad, a useful lad!' thought
the old man, as he sat in the porch smoking his last
pipe before bedtime. 1 And the fools send him to go
mad, and rot like spoiled fruit, far away at the other
end of the world. Tax, tax, tax! slaughter, slaughter,
slaughter! that is the only tune they play to us; and
we are such besotted asses that we turn our purses
inside out, and give our boys to feed the carrion-birds
to please them!'
And. a few months later on, when the olives
were being gathered, and the child of Biondina was
being carried to the font, baptized in all its finery,
and the old man, who had died of gangrene in the
270
TR0TT0LIN0
foot, was being shuffled into a nameless hole under
the rank grass where the poor were buried, they
heard at last that Trottolino was dead. He had been
dead many months—dead as the palm which Bion-
dina had thrown out upon the dustheap a year
before.
On that awful day of which the miller had read,
under the brazen skies of Africa, in the drought, and
the sand, and the' thirst, and the plague of stinging
insect-life, and the agony of blinded, festering eyes,
he had dropped down as the patient camel drops
when its last breath of life is passing; and one of his
officers had yelled at him, and cursed him as a skulk-
ing cur, and when he had failed to obey, and rise,
had shot him: the vultures, already gorged by blood,
heavily floating above him, then settled slowly to
their work.
His village talked of him a little while; not long,
not much: he had been only a baker's lad.
But a simple, happy, useful life was gone for
ever, and by its loss the world was so much the poorer.
He had been blithe and harmless as a swallow in the
April air, as a leveret in the fields of June: and the
State had taken him, and jammed him under its iron
heel, and crushed him into nothingness, body and
soul.
TROTTOLINO
271
And it is for this fate that women bring forth
male children; to this end that the people strain and
travail, and are stripped of their hard-won earnings.
' War hath three daughters,' said a great king
once: ' Fire, and Blood, and Famine.' And these
three devour the nations, yet the nations crawl in
the dust and kiss their feet!
THE BULLFINCH
THE BULLFINCH
A SKETCH
11 WANT a black gown,' said Lula.
She bad set ber beart on a black gown. Sbe
was a pretty, brown child, with bare feet, and bare
bead, and bare arms, nearly seventeen years old, and
as sancy as a squirrel, and as agile as one. Sbe lived
at a little stone cottage at a place where four roads
met. Her father was a road-mender: road-mending
is bard work, and ill-paid; but be was a cheery man,
and did not complain.
The four roads were little traversed, except by
shepherds with their flocks and herdsmen with their
carts. Two were Eoman-made roads, fine and dura-
ble, solid as a slab of rock; two were quite youth-
ful roads; only about a hundred years old or so;
and these were ill-made and soft, and constantly
breaking. These highways traversed a plain sown
with wheat and planted with vines; a vast plain,
green or yellow or brown according to season, with a
T 2
276
THE BULLFINCH
low line of mountains visible many miles oS, and,
many miles farther still, in the opposite direction, a
hazy, silvery line, which was said to be the sea.
Lula had never been farther than her feet could
carry her on one of the four roads; and she was seldom
able to go as far as that, for she had everything to
do at home, being the only female creature in the
cottage. Her father and her two brothers were
terrible hands at wearing out shirts and breeches.
She spun, plaited, swept, cooked, sewed, kept the
little garden in order, and attended to the pigs in the
stye, the bees in the hive, and the fowls in the out-
house; she was a good little girl, who got up at dawn,
and went to bed at night-fall; but the day was never
long enough for her.
She worked hard, and sang over her work, and
had no nonsense in her little brain, because, happily
for herself, she could not read a line. She could
only keep her house tidy, and make her men comfort-
able; which she did better than most of her com-
peers, because her mother had been a woman from
the north, and had trained her in clean and whole-
some ways.
The mother had been dead two years, but her
lessons remained in Lula's heart and conscience.
She had all day long one little companion and
THE BULLFINCH
2 77
friend : a bullfinch, a cajponero in the tongue of that
province. He had been given to her when he was but
a little nestling, and she had reared him, and edu-
cated him, and loved him dearly; though he loved
her more dearly still. His name was Zi-Zi, and he
was four years old. He sang marvellously : she had
taught him ' Net silenzio delta notte,' and other songs
of the peasantry, until he whistled them to perfec-
tion; and he had, besides, many melodies of his
own. Zi-Zi was the little Robin Goodfellow of the
house, and his sweet piping could be heard far out
into the fields. He was always free to come and go
in and out of his cage, and even in and out of the
house, as he chose ; he never went farther afield, and
was the happiest little bird in all the cruel world of
men. He would obey all she told him, and eat out
of her hand and out of her lips; he bustled and
chirped about her all. day long, and awaked her in
the morning. The men were all fond of him, and
her sweetheart often said, ' He is jealous of me,
but I love him all the better for that.'
For Lula was betrothed. Her damo was a hand-
some fellow, who was a carter and a teamster, and
lived at a big farm, miles away in the centre of the
wide wheat-plains. His name was Hugo of the Cara-
dori family, and his fame as a good fellow, a pretty
278
THE BULLFINCH
singer, and a brave ball player, was great in tbe
country-side through which he drove his waggons of
grain, with the huge horses in them which his masters
had bought somewhere very far away, from France
or Flanders, nobody knew which: however, where-
ever they came from, their solid limbs, their arched
necks, and their vast stature made them seem like
elephants or mammoths beside the lean little Friuli
or Maremana horses in use in that district.
Lula was a very proud little girl when her young
man came in sight, carolling lustily, with some
carnations behind his ears, and pheasants' feathers
and foxes' tails swinging at the ears of his team.
To and fro, backwards and forwards, along those
long, level, white roads, from the broad grain-fields to
the town lying out of sight under the blue haze in
the far distance, Hugo and his horses travelled con-
stantly with the waggon-loads of wheat or oats or
straw; and it was during these journeys that he
and Lula had made, first acquaintance, and then
courtship ; and the big team knew so well that little
cottage by the meeting of the cross-roads, that they
stopped of their own accord under the shadow of
its one huge plane-tree.
Hugo was only a day-labourer, a carter at a
weekly wage, which in this country is thought a
THE BULLFINCH
279
position very low down in the world; but he was a
fine fellow, and sober and industrious, and full of
bright good humour.
' The child will be poor; but she is used to poverty,
and she might do worse,' said Lula's father, in con-
senting to her betrothal. He himself would miss her
terribly, he knew ; but one of his sons wanted to
marry, and bring a woman into the house, so £the
one thing slipped into the other, like a tool into its
handle,' said the good man; and all was well.
Hugo had two breezy rooms over a great granary
in which he lived, overlooking the cornfields, while
the carthorses champed in their stalls below, and
in summer the straw lay, like the waves of a yellow
sea, tossed and heaped all about everywhere in the
large stone court; the child would be very well
there, her father thought and said. So the marriage
had been fixed to take place on All Saints' Hay;
a leisure-time with the teamster, for the roads were
then bad, and the grain of the year had been by
that date either stacked or sold.
Lula was very happy; she was very fond of her
handsome Hugo, and their loves were as playful and
merry as those of two greenfinches in glad March
weather amongst peach-blossoms and daffodils. Only
one sorrow weighed heavily on Lula's light little
280
THE BULLFINCH
lieart: she wanted a black gown, wanted it so
dreadfully; and she could not possibly ever get it.
Not to be married in a black gown seems, to a Tuscan
maiden, as terrible as it would seem to an English
one not to be married in a white gown. Unless a
Tuscan girl has a black gown to go to church in, she
feels degraded, vulgar, unseemly ; and a black gown
was as high out of Lula's reach as the feather robes
of Paradise.
A black gown of cashmere, properly made, and
with some ruffles at the throat and the wrist, was
the ideal of her innocent, childish soul. But under
thirty francs—forty even, perhaps—such a gown was
not to be had, and Lula might as well have wished
for the Bands of Orion as for thirty francs. She and
her people and her betrothed were all of them very
poor, with scarcely means enough to fill the pot and
the platter, and keep upon them decent, homely
working-clothes. To save up enough to pay the
priest's fees and the registry fees was the uttermost
that her father and Hugo could manage to do between
them.
As for a new gown, a cashmere gown, a black
gown—whenever she ventured to speak of it her
father and brothers told her, roughly, to stop such
idle pining.
THE BULLFINCH
281
' Hugo takes you without dower or necklace; be
grateful to him,' they said, angrily; for to be married
when you cannot give with yourself some sort of
dower, and a string of small pearls, is a disgrace:
some dower, if only ten pounds, and some pearls,
if only small as sago, are essential to every Tuscan
bride, however poor.
The dower and the pearls she knew well she
could never aspire to. But the black gown!—waking
and sleeping, Lula dreamed of a black gown. It was
oftener in her thoughts than Hugo was. The
nearest and dearest friend she had, the daughter of
a man as poor as her own father, had worn a black
gown, the gift of a godmother, on her marriage at
the last vintage-time. But Lula knew not even
who her godmother had been, or whether she had
ever had one. There was no chance of a fairy comare
coming down from the skies to bring her what she
sighed to possess.
To be wedded without a black gown is to be the
laughing-stock, the by-word, the ridicule of all
other women; it is a confession of the most abject
poverty, the most complete misery; it is to fall at
once from the ranks of the decent, respectable work-
ing-classes, into the naked, hungry rank of the
hopelessly poor. Custom is law, says a Tuscan
282
THE BULLFINCH
proverb; and in no country is the individual so
subjectly, entirely, and tremblingly the slave of
•custom. c It is the habit of the country' is a fact
beyond which there is no appeal for either high or
low. Therefore, to be married without a black gown
clouded all her happy days to Lula. To have to
wear her russet-stuff Sunday gown, already patched
and darned, on her wedding-day, was humiliation
unspeakable. But there was no help for it.
' Black gown ? Go to, you little jade!' said her
father; how should they get bridal clothes, when
they could scarcely get bread and oil to eat ?
Thirty francs was to them a sum as enormous and
unattainable as if it had been thirty millions.
There are pedlars who come out to those lonely
rural peasants ; pedlars who walk, or at most have a
donkey to drag their long, light cart, filled with rolls
and bales of wearing apparel. They are the minia-
ture Mephistopheles, the petty Mercadets of the
country-side; women are tempted by the smartness
and apparent cheapness of their wares, and run into
debt to these ambulant vendors, and never get out of
it, and cheat their fathers, and husbands, and brothers,
and lovers in consequence. Lula's innocence and
honesty would not, probably, have been more proof
against this kind of temptation than were those of
THE BULLFINCH
283
others; but no pedlar would sell to her on credit.
With the daughters and wives of the peasants it was
different: there was a farm more or less rich behind
them ; they could save on the sly from eggs, or milk,
or fruit; they could give the salesmen drinks of good
wine, slices of good jpolenta, plates of warm soup.
But Lula was too poor to do this; and the pedlar,
who had a black cashmere on his cart, showed it to
her, and expatiated on it, and tortured her with the
sight of it, but tucked it up in his box again.
4 Senza soldi mai !' he said, ruthlessly: without
money down, never should a square inch of it be
hers.
If she had been going to marry a well-to-do man,
then, indeed, he might have let her have it, and the
bridegroom might have paid for it afterwards. But
the pedlar, whose business it was to know all about
everybody, knew that Hugo the carter was as poor
as Job, with no riches present or prospective, except
his youth, and his health, and his strength.
So 4 Senza soldi mai,' he said, sternly, shutting
up the gown-stuff in the wooden box with the big
padlock which contained his choicest goods.
And Lula sobbed as if her heart would break as
she saw the donkey-cart wind its slow way along one
of the roads between the fallow-fields, where the corn
284
THE BULLFINCH
had long been reaped, and the grass was springing
in the furrows; for it was nearly October, and if the
cashmere gown could not be bought and made very
quickly, All Saints' Day would have already dawned,
and she would have to go to church in her common,
russet, patched frock.
The pedlar went plodding on in the dust under
the ripe grapes of the vines which bordered the road,
and all her hopes went with him.
4 He might have let me have it; I would have
surely paid him some time,' she thought, with that
happy-go-lucky trust in the friendliness of Fortune
which makes so much of the misery of the improvi-
dent poor.
Suddenly the donkey stopped, the cart turned,
and the pedlar came back slowly through the sun-
shine. Lula's heart flew high as heaven as she stood
under the plane-tree, and her tears ceased. He was
coming to offer it to her, she was sure. She ran
to meet him, with hot cheeks, and eyes dancing
through her tears.
4 You are going to give it me, dear Pietro ?' she
said, caressingly. 4 Oh, do give it me, and I will
never eat a mouthful till I pay you!'
4 Che ! ' said the pedlar, with scorn for her sim-
plicity. 41 must see the notes in my hand before I
THE BULLFINCH
235
give it you. You are a pretty girl, and a good one,
and I am very fond of you ; but business is business,
and money is money. However, I came back to tell
you tbat tbere is a way, now I think of it, by which
you might make the money, and no trouble to you,
either.'
' Nothing dishonest ?' asked Lula, beginning to
tremble.
c No, no, bless your soul! I am not a bad man,
am I ? Pietro likes money; Pietro never denies it;
but Pietro is as pure as asses' milk—not a drop of
poison ever in him.'
'But what can I do?' said Lula, impatiently
cutting short his psean of self-admiration, which
would otherwise have scarcely ended at broad noon.
' What a lass you are to bite one's nose off!' said
Pietro. ' Well, you can sell Zi-Zi.'
' Sell Zi-Zi!'
Lula stared, with her black eyes grown round as
moons.
' Why, who would buy him ? A little common-
bird, a mere wild black-cap!'
' A black cap for a black gown,' said the old
pedlar with a chuckle; ' a rare proper exchange, eh ?
Bhymes like a fioretta. Well, it so happens that I
know a lady who asked me to get her a piping black-
286
THE BULLFINCH
cap, and your Zi-Zi has a rare pipe of his own. She
is a foreigner. Foreigners are always crack-pates.
They buy all the rubbish we show them. Give me
Zi-Zi, and I will take him to her to-morrow, and try
and get her to give as much as you want for the
gown.'
' Sell Zi-Zi ?' repeated Lula, stupidly.
The little bird, hearing his name thus repeated,
flew out of the house, and circled round her head,
and fluttered and chirruped, and then, with a flash of
his wings in the sunlight, darted up over the plane-
leaves, and there broke into sweetest song.
' Oh, I could not sell Zi-Zi I' she murmured, with
a pale, scared face. ' I could not, I could not!—and
Hugo is so fond of him!'
'Just as you please/ said the pedlar; 'I only
wished to please you. For myself, I would sooner
keep the cashmere, for I shall want it for the Eossi's
Amalia's wedding, and it is a beautiful, rare piece of
goods. Only, do not ever say again that Pietro would
not do you a good turn when he had the chance.
Pietro has a heart of gold.'
Then he pulled cruelly at his donkey's mouth,
and turned round the cart once more. Zi-Zi, above
the plane-leaves, was pouring out the Nel silenzio
delta notte, in a flood of exquisite silvery melody.
THE BULLFINCH
28 7
The pedlar had only come up so far out of his way
that morning because he had had for several weeks
a commission to buy ,a piping bullfinch and had
found none in good voice or well-trained anywhere,
and so had remembered Lula's Zi-Zi, and had gone
this roundabout way to work because no Italian
ever takes a straight road if he can find a devious
one. He meant to get fifty, sixty, perhaps seventy
francs from the foreigner whose pate was cracked;
and if he then sold the cashmere into the bargain, even
if he had to part with thirty francs as Zi-Zi's price,
he would make a good day's work out of it, such as
was sweet to his peddling soul.
' Wait a moment—wait,' cried Lula, "breathlessly.
And she was very pale, and kept glancing up-
ward at the little singing-bird, as though he could
know his fate was in the balance.
'Would he be happy, do you think?' she said,
in a low, shamed voice.
' Stuff and nonsense !' replied Pietro, with bound-
less contempt: ' birds are happy anywhere, if that
matters, and where he'd go is a palace, with fountains,
and flowers, and fine glass places and a power of silver
and of gold everywhere. Happy !—Lord, if he sing
one tune here, he'll sing twenty there. Catch him, and
^ive Kim to me. And here's the cashmere all at once,
288
THE BULLFINCH
my dear; beautiful, rare stuff, given away for a
song/
4 Ob, I can't, I can't!' sbe muttered, shrinking
away from the cart, as the flood of the little bird's
song poured through the sunlit air. 4 I'll never be
at peace again if I sell Zi-Zi; and why should any
one ever buy him for all that money, a little common
bird?'
She was doubtful, suspicious, ashamed, envious,
tortured; she longed passionately for the gown, but
her heart was warm, and she loved Zi-Zi; moreover,
she was stupefied and incredulous. She knew no-
thing of foreigners, or rich people, and their fancies;
it seemed to her utterly impossible that anyone
could give such an enormous sum for one little tiny
bird, that would be sold for a farthing to stick on a
spit.
The pedlar thrust the cashmere upon her; but she
was suspicious, and, though her whole soul was
pining for it, would not take it so.
4 You would declare afterwards that I was in debt
for it,' she said, rudely, to the old man, who raised his
hands to heaven in horror at such a foul aspersion.
And she would not believe him, nor accept the
stuff, nor give the bird.
Poor little Zi-Zi, all the while unconscious of
THE BULLFINCH
289
the conspiracy against him, was singing his little
heart out of his body in his joy at the sunbeams,
and the leaves, and the blue sky, and the answering
notes of some woodlarks flying through the vines.
It was their season of the year to sing, and was not
his. But that did not matter to Zi-Zi; he sang,
more or less, all the year through, whenever he
heard his mistress's voice or laughter.
The pedlar got very angry: he swore, and bullied,
and compelled, and cajoled, and flattered; and the
black cashmere lay all the while spread out on the
lid of the box, with some white cotton lace which
was generously to be given in with it.
' I am ruining myself,' he declared. ' But it is
all for love of you, and to keep my promise to the
lady to take her a blackcap. And then you, you
ungrateful, graceless, disbelieving, stony-hearted little
jade, go and say that I am lying, and that I have
some hidden interest of my own to serve !'
'1 only say I'll see where Zi-Zi goes, if I let him
go,' said Lula.
And her voice was dogged and low, with a sound
as of shame in it.
' Then I'll take you,' said Pietro, with fury and
reluctance, seeing all his hoped-for gains gliding
away from him into the haze of uncertainty.
u
290
THE BULLFINCH
' Then I'll take you, Lula, daughter of Gian ; I'll
take you, and you may get what you can; but I'll
never let you have that cashmere—never, so help
me Heaven! That ever a sixteen-year-old wench,
who I nursed on my knee as a babe, should doubt
the honest word of her friend, her best friend, her
oldest friend! Ah! it is women are vile, core through ;
and Pietro is a fool, a thrice-accursed fool, to wear
his aged bones out in serving them! The girl's
dying for the gown, and I remember a foreigner's whim
to serve her, and I put her in the way of getting a
fine wedding-dress, lace and all, for nothing, and she
won't give up a little hedge dickey-bird that is only
fit to be ate in a mouthful of pastry!'
And so eloquently did he talk, and so greatly did
he magnify his benevolence, and so craftily did he
appeal to her self-love and her vanity, and so com-
pletely did he confuse her mind and fan the heat of
her greed, that after two hours' excited dispute, both
of them talking hard one against another, with the
donkey standing asleep in the sun, and the cashmere
lying outspread on the cart, Lula, ashamed of what
she did, with a feeling of guilt and a loud-throbbing
heart, afraid lest the very stones in the road shou\d
hear her, said, in a hoarse, abashed whisper :
' Well, I'll give him, then, if you're sure he'll be
THE BULLFINCH
291
happy, and if you'll throw me those three yards of
ribbon in with the gown.'
' What a wench!' groaned the pedlar, half in
horror of the cunning of this lass, half in admiring
homage of her shrewdness. ' To think she was a
babe at the breast a summer or two ago, and now
would talk the very heart out of a poor, harmless,
trustful old man like Pietro, and leave him penniless,
to please her, on his dying bed!'
But, despite his torrents of reproaches and yegrets,
he was quick to secure his bargain; he made up the
cashmere, and the lace, and the ribbon for trimming,
into a parcel, and wrote out on an atom of yellow
paper a clear receipt for all of them, as of 'value
received' for all; and then, with his hand laid firmly
upon them, he said to her :
' Now give me Zi-Zi in his cage, and all these
beautiful things are your own. Make haste, for I've
got far to go with him; very far; and I've lost all
the morning here.'
Lula had a blanched, frightened look, as of guilt,
on her face; her ruddy lips had grown quite colour-
less, and trembled.
' You're sure he'll be loose where he goes ?' she
whispered.
' Loose!' said the pedlar, roughly; ' loose, yes !
u 2
292
THE BULLFINCH
He'll fly about all day long among tbe fountains and
tbe flowers. Come, look sharp, and get him into
the cage! I can't waste all the day here.'
Zi-Zi, who had been darting hither and thither,
taking a drop of water out of a pan, snatching an
atom of thistledown off a plant, searching for a
belated caterpillar under the leaves, but always
keeping one little bright black eye fixed on Lula,
was now perched on the sill of the casement, sending
out all manner of sweet trills and triplets and liquid
roulades, a linnet answering him from a thicket ol
rose-bushes.
1 Zi-Zi! Zi-Zi !' called Lula.
c Zi!' said the little bird, in joyous and confident
response.
He flew up from the window-sill on to her
shoulder, and pecked, in his pretty, caressing way, at
the rosy tip of her little brown ear.
' Va cuccia, Zi-Zi!' she said, in a faint, hoarse
voice.
It was her good-night word of command, it was
the order to go to bed; and Zi-Zi could not under-
stand it at that hour of bright midday, with the
broad sun shining in the zenith, and his friends, the
linnets and the woodlarks, in full sport and song.
4 Va cuccia !' said Lula, more sharply.
THE BULLFINCH
293
And then the little bird, knowing she was in
earnest, and sorrowfully supposing that he was some
way in fault, sadly left his loved place upon her
shoulder, and flew, slowly and reluctantly, to the
cottage, and entered the little rusty cage which served
him as a sleeping-place, and of which the door stood
open day and night.
' Zi-Zi!' he chirped, as he flew to his perch, with
a melancholy protest and reproach in the notes.
What had Zi-Zi done that he was punished ?
4 Take him!' said the girl, savagely.
Then she buried her face in her hands not to see.
The pedlar went indoors, reached down the cage,
closed the little wire wicket, and covered the cage
with an old bit of calico. Then he set it on the cart,
and laid the cashmere, the ribbon, and the receipt,
down on the bench under the plane-tree.
4 There they all are, my dear. You'll never have
such another friend as Pietro in all your days, and
when you get a baby next year, Pietro will stand for
him at the font,' he said, with fatherly tenderness.
Then he shook the donkey awake, and the little
rusty wheels of the cart began to turn and creak.
4 Zi-Zi! Zi-Zi!' came plaintively and uneasily from
the covered cage, in tremulous, oft-repeated notes, all
its music gone, and a hoarse appeal and terror in the
294
THE BULLFINCH
little slirill voice. Lula stood with her face buried
in her hands; she could not bear to see, she could
not bear to hear; sobs shook her frame from head to
foot. She had bartered love for money.
The cart soon passed out of view through the
sunshine, over the white dust.
The linnets and woodlarks were all chirping,
the bees were humming, the pigeons were cooing:
but to Lula it seemed as though a great silence and
desolation had fallen on the place.
Little Zi-Zi was going away—away—away—she
did not even know where. She felt as if she had killed
some little innocent thing. There were the black
cashmere, the lace, the ribbon, everything she had
desired so passionately for so many months: she
would go to her wedding in fine, new, wedding-
garments, and they had cost her nothing; and she
tried to be glad, tried to laugh, and look at the
stuff, and think of how bravely she would appear at
the church in the eyes of the other girls. But it
was of no use; she could not see her treasures for the
tears that rained from her eyes, and she knew that
she had done a greedy, a mean, and a cruel thing.
Thrice she started from her seat to run after and
overtake the pedlar's cart, which she could have done,
for she was fleet of foot, and knew his route. But
THE BULLFINCH 295
each time she sat down again, overcome by the false
shame of looking foolish in the old man's eyes, and
by the longing, still in her, to be suitably arrayed
upon her marriage-day.
She had the desire of her soul; but she was
wretched.
' Zi-Zi! Oh, Zi-Zi!' she moaned.
There she sat alone in the sunshine, where never
more would the little red-breasted, black-capped,
merry, devoted friend, flutter and twitter about her
under the leaves.
'What have you done with Zi-Zi?' asked her
father when he came home.
And when she told him, he was silent. But one
of her brothers said, roughly :
' Was there ever aught like a woman for loving
herself? Hang me if I would have sold little Zi-Zi!
no, not to have tobacco and wine all the year round
for nothing!'
' A black cap for a black gown,' said the younger
lad, making the same poor joke that the pedlar had
made. 'Well, we'll never hear a bird whistle as
Zi-Zi whistled; I could hear his note half-a-mile off,
and I'd swear to it out of ten thousand.'
And Lula knew that they all of them condemned
her.
296
THE BULLFINCH
She could not bear to look at the old oak chest
upon which his cage had used to stand.
That evening Hugo walked over from the Grange,
where he lived, and glanced at the chest, where
Zi-Zi at that hour was always to be seen, a little
ball of russet plumage, at roost on his perch. He
missed the cage.
{Have you lost the little bird?' he inquired
anxiously.
Lula shook her head, with the tears gathering
afresh in her eyes; her voice failed her.
1 She's sold him to get her black dress,' said her
father, gruffly. ' Of course, it's right, and well enough,
he was her own; but I feel as if the luck of the
house had gone with little Zi-Zi.'
1 Sold him ? Who would buy him at any price
high enough to get a gown ?' said Hugo, in astonish-
ment.
' Some foreigner; foreigners are always three-
parts daft,' said the older man, impatiently. 4 Sure as
you live, my mother sold an old battered pan to one
of them; it had always served for the pigeons' water,
and nobody thought naught of it, and the foreigner
paid for it ten times its weight in gold because of
somebody who, he said, had modelled it: they are
THE BULLFINCH
297
always picking up dirt like that; they don't know
any better.'
' What did yon get for Zi-Zi ?' Hugo inquired,
turning to his betrothed.
But she threw her apron over her head, and got up
from the table, and ran away into the open air and
the evening shadows.
' She got her black gown,' said her father. c I
wouldn't have done it myself to get a black coat,
or twenty black coats. But, Lord! you know what
women are when they have a bit of finery in their
heads. They'd sell themselves, and all belonging to
'em.'
' I will get her another bird,' said Hugo. ' But I
am sorry.'
' I think the luck of the house is gone with Zi-Zi,'
said the old man; ' and you may be sure that mean
rogue, Pietro, has made a rare profit on it. If the
child had waited till one of us had come in, 'twould
have been better.'
' Ay, it would; we could have gone with him,
and seen what he did get. To give a whole gown
for a little blackcap !—saints above us !—and he
isn't a man to give anything without getting three
times as much again for himself.'
The discovery that a gold-mine had been with
298
THE BULLFINCH
tliem in the tiny form of the little bullfinch stupefied
all the men; these pretty songsters were netted, or
shot, or bird-limed all around them, only to furnish a
mouthful at a feast-day meal. They knew nothing
of rich people and their fancies, and the prices
which were paid for well-trained birds in full song.
' Anyhow, I am sorry the little chap is gone,
said Hugo, as he looked again at the empty cage.
' I always thought he'd bring us luck. I heard him
piping the first time I stopped my beasts by these
cross-roads, and saw Lula's face in the doorway.'
And then he went outside the house, and tried to
console Lula, who was sitting on the bench, crying
still, as if her heart would break.
But she had her black gown, and had to make
it, and it took up all her leisure, and some of her
working-hours: so that, for the first time in her
short life, the bread she baked was heavy, and the
cottage was ill-swept, and the cabbage soup simmered
itself all away, and when the men came home
nothing was ready for them.
' The devil take your gown!' said her father
more than once. ' It's been ill got, and it's played
the deuce with you!'
If the cashmere gown had only been rolls of
bank-notes, and if she had only known whither the
THE BULLFINCH
299
bird was gone, so great was ber remorse, that she
would have taken the money, and begged for Zi-Zi
back again. But to do this was impossible: in her
haste and confusion, in her greed and regret, she had
not thought to make the pedlar tell her where those
rich folks dwelt: perhaps at some villa on the plains,
perhaps in some one of the little towns, perhaps in
the city itself, of which, on fine days, she could see the
crosses on the cathedral domes shining in the blue
haze under those far-off mountains. She could not
tell; in her haste to possess the black gown she had
let her little friend pass away from her into the vast
unknown, and she could not trace him.
As she sat and stitched at the woollen stuff, of
which the dye blackened her fingers, and the folds fell
about her like a funeral pall, she could not bear to
see the thrushes flying amongst the vines, and hear
the autumn singing-birds chirp and warble in the
fields. It was so like Zi-Zi, and yet so unlike.
And then, when morning dawned, there was no little
twitter at her ear to wake her, no tapping against
the window-glass to greet the sunrise.
' I wish, dear, you'd gone without the gown/ said
Hugo. 'I should have liked little Zi-Zi always
singing about my place: it is a poor place—he'd
have made it bright.'
300
THE BULLFINCH
' We can get other birds,' said Lula, quickly and
crossly.
She could not bring herself to confess that she
regretted what she had done, and that the memory
of the little songster was always with her, haunting
her restlessly, ceaselessly, darkening into what was
almost remorse the days of her betrothal-time, which
should have been so blithe and cloudless.
In a fortnight from the day of his sale the wed-
ding-gown was finished, made very stiff with whale-
bone and buckram, and disfiguring the slim, supple,
child-like figure of her very greatly, and suiting ill
her round, cherubic face, and her tanned and rosy
skin.
But it was a black gown, the garment which
custom required, and she was proud to think that
everybody who had ever known her in her short life
would see her arrayed in it. And yet she hated the
sight of it where it lay in the chest with some
powdered iris-root to sweeten it, and the blessed palm
of the past Easter laid upon it to bring it good
fortune.
Once she walked to where old Pietro lived; it was
a dusty, ugly little village, several miles off", and she
was tired when she got to it, and the old man was
out on his rounds, and was not expected back for two
THE BULLFINCH
301
days. No one could tell her anything about the
bird, but some women of the house he lodged at
said he had seemed flush of money that week. Lula
went home with a heavy heart.
' I will get you another bullfinch to-morrow, my
girl,' said Hugo, with his arm about her, under the
porch.
' No, not another—never another,' said Lula, pas-
sionately. ' He loved me—oh! he did love me, Hugo.
I was a wicked wretch, a vain fool, to send him away
to get my gown. But I could not bear the women
to laugh at me, and see me go to the church with
you in a shabby old frock!'
1 The frock did not matter,' said Hugo. ' But
don't sob so about it. I dare say the little bird will
be as merry there as he was here ; they must be rich
folk who have got him, or they would not have paid
such a sight of money for a mere whim. Cheer up,
my lass.'
But Lula was not to be comforted; the sense of
some crime committed, some treachery done, weighed
on her wherever she was.
She knew that her sweetheart was right, and that
it would have been better to have gone without the
gown.
The day she had put the last stitch to it, and
302
THE BULLFINCH
laid it there, with the palm and the iris powder, was
a fine, sunshiny vintage-day: the grapes were being
gathered all over the plain, and the laughter of the
boys and girls, and the creak of the waggon wheels,
and now and then the glad bark of a dog, came to her
from the fields. For the first time in her life she was not
out under the vines, pulling down the bunches, skip-
ping, laughing, wrestling, playing with the rest under
the maple-boughs and the vine-leaves. She was alone
with her black gown, troubled and anxious because
one of the girls who lived nearer the town had told
her that she had cut the waist too long, and the skirt
too full, to be like what they now wore in the streets.
Suddenly she heard a voice which called her name;
it was that of Pietro, the pedlar.
She started and sighed as she heard it; it was
hateful to her.
' What can he want with me ? ' she wondered:
' he gave me a clear receipt in full; he cannot come
for any money.'
But apprehensive, perplexed, and reluctant, she
went out of the doorway, and saw the old man and
his cart, just as she had seen them fifteen days before,
when she had sold Zi-Zi, only in the shafts of the
cart there was a dappled-grey pony.
1 Lula, will you come along with me ?' said the
THE BULLFINCH
30 3
pedlar. 'The ricli folks who bought Zi-Zi want
you.'
All the blood in her body seemed to leap into
Lula's face.
' Oh, my Zi-Zi! oh, my Zi-Zi!' she cried, with a
deep sob. ' Is he well ? Is he happy ?'
' Oh ay,' said the old man, hastily. ' But—but
he won't sing, and nothing will do for the lady
that has him but to fetch you, and see if you can
make him sing. You'll come, won't you ? Of course,
I have been paid for him, and it doesn't matter to
me; but Pietro is always a man of honour, and having
sold him for a singing-bird, a piping blackcap, why
you see '
' Oh! I knew he would be wretched,' said Lula,
with a wailing cry. 1 How I hate you—how I hate
you! Oh, why did I listen to you, and take your
stuff that day ? It is half cotton, and dyed so badly,
and is so coarse, not the least like, they tell me,
what they wear in the town.'
' You are an ungrateful hussy,' said the old man,
1 and I have a mind to drag the brass earrings out
of your ears. If you are so fond of your Zi-Zi, come
and see him, and get him to sing.'
'But is it very far? You would not tell me
where.'
302
THE BULLFINCH
laid it there, with, the palm and the iris powder, was
a fine, sunshiny vintage-day: the grapes were being
gathered all over the plain, and the laughter of the
boys and girls, and the creak of the waggon wheels,
and now and then the glad bark of a dog, came to her
from the fields. For the first time in her life she was not
out under the vines, pulling down the bunches, skip-
ping, laughing, wrestling, playing with the rest under
the maple-boughs and the vine-leaves. She was alone
with her black gown, troubled and anxious because
one of the girls who lived nearer the town had told
her that she had cut the waist too long, and the skirt
too full, to be like what they now wore in the streets.
Suddenly she heard a voice which called her name;
it was that of Pietro, the pedlar.
She started and sighed as she heard it; it was
hateful to her.
' What can he want with me ? ' she wondered :
' he gave me a clear receipt in full; he cannot come
for any money.'
But apprehensive, perplexed, and reluctant, she
went out of the doorway, and saw the old man and
his cart, just as she had seen them fifteen days before,
when she had sold Zi-Zi, only in the shafts of the
cart there was a dappled-grey pony.
' Lula, will you come along with me ?' said the
THE BULLFINCH
303
pedlar. 'The ricli folks who bought Zi-Zi want
you.'
All the blood in her body seemed to leap into
Lula's face.
' Oh, my Zi-Zi! oh, my Zi-Zi!' she cried, with a
deep sob. 4 Is he well ? Is he happy ?'
4 Oh ay,' said the old man, hastily. * But—but
he won't sing, and nothing will do for the lady
that has him but to fetch you, and see if you can
make him sing. You'll come, won't you ? Of course,
I have been paid for him, and it doesn't matter to
me; but Pietro is always a man of honour, and having
sold him for a singing-bird, a piping blackcap, why
you see '
4 Oh! I knew he would be wretched,' said Lula,
with a wailing cry. 4 How I hate you—how I hate
you! Oh, why did I listen to you, and take your
stuff that day ? It is half cotton, and dyed so badly,
and is so coarse, not the least like, they tell me,
what they wear in the town.'
4 You are an ungrateful hussy,' said the old man,
4 and I have a mind to drag the brass earrings out
of your ears. If you are so fond of your Zi-Zi, come
and see him, and get him to sing.'
'But is it very far? You would not tell me
where.'
3°4
THE BULLFINCH
'It is ten miles off. But I've said I'll take you,
and I'll take you. Pietro's word is kis bond.'
' But my fatker ? '
' I passed your fatker on tke road, and I told
kim I was coming for you. Tkrow a skawl about
your bead, and get up beside me—quick!'
'Is Zi-Zi ill ?'
' Well, ke is not over well. You'll cure kim if
you come.'
Lula sprang into tke cart. Her keart was sick,
and ker conscience was keavy-laden.
Pietro banged on to tke grey pony witk a keavy
stick, and it started off at a quick pace; tkey rolled
over tke stones and tke dust, under tke reddening
leaves of tke pollard maples. Tke pedlar never
spoke a word; ke was full of apprekension lest Lula
skould learn tkat ke kad received no less tkan eigkty
francs for poor Zi-Zi. But ke kad kad no ckoice
but to seek ker out, for tke servants of tke great
foreign kouse kad tkreatened kim witk breaking
every bone in kis body if ke did not fetck tke girl,
and make tke bird sing.
Zi-Zi, wken ke kad first been released from dark-
ness, and saw tke ligkt, tke flowers, and tke fountains
around kim, kad burst into a flood of song, rapturous
and far reacking; so tkat tke lady, wko kad set ker
THE BULLFINCH
heart on possessing a piping bullfinch, had said
hastily to the people :
'Pay the man who brought him anything he
asks, and let him go.'
But, that one song ended, Zi-Zi had sung no
more, he had broken off in the midst of the Nel
silenzio, and, looking uneasily about him, had called
' Zi-Zi! Zi-Zi!' with agitation, and realised that he
was in a strange place, and that she whom he loved
was not near him.
They had never been able to induce him to sing
again, and day by day he had pined and drooped, a
little more, and a little more. The lady had accused
the servants of tampering with him; the servants
had sought out the pedlar and said to him :
' Make the bird sing as he sang when he came,
or we will make you disgorge every farthing you
received.'
* I can't make him sing,' the old man had
answered angrily. "Tis only the girl who reared
him that can do that.'
' Well, bring the girl,' the servants had said; and
so he had come, borrowing a stout pony to put in
the shafts instead of his feeble donkey, for the way
was long between the cottage at the cross-roads and
the great house.
x
3O6
THE BULLFINCH
He was angered and apprehensive. He had
gained eighty francs by Zi-Zi, and he conld not be
sure that when the girl should speak with the ser-
vants this fact would not come out against himself.
The drive was long and tedious, and frightened
her: she had never been so far out over the plains
in her life. She did not know where she was, and
she was afraid of the crafty, ugly old man, whose
usual loquacity was stilled, and who only grumbled
a few bad words every now and then when a wheel
sank into a rut or jolted over a stone in the
road.
Pietro was thinking all the time: ' If she should
find out I had eighty francs ?'
But one fear casts out another, and the servant
who had paid him in the lady's name had said to
him: ' If your bird does not sing, I will break every
bone in your old yellow skin!'
So he had sought for Lula.
The pony soon tired of trotting, and jogged slowly
on through the sunshiny width of the plains, all
green and golden with vines, and passed farms,-and
villages, and churches, and wooded places, and at last
drew near a great house in the midst of great gardens,
such as Lula had never dreamed could be so near
her, and yet so far from her.
THE BULLFINCH
307
Her heart beat quickly, with terror and relief:
Pietro bad done ber no barm, but sbe was brought
into a strange and terrifying place.
' Ob, my Zi-Zi, my Zi-Zi!' sbe murmured, with
a lump in ber throat.
They went through avenues, and past fishponds,
and under terraces, and the scene was gorgeous and
amazing to the ignorance of the girl, and a great
shyness and a frost of fear came on her, and her
tongue seemed to cleave to the roof of her mouth,
and her heart felt cold as ice.
She was confused, and hardly sensible of what
she did or where they took her, when she got down
alone before a vast, white, shining house, and was
led by a lackey through a succession of rooms such
as she had never dreamed of in her visions of
Paradise, and which she saw, in a whirl of strange
colours, dancing and swaying before her eyes.
At the end of the rooms was a glass house, full
of flowering-trees, with a fountain playing in their
midst; and a voice said to her:
' There is your bird. Make him sing. He has
never sung for us.'
Then she saw, amongst many-hued flowers of
strange shape, a golden cage, or one which' looked
of gold to her; and on the perch of it sat, huddled
THE BULLFINCH
tip, a little ball of feathers, with its small, black head
sunk down into its breast-feathers.
With a shrill cry Lula sprang forwards to it
and opened the door of the cage.
cZi-Zi!' she cried. 'He is dying! Oh, he
is dying! Zi-Zi! Zi-Zi! don't you know Lula,
Zi-Zi?'
The little bird lifted his drooping head, and a
tremor ran through him like a sigh: his dulled eyes
brightened, his wings fluttered, he flew out of the
cage and lit on the girl's shoulder.
1 My Zi-Zi! Oh, my Zi-Zi!' she cried, with the
tears coursing down her cheeks.
' Make him sing,' said the voices round her.
She took him in her hand, and he fluttered to her
lips, and pecked at them with joy, his wings out-
stretched and trembling in a passion of ecstasy.
Then his little black head fell back, his feathers
drooped, motionless, his eyes clouded—he would
never sing any more.
His little heart had broken under the burden
of its ill-requited love.
The black gown which had cost his life was worn
on Lula's wedding-day; and it was worn once more,
THE BULLFINCH
299
a year later, when she died in childbirth, and they
dressed her in it as in a shroud.
They laid her in the common ground, which
every few years is emptied of its bones, and filled
afresh with newer dead.
In the shadows of the summer evenings a little
bird is often seen fluttering above the nameless
cross of wood, which alone marks her burial-place.
1 It is Zi-Zi!' say the country people, with
hushed breath.
PRINTED BT
fPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE
LONDON
" WHO ARE THE HAPPY, WHO ARE THE FREE ?
YOU TELL ME, AND I'LL TELL THEE.
Those who have tongues that never lie,
Truth on the lip, truth in the eye,
To Friend or. to Foe,
To all above, and to all beloy;
THESE ARE THE HAPPY, THESE ARE THE FREE,
80 MAY IT BE WITH THEE AND ME."
What higher aim can man attain than conquest over
human pain >
DRAWING AN OVERDRAFT ON THE
BANK OF LIFE.
Late Hours, Fagged, Unnatural Excitement,
Breathing Impure Air, too Rich Food, Alcoholic
Brink, Gouty, Rheumatic, and other Blood Poisons,
Fevers, Feverish Colds, Sleeplessness, Biliousness,
Sick Headache, Skin Eruptions, Pimples on the
Face, Want of Appetite, Sourness of Stomach, &c.
It prevents Diarrhoea, and Removes it in the
early stages.
use ENO'S "FRUIT SALT."
It is Pleasant, Cooling, Bealth-Qiving, Refreshing
and, Invigorating.
you cannot overstate it3 great value in keep-
ing the blood pure and free from disease.
" Dear Sir,—I am very pleased to record my knowledge of the great efficacy of your ' FRUIT
SALT' in Measles. A friend of mine, who had three grandchildren laid up with this complaint,
administered frequent doses, with the result that all the children pulled through wonderfully in
a short time, for which the mother was exceedingly grateful, thanks to you. For myself and
family, your ' FRUIT SALT' is our universal remedy. Bordering on years as I am, I find a
bottle of ENO'S 'FRUIT SALT' and a few of ENO'S 'VEGETABLE MOTOS' the greatest boon
in the up-hill battle of this life.—I am, dear Sir, yours truly, A City Man.—J. C. Eno, Oct., 1890."
CNO'S FRUIT SALT.—"After suffering two and a half years from severe
headache and disordered stomach, and after trying almost everything without any benefit, I
was recommended to try ENO'S 'FRUIT SALT,' and before I had finished one bottle I found it
doing me a great deal of good, and am restored to my usual health. And others I know that have
tried it have not enjoyed such good health for years.—Yours most truly, Robert Humphreys,
Post Office, Barrasford."
From the Rev. J. W. Neil, Holy Trinity Church, North Shields, November 1,1873.
"Dear Sir,—As an illustration of the beneficial effects of your 'FRUIT SALT,'I have no
hesitation in giving the particulars of the case of one of my friends. Sluggish action of the Liver
and Bilious Headache affected him, so that he was obliged to live upon only a few articles of diet,
and to be most sparing in their use. This did nothing in effecting a cure, although persevered in
for twenty-five years, and also consulting eminent members of the faculty. By the use of your
' FRUIT SALT he now enjoys the vigorous health he so long coveted; he has never had a head-
ache or constipation since he commenced to use it, about six months ago, and can partake of his
food to the great satisfaction of himself and friends. There are others to whom your remedy has
been so beneficial in various complaints, that you may well extend its use pro bono publico. I find
it makes a very refreshing and exhilarating drink.—I remain, dear Sir, yours faithfully, J. W.
Neil.—To J. C. Eno, Esq."
The value of ENO'S "FRUIT SALT" cannot he told. Its success in Europe,
Asia, Africa, America, Australia, and New Zealand proves it.
THE SECRET OF SUCCESS. - STERLING HONESTY OF
PURPOSE; WITHOUT IT LIFE IS A SHAM!—" A new invention is brought
before the public, and commands success. L score of abominable imitations are immediately in-
troduced by the unscrupulous, who, in copying the original closely enough to deceive the public,
and yet not so exactly as to infringe upon legal rights, exercise an ingenuity that, employed in an
original channel, could not fail to secure reputation and profit."—Adams.
OA TJTION.—Examine each Bottle, and see that the CAPS CLE is marked ENO'S "PR HIT SALT.'
Without it you have been imposed on by a worthless imitation. Sold by all Chemists.
Prepared only at
ENO'S "FRUIT SALT" WORKS, LONDON, S.E., BY J. 0, UNO'S PATENT.
NOTICE TO PUBLISHERS AND BOOKSELLERS.
"tlbe Stanbarb"
PUBLISHERS' SPECIAL COLUMN
of
NEW BOOKS, RECENT EDITIONS, &c.
The PUBLISHERS' SPECIAL COLUMN of New Books,
Recent Editions, &c., appears on the Leadbe Page in the
Mobning Editions of
" Ci)e J^tanbarb,"
and throughout all the Evening Editions, including the
Special Edition of
"CI)e lEbetung ^tanbarb,"
the Column appears next matter.
IMPORTANT NOTICE.
The Officially Certified Guaranteed Daily Circulation of
"QLtyt ^tanbarb"
255,292 COPIES-:-
OVER A QUARTER OF A MILLION DAILY.
ADVERTISEMENTS for the Publishers' Special Column
MUST be sent to Mr. ROBERT WATSON, 150, Fleet St., E.G.
% Hist of Books
published by
CHATTO & WINDUS,
214, Piccadilly, London, W.
Sold by all Booksellers, or sent post-free for the published price by the Publishers.
ABOUT.-THE FELLAH: An Egyptian Novel. By Edmond About.
Translated by Sir Randal Roberts. Povt 8vo, illustrated boards, 3s.
ADAMS (W. DAVENPORT), WORKS BY.
& DICTIONARY OF THE DRAMA. Being a comprehensive Guide to the Plays,
Playwrights, Players, and Playhouses of the United Kingdom and America.
Crown 8vo, half-bound, 13s. 6d. [Preparing.
QUIPS AND QUIDDITIES. Selected by W. D. Adams. Post 8vo. cloth limp, 3s. 6d.
ADAMS (W. H. D.).—WITCH, WARLOCK, AND MAGICIAN: His-
torical Sketches of Magic and Witchcraft in England and Scotland. By W. H.
Davenport Adams. Demy 8vo, cloth extra, 13s.
AGONY COLUMN (THE) OF "THE TIMES," from 1800 to 1870.
Edited, with an Introduction, by Alice Clay. Post 8vo, cloth limp, 3s. fid.
AIDE (HAMILTON), WORKS BY. Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 3s. each.
CARR OF CARRLYON. | CONFIDENCES.
ALBERT.-BROOKE FINCHLEY'S DAUGHTER. By Mary Albert.
Post 8vo, picture boards, 3s.; cloth limp, 3s. 6d.
■ALEXANDER (MRS.), NOVELS BY. Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 3s. each.
, MAID, WIFE, OR WIDOW? | VALERIE'S FATE.
ALLEN (GRANT), WORKS BY. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s. each.
THE EVOLUTIONIST AT LARGE. I COLIN CLOUT'S CALENDAR.
YIGNETTES FROM NATURE. |
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s. each; post 8vo, illustrated boards., 3s. each,
STRANGE STORIES. With a Frontispiece by George Du Maurier.
THE BECKONING HAND. With a Frontispiece by Townley Green.
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. each ; post 8vo, illustrated boards, 3s. each.
PHILISTIA. I FOR MAIMIE'S SAKE. I THIS MORTAL COIL.
BABYLON. IN ALL SHADES. THE TENTS OF SHEM.
I THE DEVIL'S DIE. |
THE GREAT TABOO. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d.
DUMARESQ'S DAUGHTER. Three Vols., crown 8vo. fShortly.
MERICAN LITERATURE, A LIBRARY OF, from the Earliest Settle-
ment to the Present Time. Compiled and Edited by Edmund Clarence Stedman
and Ellen Mackay Hutchinson. Eleven Vols., royal 8vo, cloth extra. A few
copies are for sale by Messrs. Chatto & Windus (published in New York by
C. L. Webster & Co.), price 4J6 13s. the set.
RCHITECTURAL STYLES, A HANDBOOK OF. By A. Rosengar-
ten. Translated by W. Collett-Sanpars. With 639 Illusts. Cr. 8vo, cl. ex., 7s. 6d.
RT (THE) OF AMUSING : A Collection of Graceful Arts, Games,
Tricks, Puzzles, and Charades. By Frank Bellew. 300 Illusts, Cr. 8vo, cl. ex., 4s.6d.
2
BOOKS PUBLISHED BY
ARNOLD (EDWIN LESTER), WORKS BY.
THE WONDERFUL ADVENTURES OF PHRA THE PHCENICIAN. With Introduc-
tion by Sir Edwin Arnold, and 12 Illusts. by H. M. Paget. Cr. 8vo, cl„ 3a. <id.
BIRD LIFE IN ENGLAND. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, Os.
ARTEMUS WARD'S WORKS: The Works of Charles Farrer Browne,
better known as Artemus Ward. With Portrait and Facsimile. Crown 8vo,
cloth extra, 7s. <»d.—Also a Popular Edition, post 8vo, picture boards, 2s.
THE GENIAL SHOWMAN : Life and Adventures of Artemus Ward. By Edward
P. Hingston. Wiih ^Frontispiece. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d.
ASHTON (JOHN), WORKS BY. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d. each.
HISTORY OF THE CHAP-BOOKS OF THE 18th CENTURY. With 334 Illusts.
SOCIAL LIFE IN THE REIGN OF QUEEN ANNE. With 83 Illustrations.
HUMOUR, WIT, AND SATIRE OF SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. With 82 Illusts.
ENGLISH CARICATURE AND SATIRE ON NAPOLEON THE FIRST. 115 Illusts,
MODERN STREET BALLADS. With 57 Illustrations.
RACTERIA. — A SYNOPSIS OF THE BACTERIA AND YEAST
** FUNGI AND ALLIED SPECIES. By W. B. Grove, B.A. With 87 Illustrations.
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3a. <i«L
BARDSLEY" (REV. C7W.), WORKS BY.
ENGLISH SURNAMES: Their Sources and Significations. Cr. 8vo, cloth, 7s. 6d.
CURIOSITIES OF PURITAN NOMENCLATURE. Crown 8vo, cloth extra,
BARING GOULD (S., Author of "John Herring," &c.), NOVELS BY.
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3a. 6d. each: post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2a. each.
RED SPIDER. | EYE.
BARRETT (FRANK, Author of " Lady Biddy Fane,") NOVELS BY.
Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2a. each; cloth, 2a. 6d. each.
FETTERED FOR LIFE. | BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH.
BEACONSFIELD, LORD: A Biography. By T. P. O'Connor, M.P.
Sixth Edition, with an Introduction. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 5a.
^UCHTmpT^GRANTLEY "GRANGE: A Novel. By Shelsley
Beauchamp. Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2a.
BEAUTIFUL~PICTURES"BY BRITISH" ARTISTS : A Gathering of
Favourites from our Picture Galleries, beautifully engraved on Steel. With Notices
of the Artists by Sydney Armytage, M.A. Imperial 4to, cloth extra, gilt edges, 21a.
BECHSTEINr^S~PI^TfY"AS_SEVEN, and"mheTGeTman Stories.
Collected by Ludwig Bechstein. With Additional Tales by the Brothers Grimm,
and 98 Illustrations by Richter. Square 8vo, cloth extra, tis. 6d.; gilt edges, 7s. 61I.
BEER¥6h1)L—WANDERINGSlN PATAGONIA; or, Life among the
Ostrich_Hunters. By Julius Beerbohm. With Illusts. Cr. 8vo, cl. extra, 3a. 6d.
BESANT"(WALTER)7NOVELS BY.
Cr. 8vo, cl. ex., 3a. ttd. each; post 8vo, illust. bds., 2a. each; cl. limp, 2a. 6d. each.
ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. With Illustrations by Fred. Barnard.
THE CAPTAINS' ROOM, &c. With Frontispiece by E. J. Wheeler.
ALL IN A GARDEN FAIR. With 6 Illustrations by Harry Furniss.
DOROTHY FORSTER. With Frontispiece by Charles Green.
UNCLE JACK, and other Stories. | CHILDREN OF GIBEON.
THE WORLD WENT VERY WELL THEN. With 12 Illustrations by A. Forestier.
HERR PAULUS: His Rise, his Greatness, and his Fall.
FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. With Illustrations by A. Forestier and F. Waddy.
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. each.
TO CALL HER MINE, &c. With 9 Illustrations by A. Forestier.
THE BELL OF ST. PAUL'S.
ARMOREL OF LYONESSE: A Romance of To-day. With 12 Illusts. by F.Barnard.
THE HOLY ROSE, &c. With Frontispiece by F. Barnard.
ST. KATHERINE'S BY THE TOWER. With 12 full-page Illustrations by C.
Green. Three Vols., crown 8vo,
FIFTY YEARS AGO. With 137 Plates and Woodcuts. Demy 8vo, cloth extra, 16s.
THE EULOGY OF RICHARD JEFFERIES. With Portrait. Cr. 8vo, cl. extra, <is.
THE ART OE FICTION. Demv 8vn. Is.
CHATTO & WINDUS, 214, PICCADILLY.
BESANT (WALTER) AND JAMES RICE, NOVELS BY,
Cr. 8vo, cl. ex.. 3s. 6d. each ; post 8vo,illust. bds„ 2s. each; cl. limp, 2s. 6d. each.
READY-MONEY MORTIBOY. BY CELIA'S ARBOUR.
MY LITTLE GIRL.
WITH HARP AND CROWN.
THIS SON OF YULCAN.
THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY.
THE MONKS OF THELEMA.
THE CHAPLAIN OF THE FLEET.
THE SEAMY SIDE.
THE CASE OF MR. LUCRAFT, &c.
'TWAS IN TRAFALGAR'S BAY, &c.
THE TEN YEARS' TENANT, &c.
*** There is also a LIBRARY EDITION of the above Twelve Volumes, handsomely
set in new type, on a large crown 8vo page, and bound in cloth extra, 6s. each.
BENNETT (W. C., LL.D.), WORKS BY. Post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s. each.
A BALLAD HISTORY OF ENGLAND. | SONGS FOR SAILORS.
BEWICK (THOMAS) AND HIS PUPILS. By Austin Dobson. With
95 Illustrations. Square 8vo, cloth extra, 6s.
BLACKBURN'S (HENRY) ART HANDBOOKS.
ACADEMY NOTES, separate years, from 1873-1887, 1889, and 1890, each Is.
ACADEMY NOTES, 1891. With Illustrations. Is.
ACADEMY NOTES, 1873-79. Complete in One Vol., with 6oo Illusts. Cloth vimp, 6s.
MADEMY NOTES, 1880-84. Complete in One Vol., with 700 Illusts. Cloth limp, 6s.
' DSYENOR NOTES, 1877. 6d.
—tOSYENOR NOTES, separate years, from 1878 to 1890, each Is.
CrOSYENOR NOTES, Vol. I., 1877-82. With 300 Illusts. Demy 8vo, cloth limp, 6s.
GROSYENOR NOTES, Vol. II., 1883-87. With 300 Illusts. Demy 8vo, cloth limp, 6s.
THE NEW GALLERY, 1888-1890. With numerous Illustrations, each Is.
THE NEW GALLERY, 1891. With Illustrations. Is.
ENGLISH PICTURES AT THE NATIONAL GALLERY. 1x4 Illustrations. Is.
OLD MASTERS AT THE NATIONAL GALLERY. 128 Illustrations. Is. 6d.
ILLUSTRATED CATALOGUE TO THE NATIONAL GALLERY. 242 Illusts. cl., 3s.
THE PARIS SALON, 1891. With Facsimile Sketches. 3s.
THE PARIS SOCIETY OF FINE ARTS, 1891. With Sketches. 3s. 6d.
BLAKE (WILLIAM) : India-proof Etchings from his Works by William
Bell Scott. With descriptive Text. Folio, half-bound boards, 21s.
BLIND. -THE ASCENT OF MAN : A Poem. By Mathilde Blind.
Crown 8vo, printed on hand-made paper, cloth extra, 5s.
BOURNE (H. R. FOX), WORKS BY.
ENGLISH MERCHANTS : Memoirs in Illustration of the Progress of British Com-
merce. With numerous Illustrations. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. Gd.
ENGLISH NEWSPAPERS: The History of Journalism. Two Vols., demy 8vo, cl., 25s.
THE OTHER SIDE OF THE EMIN PASHA RELIEF EXPEDITION. Crown 8vo,
cloth extra, 6s.
BOWERS' (G.) HUNTING SKETCHES, oblong 4to, hf.-bd. bds., 2is.each.
CANTERS IN CRAMPSHIRE, [ LEAVES FROM A HUNTING JOURNAL.
BOYLE (FREDERICK), WORKS BY. Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
CHRONICLES OF NO-MAN'S LAND. | CAMP NOTES.
SAVAGE LIFE. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d.; post 8vo, picture boards, 2s. _
BRAND'S OBSERVATIONS ON POPULAR ANTIQUITIES; chiefly
illustrating the Origin of our Vulgar Customs, Ceremonies, and Superstitions. With
the Add'tions of Sir Henry Ellis, and Illustrations. Cr. 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d.
BREWER (REV. DR.), WORKS BY. ~
THE READER'S HANDBOOK OF ALLUSIONS, REFERENCES, PLOTS, AND
STORIES. Fifteenth Thousand; Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d.
AUTHORS AND THEIR WORKS, WITH THE DATES: Being the Appendices to
The Reader's Handbook," separately printed. Crown 8vo, cloth limp, 2s.
A DICTIONARY OF MIRACLES. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d.
BREWSTER (SIR DAVID), WORKS BY. Post 8vo, cl. ex., 4s. Gd. each.
MORE WORLDS THAN ONE: Creed of Philosopher and Hope of Christian. Plates,
THE MARTYRS OF SCIENCE: Galileo,Tycho Brahe, and Kepler. With Portraits.
LETTERS ON NATURAL MAGIC. With numerous Illustrations.
4
BOOKS PUBLISHED BY
BRET HARTE, WORKS BY.
LIBRARY EDi L'lOM, C >im>lete in Six Volumes, crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s. each.
BRET HARTE'S COLLECTED WORKS. Arranged and Revised by the Author.
Vol. 1. Complete Poetical and Dramatic Works. With Steel Portrait.
Vol. II. Luck of Roaring Camp—Bohemian Papers—American Legends.
Vol. III. Tales of the Argonauts—Eastern Sketches.
Vol. IV. Gabriel Conroy.
Vol. V. Stories—Condensed Novels, &c.
Vol. VI. Tales cf the Pacific Slope.
THE SELECT WORKS OF BRET HARTE, in Prose and Poetry. Vith Introductory
Essay by J. M. Bellew. Portrait of Author, and 50 Illusts. Cr.8N d, cl. ex.. 7s. G<l.
BRET HARTE'S POETICAL WORKS, Hand-made paper & buckram. Cr.8vo, 4s.lid.
THE QUEEN OF THE PIRATE ISLE. With 28 oii'insl Drawings by Kate
Greenaway, reproduced in Colours by Edmund Evans. Small 4to, cloth, 5s.
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, lis. 6<1. each.
A WAIF OF THE PLAINS. With 60 Illustrations by Stanley L. Wood.
A WARD OF THE GOLDEN GATE. With 59 Illustrations by Stanley L. Wood.
A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS, &c. With Two Illustrations by Hume Nisbet.
COLONEL STARBOTILE'S CLIENT, &c. With Front, by F. Barnard. [Preparing
Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
GABRIEL CONROY. I THE LUCK OF ROARING CAMP, &c.
AN HEIRESS OF RED DOG, &^_I^ALIFORNIAN STORIES.
Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each; cloth limp, 2s. 6d. each.
FLIP. | MARUJA. | A PHYLLIS OF THE SI
Fcap. 8vo picture cover, Is. each.
THE TWINS OF TABLE MOUNTAIN. | JEFF BRIGGS'S LOVE STORY. "
BRILLAT-SAVARIN.-GASTRONOMY AS A FINE ART. By Brillat-
Savarin. Translated by R. E. Anderson, M.A. Post 8vo, half-bound, 2s.
BRYDGES. -1JNCLE~^AM^T "HOMK By Harold Brydges. Post
8vo, illustrated boards, 2s.; cloth limp, 2s. 6d.
BUCHANAN'S (ROBERT) WORKS. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s. each.
SELECTED POEMS OF ROBERT BUCHANAN. With Frontispiece by T. Dalziel.
THE EARTHQUAKE ; or, Six Days and a Sabbath.
THE CITY OF DREAM: An Epic Poem. With Two Illustrations by P. Macnab.
THE OUTCAST: A Rhyme for the Time. With 12 Full-page Illustrations and
numerous Vignettes. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 8s.
ROBERT BUCHANAN'S COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS. With Steel-plate Por
trait. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d.
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. each; post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
s<r
THE SHADOW OF THE SWORD.
A CHILD OF NATURE. Frontispiece.
GOD AND THE MAN. With 11 Illus-
trations by Fred. Barnard.
THE MARTYRDOM OF MADELINE.
With Frontispiece by A. W. Cooper.
LOVE ME FOR EVER. Frontispiece.
ANNAN WATER. | FOXGLOYE MANOR
THE NEW ABELARD.
MATT : a Story of a Caravan. Front.
THE MASTER OF THE MINE. Front,
THE HEIR OF LINNE.
BURTON (CAPTAIN). —THE BOOK OF THE SWORD: Being a
History ot the Sword and its Use in all Countries, from the Earliest Times. By
Richard F. Burton. With over 400 Illustrations. Square 8vo, cloth extra. 32s.
BURTON_(RO"B ERT)!
THE ANATOMY OF MELANCHOLY: A New Edition, with translations of the
Classical Extracts. Demy 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d.
MELANCHOLY ANATOMISED: Being an Abridgment, for popular U3e, of Burton's
Anatomy of Melancholy. Post 8vo. cloth limp, 2s. 6<1.
fJAINE (T. HALL), NOVELS BY. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. each
v post 8vo. illustrated boards, 2s. each; cloth limp, 2s. 6d. each.
SHADOW OF A CRIME. | A SON OF HAGAR. | THE DEEMSTER.
CAMERON (COMMANDER).—THE CRUISE OF THE "BLACK
PRINCE" PRIVATEER. By V. Lovett Cameron, R.N., C.B. With Two Illustra-
tions by P. Macnab. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 5s.; post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s.
CAMERON"TmRS^ILLOVETT), NOVELS" BY7
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. each; post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
JULIET'S GUARDIAN. I TlF.r.ETVERS EVER.
CHAMU &~WINDUSr214, PICCADILLY.
5
CARLYLE (THOMAS) ON THE CHOICE OF BOOKS. With Life
by R. H. Shepherd, and Three Illustrations. Post 8vo, cloth extra, la. 6d.
THE CORRESPONDENCE OF THOMAS CARLYLE AND RALPH WALDO
EMERSON, 1834 to 1872. Edited by Charles Eliot Norton. With Portraits.
Two Vols., crown 8vo. cloth extra, 34s.
CARLYLE (JANE WELSH), LIFE OF. By Mrs. Alexander Ireland.
With Portrait and Facsimile Letter. Small demy 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d.
CHAPMAN'S (GEORGE) WORKS. Vol. I. contains the Plays complete,
including the doubtful ones. Vol. II., the Poems and Minor Translations, with an
Introductory Essay by Algernon Charles Swinburne. Vol. III., the Translations
of the Iliad and Odyssey. Three Vols., crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s. each,
CHATTO AND JACKSON.—A TREATISE ON WOOD ENGRAVING,
Historical and Practical. By William Andrew Chatto and John Jackson. With
an Additional Chapter by Henry G. Bohn, and 450 fine Illusts. Large 4to, hf.-bd., 28s,
CHAUCER FOR CHILDREN : A Golden Key. By Mrs. H. R. Haweis.
With 8 Coloured Plates and 30 Woadcuts. Small 4to, cloth extra, 6s.
CHAUCER FOR SCHOOLS. By Mrs. H. k, Haweis. Demy8vo. cloth limp, 2s. 6d.
CLARE.—FOR THE LOVE OF A LASS: A Tale of Tynedale. By
Austin Clare. Post 8vo, picture boards, 2s.; cloth limp, 2s. 6d.
CLIVE (MRS. ARCHER), NOVELS, -BY. Post 8vo, illust. boards, 2s. each.
PAUL FERROLL. | WHY"^jfob FERROLL KILLED HIS WIFE.
CLODD (EDW., F.R.A.S.).—MYTHS AND DREAMS. Cr. 8vo,cl.ex.,5s.
COBBAN.—THE CURE OF SOULS: A Story. By J. Maclaren
Cobban. Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s.
COLEMAN (JOHN), WORKS BY.
PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS I HAYE KNOWN. Two Vols., 8vo, cloth, 24s.
CURLY: An Actor's Story. With 21 Illusts. by J. C. Dollman. Cr. 8vo, cl., Is. 6d.
COLLJNSTC. ALLSTON).—THE BAR SINISTER. Post 8vo, 2s.
COLLINS (MORTIMER AND FRANCES), NOVELS BY.
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. each : post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
SWEET ANNE PAGE. I FROM MIDNIGHT TO MIDNIGHT. I TRANSMIGRATION.
BLACKSMITH AND SCHOLAR.) YOU PLAY ME FALSE. | VILLAGE COMEDY-
Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
A FIGHT WITH FORTUNE. | SWEET AND TWENTY. | FRANCES.
COLLINS (WILKIE), NOVELS BY. ~
Cr. Svo. cl. ex., 3s. 6d. each ; post 8vo, illust. bds., 2s. each; cl. limp, 2s. 6d. eaclu
AATONINA. With a Frontispiece by Sir John Gilbert, R.A.
BASIL. Illustrated by Sir John Gilbert, R.A., and J. Mahoney.
HIDE AND SEEK. Illustrated by Sir John Gilbert, R.A., and J. Mahoney.
AFTER DARK. With Illustrations by A. B. Houghton.
THE DEAD SECRET. With a Frontispiece by Sir John Gilbert, R.A.
QUEEN OF HEARTS. With a Frontispiece by Sir John Gilbert, R.A.
THE WOMAN IN WHITE. With Illusts. by Sir J. Gilbert, R.A.,and F. A. Fraser.
NO NAME. With Illustrations by Sir J. E. Millais, R.A., and A. W. Cooper.
MY MISCELLANIES. With a Steel-plate Portrait of Wilkie Collins.
ARMADALE. Witu Illustrations by G. H. Thomas.
THE MOONSTONE. With Illustrations by G. Du MAURiERand F. A. Fraser,
MAN AND WIFE. With Illustrations by William Small.
POOR MISS FINCH. Illustrated by G. Du Maurier and Edward Hughes.
MISS OR MRS.? With Illusts. by S. L. Fildes, R.A., and Henry Woods, A.R.A.
THE NEW MAGDALEN. Illustrated by G. Du Maurier and C. S. Reinhardt.
THE FROZEN DEEP. Illustrated by G. Du Maurier and J. Mahoney.
THE LAW AND THE LADY. Illusts. by S. L. Fildes, R.A., and Sydney Hall>
THE TWO DESTINIES.
THE HAUNTED HOTEL. Illustrated by Arthur Hopkins.
THE FALLEN LEAVES. 1 HEART AND SCIENCE. I THE EVIL GENIUS.
JEZEBEL'S DAUGHTER. "I SAY NO." LITTLE NOVELS.
THE BLACK ROBE. | A ROGUE'S LIFE. | THE LEGACY OF CAIN.
BLIND LOVE. With Preface by Walter Besant, and Illusts. bv A. Forestier.
COLLINS (CHURTON).—A MONOGRAPH ON DEAN SWIFT. By
J. Churton Collins. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 8s. {.Shortly.
6
BOOKS PUBLISHED BY
COLMAN'S HUMOROUS WORKS: "Broad Grins," "My Nightgown
and Slippers," and other Humorous Works of George Colman. With Lite by
G. B. Buckstone, and Frontispiece by Hogarth. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. Gd.
COLQUHOUN.—EVERY INCH A SOLDIER: A Novel. By M. J.
Colquhoun. Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 3a.
CONVALESCENT COOKERY: A Family Handbook. By Catherine
Ryan. Crown 8vo, Is.; cloth limp, Is. 6d.
CONWAY (MONCURE D.), WORKS BY.
DEMONOLOGY AND DEYIL-LORE. With 65 Illustrations. Third Edition. Two
Vols , demy 8vo, cloth extra, 2Ss.
A NECKLACE OF STORIES. 25 Illusts. by W. J. Hennessy. Sq. 8vo, cloth, Gs.
PINE AND PALM: A Novel. Two Vols., crown 8vo, cloth extra, 21s.
GEORGE WASHINGTON'S RULES OF CIVILITY Traced to their Sources and
Restored. Fcap. 8vo, Japanese vellum, 2s. Gd.
COOK (DUTTON), NOVELS BY.
PAUL FOSTER'S DAUGHTER. Cr. 8vo, cl. ex., 3s. 6d.; post 8vo, illust. boards, 2s.
LEO, Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s.
CORNWALL.—POPULAR ROMANCES OF THE WEST OF ENG-
LAND ; or, The Drolls, Traditions, and Superstitions of Old Cornwall. Collected
by Robert Hunt, F.R.S. Two Stjea* Jg.tes by Geo.Cruikshank. Cr. 8vo, cl., 7s. Gd.
CRADDOCK.—THE PROPHET \)F THE GREAT SMOKY MOUN-
TAINS. By Charles Egbert Craddock. Post 8vo, illust. bds., 2s.; cl. limp, 2 s. Gd.
CRUIKSHANK'S COMIC ALMANACK. Complete in Two Series :
The First from 1835 to 1843; the Second from 1844 to 1853. A Gathering of
the Best Humour of Thackeray, Hood, Mayhew, Albert Smith, A'Beckett,
Robert Brough, &c. With numerous Steel Engravings and Woodcuts by Cruik-
shank, Hine, Landells, &c. Two Vols., crown 8vo, cloth gilt, 7s. Gd. each.
THE LIFE OF GEORGE CRUIKSHANK. By Blanchard Jerrold. With 84
Illustrations and a Bibliography. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. Gd.
GUMMING (C. F. GORDON), WORKS BY. Demy 8vo, cl. ex., Ss. Gd. each.
IN THE HEBRIDES. With Autotype Facsimile and 23 Illustrations.
IN THE HIMALAYAS AND ON THE INDIAN PLAINS. With 42 Illustrations.
VIA CORNWALL TO EGYPT. With Photogravure Frontis. Demy 8vo, cl., 7s. Gd.
CUSSANS.—A HANDBOOK OF HERALDRY; with Instructions for
Tracing Pedigrees and Deciphering Ancient MSS., &c. By John E. Cussans. With
408 Woodcuts, Two Coloured and Two Plain Plates. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. Gd.
CYPLES(W.)—HEARTS of GOLD. Cr.8vo,cl,,3s.6d.; post 8vo,bds.,2s.
TJANIEL.—MERRIE ENGLAND IN THE OLDEN TIME. By George
Daniel. With Illustrations by Robert Cruikshank. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. Gd.
DAUDET.—THE EVANGELIST; or, Port Salvation. By Alphonse
Daudet. Crown 8vo, cloth extra. 3s. Gd.; post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s.
DAVENANT.—HINTS FOR PARENTS ON THE CHOICE OF A PRO-
FESSION FOR THEIR SONS. By F. Pavenant, M.A, Post 8vo, Is.; cl„ Is. Gd.
DAVIES (DR. N. E. YORKE-), WORKS BY.
Crown 8vo, Is. each; cloth limp, Is. Gd. each.
ONE THOUSAND MEDICAL MAXIMS AND SURGICAL HINTS.
NURSERY HINTS: A Mother's Guide in Health and Disease.
FOODS FOR THE FAT: A Treatise on Corpulency, and a Dietary for its Cure.
AIDS TO LONG LIFE. Crown 8vo, 2s,; cloth limp, 2s. Gd.
DAVIES' (SIR JOHN) COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS, including
Psalms I. to L. in Verse, and other hitherto Unpublished MSS., for the first time
Collected and Edited, with Memorial-Introduction and Notes, by the Rev. A. B.
Grosart, D.D. Two Vols., crown 8vo, cloth boards, 12s.
DAWSON.—THE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH : A Novel of Adventure.
By Erasmus Dawson, M.B. Edited by Paul Devon. With Two Illustrations by
Hume Nisbet. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. Gd.
CHATTO 8c WINDUS, 214, PICCADILLY.
DE MAISTRE.-A JOURNEY ROUND MY ROOM. By Xavier de
Maistre. Translated by Henry Attwell, Post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s. 6d.
DE MILLE.—A CASTLE IN SPAIN. By James De Mille. With a
Frontispiece. Crown 8vo, cloth extra. 3s. 6d.; post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s.
DERBY (THE).—THE BLUE RIBBON OF THE TURF: A Chronicle
of the Race for The Derby, from Diomed to Donovan. With Notes on the Win-
ning Horses, the Men who trained them, Jockeys who rode them, and Gentlemen to
whom they belonged ; also Notices of the Betting and Betting Men of the period, and
Brief Accounts of The Oaks. By Louis Henry Curzon. Cr. 8vo, cloth extra, 6s.
DERWENT (LEITH), NOVELS BY. Cr.8vo.cl., 3s.6d. ea.; post 8vo,bds.,2s.ea.
OUR LADY OF TEARS. | CIRCE'S LOVERS.
DICKENS (CHARLES), NOVELS BY. Post 8vo. illustrated boards, 2s. each.
SKETCHES BY BOZ. I NICHOLAS NICKLEBY.
THE PICKWICK PAPERS. [ OLIVER TWIST.
THE SPEECHES OP CHARLES DICKENS, 1841-1870. With a New Bibliography.
Edited by Richard Herne Shepherd. Crown 8vo, cloth extra. 6s.—Also a
Smaller Edition, in the Mavfair Library, post8vo, cloth limp, 2s. 6d.
ABOUT ENGLAND WITH DICKENS. By Alfred Rimmer. With 57 Illustrations
by C. A. Vanderhqqf, Alfred Rimmer, and others. Sq. 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d.
DICTIONARIES.
A DICTIONARY OF MIRACLES: Imitative, Realistic, and Dogmatic. By the Rev
E. C. Brewer, LL.D. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d.
THE READER'S HANDBOOK OP ALLUSIONS, REFERENCES, PLOTS, AND
STORIES. By the Rev. E. C. Brewer, LL.D. With an English Bibliography.
Fifteenth Thousand. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d.
AUTHORS AND THEIR WORKS, WITH THE DATES. Cr. 8vo, cloth limp, 2s.
FAMILIAR SHORT SAYINGS OP GREAT MEN. With Historical and Explana-
tory Notes. By Samuel A. Bent, A.M. Crown 8vo, cloth extra. 7s. 6»1.
SLANG DICTIONARY: Etymological, Historical, and Anecdotal. Cr. 8vo, cl., 6s. 6d.
WOMEN OP THE DAY: A Biographical Dictionary. By F. Hays. Cr. 8vo, cl., 5s.
WORDS, FACTS, AND PHRASES: A Dictionary of Curious, Quaint, and Out-of-
the-Way Matters. By Elifzer Edwards. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d.
DIDEROT.—THE PARADOX OF ACTING. Translated, with Annota-
tions, from Diderot's " Le Paradoxe sur le Comedien," by Walter Herries Pollock
With a Preface by Henry Irving, Crown 8vo, parchment, 4s. 6d.
DOBSON (AUSTIN), WORKS BY.
THOMAS BEWICK & HIS PUPILS. With 95 Illustrations. Square 8vo, cloth, 6s.
FOUR FRENCHWOMEN: Mademoiselle de Corday; Madame Roland; The
Princess de Lamballe ; Madame de Genlis. Fcap. Svo, hf.-roxburghe, gs. Of,
DOBSON (W. T.), WORKS BY. Post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s. 6d. each.
LITERARY FRIVOLITIES, FANCIES, FOLLIES, AND FROLICS.
POETICAL INGENUITIES AND ECCENTRICITIES.
DONOVAN (DICK), DETECTIVE STORIES BY.
Post 8vo. illustrated boards, 2s. each; cloth limp, 2s. 6d. each.
THE MAN-HUNTER. I TRACKED AND TAKEN.
CAUGHT AT LAST 1 | WHO POISONED HETTY DUNCAN?
A DETECTIVE'S TRIUMPHS. [■Preparing.
THE MAN FROM MANCHESTER. With 23 Illustrations. Crown 8vo, cloth, 6s.;
post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s.
DOYLE (A. CONAN, Author of " Micah Clarke "), NOVELS BY.
THE FIRM OF GIRDLESTONE. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s.
STRANGE SECRETS. Told by Conan Doyle, Percy Fitzgerald, Florence
Marryat, &c, Cr. Svo, c.l, ex., Eight Ulusts.. 6s.; post 8vo, illust. bds., 2s.
DRAMATISTS, THE OLD. With Vignette Portraits. Cr.Svo, cl. ex., 6s. per Vol.
BEN JONSON'S WORKS. With Notes Critical and Explanatory, and a Bio-
graphical Memoir by Wm. Gifford. Edited by Col. Cunningham. Three Vols.
CHAPMAN'S WORKS. Complete in Three Vols. Vol. I. contains the Plays
complete; Vol. II., Poems and Minor Translations, with an Introductory Essay
by A. C. Swinburne ; Vol. III., Translations of the Iliad and Odyssey.
MARLOWE'S WORKS. Edited, with Notes, by Col. Cunningham. One Vol.
MASSINGER'S PLAYS, From Gifford'«= t—' r " Col.Cunningham. One Vol.
8
BOOKS PUBLISHED BY
DUNCAN (SARA JEANNETTE), WORKS BY.
A SOCIAL DEPARTURE: How Orthodocia and I Went round the World by Our-
selves. With in Illustrations by F. PI. Townsend. Crown 8vo, cloth. 7s. 6cl.
AN AMERICAN GIRL IN LONDON. With 80 Illustrations by F. H. Townsend.
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7a. Gel. [.Preparing.
DYER.—THE FOLK-LORE OF PLANTS. By Rev. T. F. Thiselton
Dyer, M.A. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s.
"PARLY ENGLISH POETS. Edited, with Introductions and Annota-
tions, by Rev. A. B.Grosart, D.D. Crown 8vo, cloth boards, 6s. per Volume.
FLETCHER'S (GILES) COMPLETE POEMS. One Vol.
DAYIES' (SIR JOHN) COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS. Two Vols.
HERRICK'S (ROBERT) COMPLETE COLLECTED POEMS. Three Vols.
SIDNEY'S (SIR PHILIP) COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS. Three Vols.
EDGCUMBE.r-ZEPHYRUS : A Holiday in Brazil and on the River Plate.
By E. R. Pearce Edgcumbe. With 41 Illustrations. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 5s.
EDWARDES (MRS. ANNIE), NOVELS BY:
A POINT OF HONOUR. Post bvo, illustrated boards, 2s.
ARCHIE LOYELL. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d.; post 8vo, illust. boards, 2s.
EDWARDS (ELIEZER).—WORDS, FACTS, AND PHRASES: A
Dictionary of Curious, Quaint, and Out-ol-the-Way Matters. By Eliezer Edwards.
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d.
EDWARDS (M. BETH AM-), NOVELS BY.
KITTY. Post 8vo, illustrated boaids, 2s.; cloth limp, 2s. 6d.
FELICIA. Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s.
EGGLESTON (EDWARD).—ROXY : A Novel. Post 8vo, illust. bds.,2s,
EMANUEL.—ON DIAMONDS AND PRECIOUS STONES: Their
History, Value, and Properties ; with Simple Tests tor ascertaining their Reality. By
Harry Emanuel, F.R.G.S. With Illustrations, tinted and plain. Cr. 8vo, cl. ex., 6s,
ENGLISHMAN'S HOUSE, THE : A Practical Guide to all interested in
Selecting or Building a House; with Estimates of Cost, Quantities, &c. By C. J.
Richardson. With Coloured Frontispiece and 600 Illusts. Crown 8vo, cloth, 7s. 6d.
EWALD (ALEX. CHARLES, F.S.A.), WORKS BY.
THE LIFE AND TIMES OF PRINCE CHARLES STUART, Count of Albany
(The Young Pretender). With a Portrait. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d.
STORIES FROM THE STATE PAPERS. With an Autotype. Crown 8vo, cloth, 6s.
EYES, OUR : How to Preserve Them from Infancy to Old Age. By
John Browning, F.R.A.S. With70 Illusts. Eighteenth Thousand. Crown 8vo, As.
pAMILIARSHORT SAYINGS OF GREAT MEN. By Samuel Arthto
Bent, A.M. Fifth Edition, Revised and Enlarged. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6<I.
-FARADAY (MICHAEL), WURKS BY. Post 8vo, cloth extra, 4s. 6d. each.
THE CHEMICAL HISTORY OF A CANDLE: Lectures delivered before a Juvenile
Audience. Edited by William Crookes. F.C.S. With numerous Illustrations.
ON THE YARIOUS FORCES OF NATURE, AND THEIR RELATIONS TO
EACH OTHER. Edited by William Crookes, F.C.S, With Illustrations.
FARRER (J. ANSON), WORKS BY.
MILITARY MANNERS AND CUSTOMS. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s.
war: Three Essays, reprinted from " Military Manners." Cr. 8vo, Is.; cl., Is. 6d.
FICTION.—A CATALOGUE OF NEARLY SIX HUNDRED WORKS
OF FICTION published by Chatto & Windus, with a Short Critical Notice of
each (40 pages, demy 8vo), will be sent free upon application.
FIN-BEC.—THE CUPBOARD PAPERS: Observations on the Art of
Living and Dining. By Fin-Bec. Post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s, 6d.
FIREWORKS, THE COMPLETE ART OF MAKING; or, The Pyro-
technist's Treasury, By Thomas Kentish. Vviiii 267 liiusudiiOua. Ci. ovo. cl- ias.
CHATTO & WINDUS, 214, PICCADILLY.
FITZGERALD (PERCY, M.A., F.S.A.), WORKS BY.
THE WORLD BEHIND THE SCENES. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. Gd.
KITTLE ESSAYS: Passages from Letters of Charles Lamb. Post 8vo, cl., 2s. Gil.
A DAY S TOUR: Journey through France and Belgium. With Sketches. Cr.Ato. Js.
FATAL ZERO. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d.; post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s-
Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
BELLA DONNA. I LADY OF BRANTOME. I THE SECOND MRS. TILLOTSON.
POLLY. | NEVER FORGOTTEN. | SEYENTY-FIYE BROOKE STREET.
LIFE OF JAMES BOSWELL (of Auchinleck). With an Account of his Sayings.
Doings, and Writings; and Four Portraits. Two Vols., demy 8vo, cloth extra.
24s. [Preparing.
FLETCHER'S (GILES, B.D.) COMPLETE POEMS: Christ's Victorie
in Heaven. Christ's Victorie on Earth, Christ's Triumph over Death, and Minor
Poems. With Notes by Rev. A. B. Grqsart, P.P. Crown 8vo, cloth boards, 6s.
FLUDYER (HARRY) AT CAMBRIDGE: A Series of Family Letters.
Post 8vo, picture cover. Is,; cloth limp, Is. Gd.
FONBLANQUE (ALBANY).—FILTHY LUCRE. Post8vo,illust. bds., 2s.
FRANCILLON (R. E.), NOVELS BY.
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. Gd. each; post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
ONE BY ONE. | QUEEN COPHETUA. | A REAL QUEEN. | KING OR KNAYE?
OLYMPIA. Post 8vo. illust. bds., 2s. | ESTHER'S GLOYE. Fcap. 8vo, pict. cover. Is.
ROMANCES OF THE LAW. Crown 8vo, cloth, Os.; post 8vo, illust. boards, 2*.
FREDERIC (HAROLD), NOVELS BY.
SETH'S BROTHER'S WIFE. Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s.
THE LAWTON GIRL. With Frontispiece by F. Barnard. Cr. 8vo, cloth ex., 6s. $
post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s.
FRENCH LITERATURE, A HISTORY OF. By Henry Van Laun.
Three Vols., demy 8vo, cloth boards, 7s. Gd. each.
FRENZENY.—FIFTY YEARS ON THE TRAIL: Adventures of John
Y. Nelson, Scout, Guide, and Interpreter. By Harrington O'Reilly. With roc
Illustrations by Paul Frenzeny. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d.
FRERE.—PANDURANG HARI; or, Memoirs of a Hindoo. With Pre-
face by Sir Bartle Frere. Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. Gd.; post 8vo, illust. bds., 2s.
FRISWELL (HAIN).—ONE OF TWO: A Novel. Post 8vo, illust. bds., 2s.
FROST (THOMAS), WORKS BY. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. Gd. each.
CIRCUS LIFE AND CIRCUS CELEBRITIES. I LIVES OF THE CONJURERS.
THE OLD SHOWMEN AND THE OLD LONDON FAIRS.
FRY'S (HERBERT) ROYAL GUIDE TO THE LONDON CHARITIES.
Showing their Name, Date of Foundation, Objects, Income, Officials, &c. Edited
by John Lane. Published Annually. Crown 8vo, cloth, Is. Gd.
HARDENING BOOKS. Post 8vo, Is. each ; cloth limp, Is 6d. each.
A YEAR'S WORK IN GARDEN AND GREENHOUSE: Practical Advice as to the
Management of the Flower, Fruit, and Frame Garden. By George Glenny.
OUR KITCHEN GARDEN: Plants, and How we Cook Them. By Tom Jerrold.
HOUSEHOLD HORTICULTURE. By Tom and Jane Jerrold. Illustrated.
THE GARDEN THAT PAID THE RENT. By Tom Jerrold.
MY GARDEN WILD, AND WHAT I GREW THERE. By Francis G. Heath.
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, gilt edges. 6s.
GARRETT.—THE CAPEL GIRLS: A Novel. By Edward Garrett.
Crown 8vo, cloth extra. 3s. Gd.; post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s.
GENTLEMAN'S MAGAZINE, THE. Is. Monthly. In addition to the
Articles upon subjects in Literature, Science, and Art, for which this Magazine has
so high a reputation, " TABLE TALK" by Sylvanus Urban appears monthly.
*„* Bound Volumes for recent years kibt in stock, 8s« Gd. each: Cases for binding, 2s,
GENTT p,1WA1J's A UNIT AT,. THE. Published Annually in November, i*.
10
BOOKS PUBLISHED BY
GERMAN POPULAR STORIES. Collected by the Brothers Grimm
and Translated by Edgar Taylor. With Introduction by John Ruskin, and 22 Steel
Plates by George Cruikshank. Square 8vo, cloth, 6s. 6d.; gilt edges, 7a. 6d.
GIBBON (CHARLES), NOVELS BY.
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. each; post 8vo, illustrated boards, 52s. each.
ROBIN GRAY. | LOVING A DREAM. I OP HIGH DEGREE.
THE FLOWER OF THE FOREST. IN HONOUR BOUND.
THE GOLDEN SHAFT. j
Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 52s. each.
THE DEAD HEART.
FOR LACK OF GOLD.
WHAT WILL THE WORLD SAY?
FOR THE KING.
QUEEN OF THE MEADOW.
IN PASTURES GREEN.
IN LOVE AND WAR.
A HEART'S PROBLEM.
BY MEAD AND STREAM.
THE BRAES OF YARROW.
FANCY FREE. | A HARD KNOT.
HEART'S DELIGHT. | BLOOD-MONEY.
GIBNEY (SOMERVILLE).—SENTENCED I Cr. 8vo, Is.; cl„ Is. 6d.
f. Post 8vo, illustrated boards, S2s. 1
JAMES DUKE, COSTERMONGER.
GILBERT (WILLIAM), NOVELS BY. Post 8vo, illustrated boards, S2s. each.
DR. AUSTIN'S GUESTS. I J,
THE WIZARD OF THE MOUNTAIN.
GILBERT (W. S.), ORIGINAL PLAYS BY. In Two Series, each
complete in itself, price 52s. 6d. each.
The First Series contains: The Wicked World—Pygmalion and Galatea—
Charity—The Princess—The Palace of Truth—Trial by Jury.
The Second Series: Broken Hearts—Engaged—Sweethearts—Gretchen—Dan'l
Druce—Tom Cobb—H.M.S. " Pinafore"—The Sorcerer—Pirates of Penzance.
EIGHT ORIGINAL COMIC OPERAS written by W. S. Gilbert. Containing:
The Sorcerer—H.M.S. "Pinafore"—Pirates of Penzance—Iolanthe—Patience—
Princess Ida—The Mikado—Trial by Jury. Demy 8vo, cloth limp, 52s. 6d.
THE "GILBERT AND SULLIVAN" BIRTHDAY BOOK: Quotations for Every
Day in the Year, Selected from Plays by W. S. Gilbert set to Music by Sir A.
Sullivan. Compiled by Alex. Watson. Royal i6mo. Jap, leather, 52s. (id.
GLANVILLE (ERNEST), NOVELS BY.
THE LOST HEIRESS: A Tale of Love, Battle and Adventure. With 2 Illusts. by
Hume Nisbet. Cr. 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d.
THE FOSSICKER. With a Frontispiece. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d.
GLENNY.-A YEAR'S WORK IN GARDEN AND GREENHOUSE:
Practical Advice to Amateur Gardeners as to the Management of the Flower, Fruit,
and Frame Garden. By George Glenny. Post 8vo, Is.; cloth limp, Is. 6d.
GODWIN.—LIVES OF THE NECROMANCERS. By William God-
win. Post 8vo, cloth limp, 52s.
GOLDEN TREASURY OF THOUGHT, THE: An Encyclopedia of
Quotations. Edited by Taylor. Crown 8vo, cloth gilt, 7s. 6d.
GOWlNG.—FIVE THC USAND MILES IN A SLEDGE : A Midwinter
Journey Across Siberia. By Lionel F. Gowing. With 30 Illustrations by C. J.
Uren, and a Map by E. Weller. Large crown 8vo, cloth extra, 8s.
GRAHAM. —THE PROFESSOR'S WIFE: A Story. By Leonard
Graham. Fcap. 8vo, picture cover, Is.
GREEKS AND ROMANS, THE LIFE OF THE, described from
Antique Monuments. By Ernst Guhl and W. Koner. Edited by Dr. F. Hueffer.
With 545 Illustrations. Large crown 8vo, cloth extra, ys. 6d.
GREENWOOD (JAMES), WORKS BY. Cr. 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. each.
THE WILDS OF LONDON. | LOW-LIFE DEEPS.
GREVILLE (HENRY), NOVELS BY:
NIKANOR. Translated by Eliza E. Chase. With 8 Illusts. Cr. 8vo, cl. extra, 6s.
A NOBLE WOMAN. Translated by Albert D.Vandam. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 5s.;
post 8vo, illustrated boards, 52s.
HABBERTON (JOHN, Author of " Helen's Babies"), NOVELS BY.
Post 8vo, illustrated boards 52s. each; cloth limp, 3s. 6d. each.
BRUETON'S BAYOU. 1 r.ftnwTPv riinir
CHATTO & WINDUS, 214 PICCADILLY. n
hair, theT Its Treatment in Health, Weakness, and Disease. Trans-
lated from the German of Dr. J. Pincus. Crown 8vo, Is.; cloth limp, la, 6<1.
hake (dr. thomas gordon), poems BY. cr. 8vo, ci. .• <„ 6s. each"
NEW SYMBOLS. | LEGENDS OP THE MORROW. | THE SERPENT PLAY,
MAIDEN ECSTASY. Small 4to, cloth extra, 8s.
HALL.—SKETCHES OF IRISH CHARACTER. By Mrs. S. C. Hall.
With numerous Illustrations on Steel and Wood by Maclise, Gilbert, Harvey, and
George Cruikshank. Medium 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d.
HALLIDAY (ANDR.).—EVERY-DAY PAPERS7 Post 8vo, bds., 2sT
HANDWRITING, THE PHILOSOPHY OF. With over ioo Facsimiles
and Explanatory Text. By Don Felix de Salamanca. Post 8vo, cloth limp, lis. 6d.
HANKY-PANKY : A Collection of Very Easy Tricks, Very Difficult
Tricks, White Magic, Sleight of Hand. &c. Edited by W. H. Cremer. With 204
Illustrations. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 4s. 6d.
HARDY (LADY DUFFUS)." PAUL WYNTER'S SACRIFICE. By
Lady Duffus Hardy. Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s.
HARDY (THOMAS). —UNDER THE GREENWOOD TREE. By
Thomas Hardy, Author of "Far from the Madding Crowd." Post 8vo, illust. bds., 2s.
harwood.—the tenth earl. By j. Berwick Harwood. Post
8vo, illustrated boards, 2a.
HAWEIS (MRS. H. R.), WORKS BY. Square 8vo, cloth extra, 6s. each.
THE ART OP BEAUTY. With Coloured Frontispiece and 91 Illustrations.
THE ART OF DECORATION. With Coloured Frontispiece and 74 Illustrations.
CHAUCER FOR CHILDREN. With 8 Coloured Plates and 30 Woodcuts.
THE ART OF DRESS. With 32 Illustrations. Post 8vo, Is.; cloth, Is. 6d.
CHAUCER FOR SCHOOLS. Demy Svo, cloth limp, 2s. 6d.
HAWEIS (Rev. H. R.,M. A.). —AMERICAN HUMORISTS: Washington
Irving, Oliver Wendell Holmes, James Russell Lowell, Artemus^ Ward,
Mark Twain, and Bret Harte. Third Edition. Crown 8vo, cloth extra. 6s.
HAWLEY SMAR^^lTIWU^LOVE OR LICENCE: A Novel. By
Hawley Smart. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d.
HAWTHORNE.—OUR OLD HOME. By Nathaniel Hawthorne.
Annotated with Passages from the Author's Note-book, and Illustrated with 31
Photogravures. Two Vols., crown 8vo, buckram, gilt top, 15s.
HAWTHORNE (JULIAN), NOVELS BY.
Crown Svo, cloth extra, 3s. 6a. each; post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
GARTH. | ELLICE QUENTIN. V BEATRIX RANDOLPH. | DUST.
SEBASTIAN STROME. I DAVID POINDEXTER.
FORTUNE'S FOOL. | THE SPECTRE OF THE CAMERA.
Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
MISS CADOGNA. | LOYE—OR A NAME.
MRS. GAINSBOROUGH'S DIAMONDS. Fcap. 8vo, illustrated cover, Is.
A DREAM AND A FORGETTING. Post 8vo, cloth limp, Is. 6d.
HAYS.—WOMEN OF THE DAY : A Biographical Dictionary of Notable
Contemporaries. By Frances Hays. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 5s. .
HEATH.—MY GARDEN WILD, AND WHAT I GREW THERE
By Francis George Heath. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, gilt edges, 6s.
HELPS (SIR ARTHUR), WORKS~ BY^ Post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s. 6d. each.
ANIMALS AND THEIR MASTERS. 1 SOCIAL PRESSURE.
IVAN DE BIRON: A Novel. Cr. 8vo, cl. extra, 3s. 6d.; post 8vo, illust. bds., 2s.
HENDERSON.— AGATHA PAGE : A Novel. By Isaac Henderson.
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. i
HERMAN.—A LEADING LADY. By Henry Herman, joint-Author
of " The Bishops' Bible." Post 8vo, cloth extra, 2s. 6d.
12
BOOKS PUBLISHED BY
HERRICK'S (ROBERT) HESPERIDES, NOBLE NUMBERS, AND
COMPLETE COLLECTED POEMS. With Memorial-Introduction and Notes by the
Rev. A. B. Grqsart, P.P.; Steel Portrait, &c. Three Vols., crown 8vo, cl. bds., l£»s.
HERTZKA.—FREELAND : A Social Anticipation. By Dr. Theodor
Kertzka. Translated by Arthur Ransom. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s.
HESSE-WARTEGG. —TUNIS : The Land and the People. By Chevalier
Ernst von Hesse-Wartegg. With 22 Illustrations. Cr. 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d.
HINDLEY (CHARLES), WORKS BY.
TAYERN ANECDOTES AND SAYINGS: Including the Origin of Signs, and
Reminiscences connected with Taverns, Coffee Houses, Clubs, &c. With Ulus-
trations. Crown 8vn, cloth extra, 3s. 6d.
THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF A CHEAP JACK. By One of the Fra-
ternity. Edited by Charles Hinpley. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. Cel.
HOEY.-THE LOVER'S CREED. By Mrs. Cashel Hoey. Post 8vo,
illustrated boards, 2s.
HOLLINGSHEAD (JOHN).-NIAGARA SPRAY. Crown 8vo, Is.
HOLMES.—THE SCIENCE OF VOICE PRODUCTION AND VOICE
PRESERVATION: A Popular Manual for the Use of Speakers and Singers. By
Gordon Holmes, M.D. With Illustrations. Crown 8vo, Is. } cloth, Is. Cd,
HOLMES (OLIVER WENDELL), WORKS BY. _
THE AUTOCRAT OF THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. Illus jated by J. Gordon
Thomson. Post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s. 6d.—Another Edition, in smaller type, with
an Introduction by G. A. Sala. Post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s.
THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. Post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s.
HOOD'S (THOMAS) CHOICE WORKS, in Prose and Verse. With Life
of the Author, Portrait, and 200 Illustrations. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d.
HOOD'S WHIMS AND ODDITIES. With 85 Illustrations. Post 8vo, printed 00
laid paper and half-bound, 2s.
HOOD (TOM).—FROM NOWHERE TO THE NORTH POLE: A
Noah's Arkaeological Narrative. By Tom Hood. With 25 Illustrations by W. Brunton
and E. C. Barnes. Square 8vo, cloth extra, gilt edges, 6s.
HOOK'S (THEODORE) CHOICE HUMOROUS WORKS; including his
Ludicrous Adventures, Bons Mots, Puns, and Hoaxes. With Life of the Author,
Portraits, Facsimiles, and Illustrations. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7«. 6«1.
HOOPER.—THE HOUSE OF RABY: A Novel. By Mrs. George
Hooper. Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s.
HOPKINS.-"'TWIXT LOVE AND DUTY:" A Novel. By Tighe
Hopkins. Post 8vo. illustrated boards, 2s.
HORNE. — ORION : An Epic Poem. By Richard Hengist Horne.
With Photographic Portrait by Summers. Tenth Edition. Cr.8vo, cloth extra, 7 s.
HORSE (THE) AND HIS RIDER : Ap Anecdotic Medley. By " Thor-
manby." Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s.
HUNT.—ESSAYS BY LEIGH HUNT: A Tale for a Chimney Corner,
and other Pieces. Edited, with an Introduction, by Edmund Ollier. Post 8vo,
printed on laid paper and half-bd., 2s. Also in sm, sq. 8vo, cl. extra, at same price.
HUNT (MRS. ALFRED), NOVELS BY.
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. each; post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
THE LEADEN CASKET. | SELF-CONDEMNED. | THAT OTHER PERSON.
THORNICROFT'S MODEL. Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s.
HYDROPHOBIA: An Account of M. Pasteur's System. Containing
a Translation of all his Communications on the Subject, the Technique of his
Method, and Statistics. By Renaud Suzqr. M.B. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s.
INGELOW (JEAN).—FATED TO BE FREE. With 24 Illustrations
by G. J. PlNWELL. Cr. 8VO, mom exuH. uusi ovu. iuu&liciicil uudius. vs**
INDOOR PAUPERS. By unk them, urownbvo. is.iciotn.ns. fid.
CHATTO & WINDUS, 214, PICCADILLY.
13
irish wit and humour, songs of. Collected and Edited by
A, Perceval Graves. Post 8vo, cloth limp. 3s. <>d.
JAMES.-A ROMANCE OF THE QUEEN'S HOUNDS. By Charles
P°st 8vo» picture cover, ; cloth limp, 1*. Od.
JANVIER.-PRACTICAlTKERAmCSFORSTUDENTSTByCATHERiNE
A. Janvier. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, <>s.
jay (harriett), novels byt Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 3s. each.
THE DARK COLLEEN. | THE QUEEN OF CONNAUGHT.
jefferies (richard), works by. Post 8vo, cloth limp, 3s. Od. each.
NATURE NEAR LONDON.J THE LIFE OF THE FIELDS. | THE OPEN AIR.
THE EULOGY OF RICHARD JEFFERIES. By Walter Besant. Second Ed<-
tion. With a Photograph Portrait. Cruwn 8vo, cloth extra. Os.
jennings (h. j.), works by.
CURIOSITIES OF CRITICISM. Post 8vo, cloth limp, 3s. Od.
LORD TENNYSON: A Biographical Sketch. With a Photograph. Cr.8vo.c1., Os
jerome. — stageland : Curious Habits and Customs of its In-
habitants. By Jerome K. Jerome. With 64 Illustrations by J. Bernard Partridge.
Sixteenth Thousand. Fcap. 4to, cloth extra, 3s. Oil.
jerrold^the barber^hairt&tthe hedgehog letters^
By Douglas Jerrold. Post 8vo, printed on laid paper and hah-bmiud, 3s.
jerrold (tom), works by. Post 8vo, Is. each; cloth limp, Is. Od. each.
THE GARDEN THAT PAID THE RENT.
HOUSEHOLD HORTICULTURE: A Gossip about Flowers. Illustrated.
OUR KITCHEN GARDEN: The Plants we Grow, and How we Cook Them.
jesse.—scenes and occupations of a country life. By
_Edward Jesse. Post 8vo, cloth limp, 3s.
jones (william, f.s.a.), works~by. cr.evo, ci. extra, r7. Od.'each.
FINGER-RING LORE: Historical, Legendary, and Anecdotal. With nearly 300
Illustrations. Second Edition, Revised and Enlarged.
CREDULITIES, PAST AND PRESENT. Including the Sea and Seamen, Miners,
Talismans, Word and Letter Divination, Exorcising and Blessing of Animals,
Birds, Eggs, Luck, &c. With an Etched Frontispiece.
__ CROWNS AND CORONATIONS: A History of Regalia. With 100 Illustrations,
jonson's (ben) works. With Notes Critical and Explanatory,
and a Biographical Memoir by William Gifford. Edited by Colonel Cunning-
ham. Three Vols., crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s. each,
josephus, the complete works of. Translated by Whiston.'
Containing " The Antiquities of the Jews "and "The Wars of the Jews." With 53
Illustrations and Maps. Two Vols,, demy 8vo, half-bound, 13'*. 6<1.
ITEMPT.—PENCIL AND PALETTE : Chapters on Art and Artists. By
Robert Kempt. Post 8vo, cloth limp, 3a. 6d.
kershaw. — colonial facts and fictions: Humorou?
Sketches. By Mark Kershaw. Post 8vo, illustrated boards. 3a.; cloth, 3*. Oil.
keyser. —cut by the mess: A Novel. By Arthur Keyser.
Crown 8vo, picture cover, Is.; cloth limp, Is. 6d.
kingTr^she), novels by. Cr. 8vo, cl., 3«. 6d. ea.; postSvo, bds., 3s. ea.
A DRAWN GAME. | "THE WEARING OF THE GREEN."
PASSION'S SLAVE. Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 3s.
BELL BARRY. 2 vols., crown 8vo,
kingsley (henry), novels by.
OAKSHOTT CASTLE. Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 3s.
NUMBER SEVENTEEN. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s, 6d.
knights (the) of the lion : A Romance of the Thirteenth Century.
Edited, with an Introduction, by the Marquess of Lorne, K.T. Cr. 8vo, cl. ex., (is.
14
BOOKS PUBLISHED BY
KNIGHT.—THE PATIENT'S VADE MECUM : How to Get Most
Benefit from Medical Advice. By William Knight, M.R.C.S., and Edward
Knight, L.R.C.P. Crown 8vo, la,; cloth limp, Is. <>d.
T.AMB'S (CHARLES) COMPLETE WORKS, in Prose and Verse.
Edited, with Notes and Introduction, by R. H. Shepherd. With Two Portraits
and Facsimile of a page of the "Essay on Roast Pig." Cr. 8vo, cl. ex., 7*. <id.
THE ESSAYS OP ELI A. Post 8vo, printed on laid paper and half-bound, 2s.
LITTLE ESSAYS: Sketches and Characters by Charles Lamb, selected from his
Letters by Percy Fitzgerald. Post 8vo, cloth limp, 2a. 6d.
LANDOR.—CITATION AND EXAMINATION OF WILLIAM SHAKS-
PEARE, &c., before Sir Thomas Lucy, touching Deer-stealing, 19th September, 1582.
To which is added, A CONFERENCE OP MASTER EDMUND SPENSER with the
Earl of Essex, touching the State of Ireland, 1595. By Walter Savage Landor.
Fcap. 8vo, half-Roxburghe, 2s. (id,
LANE.—THE THOUSAND AND ONE NIGHTS, commonly called in
England THE ARABIAN NIGHTS' ENTERTAINMENTS. Transfated from the
Arabic, with Notes, by Edward William Lane. Illustrated by many hundred
Engravings from Designs by Harvey. Edited by Edward Stanley Poole. With a
Preface by Stanley Lane-Poole. Three Vols., demy 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d. each.
LARWOOD (JACOB), WORKS BY.
THE STORY OP THE LONDON PARKS. With Illusts. Cr. 8vo, cl. extra, 3s. 6d.
ANECDOTES OP THE CLERGY: The Antiquities,Humours, and Eccentricities of
the Cloth. Post 8vo, printed on laid paper and half-bound, 2s.
Post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s. 6d. each.
FORENSIC ANECDOTES. \ THEATRICAL ANECDOTES.
LEIGH (HENRY S.), WORKS BY.
CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. Printed on hand-made paper, bound in buckram, 5s.
JEUX D'ESPRIT. Edited by Henry S. Leigh, Post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s. 6d.
LEYS (JOHN).—THE LINDSAYS : A Romance. Post 8vo, illust. bds., 2s.
LIFE IN LONDON; or, The History of Jerry Hawthorn and Cor-
inthian Tom. With Cruikshank's Coloured Illustrations. Crown 8vo, cloth extra,
7s. <>d. [New Edition preparing.
LINSKILL. — IN EXCHANGE FOR A SOUL. By Mary Linskill.
Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s.
LINTON (E. LYNN), WORKS BY. Post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s. 6d. each.
WITCH STORIES. | OURSELVES: Essays on Women.
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. each; post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s.each.
SOWING THE WIND. UNDER WHICH LORD?
PATRICIA KEMBALL. "MY LOYE!" | IONE.
ATONEMENT OP LEAM DUNDAS. PASTON CAREW, Millionaire & Miser.
THE WORLD WELL LOST.
Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
THE REBEL OF THE FAMILY. | WITH A SILKEN THREAD.
LONGFELLOW'S POETICAL WORKS. With numerous Illustrations
on Steel and Wood. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7s, 6d.
LUCY.—GIDEON FLEYCE ; A Novel. By Henry W. Lucy. Crown
8vo, cloth extra, 3s. <>d.; post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s.
LUSIAD (THE) OF CAMOENS. Translated into English Spenserian
Verse by Robert Ffrench Duff. With 14 Plates. Demy 8vo, cloth boards, 18s.
|pCALPINE (AVERY), NOVELS BY.
TERESA ITASCA, and other Stories. Crown 8vo, bound in canvas, 2s. 6d.
BROKEN WINGS. With 6 Illusts. by W. J. Hennessy. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s.
MACCOLL (HUGH), NOVELS BY.
MR. STRANGER'S SEALED PACKET.. Second Edition. Crown 8vo, cl. ertra, 5s.
EDNOR WHITLOCK. Crown 8vo. cloth extra
_______ CHATTO & WINDUS, 214, PICCADILLY. 15
Mccarty (justin, works by.
A HISTORY OP OUR OWN TIMES, from the Accession of Queen Victoria to the
General Election of 1880. Four Vols, demy 8vo, cloth extra, 12s. each.—Also
J a Popular Edition, in Four Vols., crown 8vo, cloth extra, Os. each.—And a
ubii.ee Edition, with an Appendix of Events to the end of 1886, in Two Vols.,
arge crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7». <><1. each.
A SHORT HISTORY OF OUR OWN TIMES. One Vol., crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s.
—Also a Cheap Popular Edition, post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s. Gel.
A HISTORY OE THE FOUR GEORGES. Four Vols, demy 8vo, cloth extra,
12s. each. [Vols. I. & II. ready
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. each; post 8vo. illustrated boards, 2s. each.
THE WATERDALE NEIGHBOURS.
MY ENEMY'S DAUGHTER.
A FAIR SAXON.
LINLEY ROCHFORD.
DEAR LADY DISDAIN.
MISS MISANTHROPE.
DONNA QUIXOTE.
THE COMET OF A SEASON.
MAID OF ATHENS.
CAMIOLA: A Girl with a Fortune,
"THE RIGHT HONOURABLE." By Justin McCarthy, M.P.,and Mrs.campbell-
Praed. Fourth Edition. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s.
McCarthy (justin h., m.p.>, works by.
THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. Four Vols., 8vo, 12s. each. [Vols. I. & II. ready.
AN OUTLINE OF THE HISTORY OF IRELAND. Crown 8vo, Is.; cloth, Is. 6«I.
IRELAND SINCE THE UNION : Irish History, 1798-1886. Crown 8vo, cloth, 6s.
ENGLAND UNDER GLADSTONE, 1880-83. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s.
HAFIZ IN LONDON : Poems. Small 8vo, gold cloth, 3s. 6<1.
HARLEQUINADE: Poems. Small 4to, Japanese vellum, 8s.
OUR SENSATION NOVEL. Crown 8vo, picture cover, Is.; cloth limp, Is 6d.
DOOM! An Atlantic Episode. Crown 8vo, picture cover, Is.
DOLLY: A Sketch. Crown 8vo, picture cover, Is.; cloth limp, Is. 61I.
LILY LASS: A Romance. Crown 8vo, picture cover, Is.; cloth limp, Is. 6d.
macdonald (george, ll.d.), works by.
WORKS OF FANCY AND IMAGINATION. Ten Vols., cl. extra, gilt edges, in cloth
case, 21s. Or the Vols, may be had separately, in grolier cl., at 2s. 6d. each.
Vol. I. Within and Without.—The Hidden Life.
,, II. The Disciple.—The Gospel Women.—Book of Sonnets.—Organ Songs.
„ III. Violin Songs.—Songs of the Days and Nights.—A Book of Dreams.—
Roadside Poems.—Poems for Children.
„ IV. Parables.—Ballads.—Scotch Songs.
„V. &VI. Phantastes: A Faerie Romance. | Vol. VII. The Portent.
„VIII. The Light Princess.—The Giant's Heart.—Shadows.
„ IX. Cross Purposes.—The Golden Key.—The Carasoyn.—Little Daylight.
„ X. The Cruel Painter.—The Wow o' Rivven.—The Castle.—The Broken
Swords.—The Gray Wolf.—Uncle Cornelius.
THE COMPLETE POETICAL WORkT OF DR.~"GEORGE MACDONALD. Col-
lected and arranged by the Author. Crown 8vo, buckram, 6s. [Shortly.
MACDONELL.—qu AKElTCOU sins^^^owi-bvagnes macdonell.
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d.; post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s.
macgregor. — pastimes and players : Notes on Popular
Games. By Robert Macgregor. Post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s. 6d.
MACKAY7—INTERLUWS^NlTUNDERtONESTor, Music at Twilight.
By Charles Mackay, LL.D. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s.
maclise portrait gallery (the) of illustrious liter-
ARY CHARACTERS: 83 PORTRAITS; with Memoirs — Biographical, Critical,
Bibliographical, and Anecdotal—illustrative of the Literature of the former half of
the Present Century, by William Bates, B.A. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d.
macquoid (mrs.), works by. Square 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d» each,
IN THE ARDENNES. With 50 Illustrations by Thomas R. Macquoid. '
PICTURES AND LEGENDS FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. With
34 Illustrations by Thomas R. Macquoid.
THROUGH NORMANDY. With 92 Illustrations byT. R. Macquoid, and a Map.
THROUGH BRITTANY. With 35 Illustrations by T. R. Macquoid, and a Map.
ABOUT YORKSHIRE. With 67 Illustrations by T. R. Macquoid.
Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
THE EVIL EYE, and other Stories. 1 LOST ROSE.
16
BOOKS PUBLISHED BY
MAGIC LANTERN, THE, and its Management: including full Practical
Directions tor producing the Limelight, making Oxygen Gas, and preparing Lantern
Slides. By T. C. Hepworth. With iq Illustrations. Cr. 8vo. Is,; cloth. Is. Gd.
MAGICIAN'S OWN BOOK, THE : Performances with Cups and Balls,
Eggs, Hats, Handkerchiefs, &c. All from actual Experience. Edited by W. H.
Cremer. With 200 Illustrations. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, Gd.
MAGNA CHARTA : An Exact Facsimile of the Original in the British
Museum, 3 feet by 2 feet, with Arms and Seals emblazoned in Gold and Colours, 5s.
MALLOCK(W. H.>r~WORKS BY.
THE NEW REPUBLIC. Post 8vo, picture cover, 2s.; cloth limp, 2s. 6d.
THE NEW PAUL & VIRGINIA: Positivism on an Island. Post 8vo, cloth, 2s. Gd.
POEMS. Small 4to, parchment, 8s.
IS LIFE WORTH LIYING? Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s.
MALLORY'S (SIR THOMAS) MORT D'ARTHUR: The Stories of
King Arthur and of the Knights ot the Round Table. (A Selection.) Edited by B.
Montgomerie Ranking. Post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s.
MARK TWAIN, WORKS BY. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d. each.
THE CHOICE WORKS OF MARK TWAIN. Revised and Corrected throughout
by the Author. With Life, Portrait, and numerous Illustrations.
ROUGHING IT, and INNOCENTS AT HOME. With 200 Ulusts by F. A. Fraser.
THE GILDED AGE. By Mark Twain and C. D. Warner. With 212 Illustrations.
MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOUR. With 197 Illustrations.
A YANKEE AT THE COURT OF KING ARTHUR. With 220 Ulusts. by Beard.
Crown 8vo, cloth extra (illustrated), 7s. Gd. each; post 8vo, illust. boards, 2s. each.
THE INNOCENTS ABROAD; or New Pilgrim's Progress. With 234 Illustration*.1
(The Two-shilling Edition is entitled MARK TWAIN'S PLEASURE TRIP.)
THE ADVENTURES OF TOM SAWYER. With in Illustrations.
A TRAMP ABROAD. With sir Illustrations.
THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPER. With 190 Illustrations.
LIFE ON THE MISSISSIPPI. With 300 Illustrations.
ADVENTURES OF HUCKLEBERRY FINN. With 174 Illusts. by E. W. KsMble.
THE STOLEN WHITE ELEPHANT, &c. Cr. 8vo, cl„ 6s.; post 8vo, illust. bds., 2s,
MARLOWE'S WORKS. Including his Translations. Edited, with Notes
and Introductions, by Col. Cunningham. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s.
MARRYAT (FLORENCE), NOVELS BY. Post 8vo, illust. boards, 2s. each.
A HARYEST OF WILD OATS. [ WRITTEN IN FIRE. | FIGHTING THE AIR.
OPEN ! SESAME ! Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. Gd.; post 8vo, picture boards. 2s.
MASSINGER'S PLAYS. From the Text of William Gifford. Edited
by Col. Cunningham. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, Gs.
MASTERMAN.-HALF-A^DOZEN DAUGHTERS : A Novel. By J.
Masterman. Post 8vo, illustrated boards. 2s,
MATTHEWS.—A SECRET OF THE SEA, &c. bybrander Matthews.
Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s.; cloth limp, 2s. Gd.
MAYHEW.-LONDON CHARACTERS AND THE HUMOROUS SIDE
OF LONDON LIFE. By Henry Mayhew. With Illusts. Crown Bvo, cloth, 3s. Gd.
MENKEN.—INFELICIA: Poems by Adah Isaacs Menken. With
Biographical Preface, Illustrations by F. E. Lummis and F. O. C. Darley, and
Facsimile of a Letter from Charles Dickens. Small 4to, cloth extra, 7s. Gd.
MEXICAN MUSTANG (ON A), through Texas to the Rio Grande. By
A. E. Sweet and J. Akmoy Knox. With 265 Ulusts. Cr. 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. Gd.
MIDDLEMASS (JEAN), NOVELS BY. Post 8vo, illust. boards, 2s. each.
TOUCH AND GO. | MR. DORILLION.
MILLER.—PHYSIOLOGY FOR THE YOUNG; or, The House of Life :
Human Physiology, with its application to the Preservation of Health. By Mrs.
F. Fenwick Miller, With numerous Illustrations. Post 8vn. cloth limr. 0=
CHATTO & WINDUS, 214, PICCADILLY. 17
MILTON (J. L.), WORKS BY. Post 8vo, 1 s. each; cloth, Is. 6d. each.
THE HYGIENE OF THE SKIN. With Directions for Diet, Soaps. Baths, &C.
THE BATH IN DISEASES OF THE SKIN.
THE LAWS OF LIFE, AND THEIR RELATION TO DISEASES OF THE SKIN.
THE_SUCCESSFUL TREATMENT OF LEPROSY. Demy 8vo, Is.
MINTO (WM.)-WAS SHE GOOD OR BAD? Cr.8vo,Is.; cloth, Is. 6d.
MOLESWORTH (MRS.), NOVELS BY.
HATHERCOURT RECTORY. Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s.
THAT GIRL IN BLACK. Crown 8vo, picture cover, Is.; cloth, la. 6d.
MOORE (THOMAS), WORKS BY.
THE EPICUREAN; and ALCIPHRON. Post 8vo, half-bound, 2a.
PROSE AND YERSE, Humorous, Satirical, and Sentimental, by Thomas Moore;
with Suppressed Passages from the Memoirs of Lord Byron. Edited by R»
Herne Shepherd. With Portrait. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7a. (>il.
MUDDOCK (J. E.), STORIES BY.
STORIES WEIRD AND WONDERFUL. Post 8vo, illust. boards, 2s.; cloth, 2s. 6d.
THE DEAD MAN'S SECRET; or, The Valley of Gold: A Narrative of Strange
Adventure. With a Frontispiece by F. Barnard. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 5s.;
post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s.
MURRAY (D. CHRISTIE), NOVELS BY.
Crown 8vo, cloth extra. 3s. (id. each; post 8vo, illustrated boards. 2s. each.
A LIFE'S ATONEMENT. A MODEL FATHER. A BIT OF HUMAN NATURE.
JOSEPH'S COAT. HEARTS. FIRST PERSON SINGULAR.
COALS OF FIRE. THE WAY OF THE CYNIC FORTUNE.
YAL STRANGE. WORLD.
BY THE GATE OF THE SEA. Post 8vo, picture boards, 2s.
OLD BLAZER'S HERO. With Three Illustrations by A. McCormick. Crown 8vo,
cloth extra, 6s.; post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s.
MURRAY (D. CHRISTIE) & HENRY HERMAN, WORKS BY.
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s. each; post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
ONE TRAVELLER RETURNS.
PAUL JONES'S ALIAS. With 13 Illustrations by A. Forestier and G. Nicolet.
THE BISHOPS' BIBLE. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d.
MURRAY.—A GAME OF BLUFF : A Novel. By Henry Murray.
Post 8vo, picture boards, 2s.; cloth limp, 2s. 6d.
NISBET (HUME), BOOKS BY.
"BAIL UP1" A Romance of Bushrangers and Blacks. Cr. 8vo,cl. ex.,3s.6d.
LESSONS IN ART. With 21 Illustrations. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 2s. 6d.
NOVELISTS.—HALF-HOURS WITH THE BEST NOVELISTS OF
THE CENTURY. Edit, by H. T. Mackenzie Bell. Cr.8vo, cl., 3s. 6d. [Preparing.
O'CONNOR. — LORD BEACONSFIELD: A Biography. By T. p:
v O'Connor, M.P. Sixth Edition, with an Introduction. Crown 8vo. cloth extra, 5s.
O'HANLON (ALICE), NOVELS BYT Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
THE UNFORESEEN. | CHANCE? OR FATE?
OHNET (GEORGES), NOVELS BY.
DOCTOR RAMEAU. Translated by Mrs. Cashel Hoey. With 9 Illustrations by
E. Bayard. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s.; post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s.
A LAST LOYE. Translated by Albert D. Vandam. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 5s. $
post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s.
A WEIRD GIFT. Translated by Albert D. Vandam. Crown 8vo, cloth. 3s. 6d.
OLIPHANT (MRS.), NOVELS BY. Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
THE PRIMROSE PATH. | THE GREATEST HEIRESS IN ENGLAND.
WHITELADIES. With Illustrations by Arthur Hopkins and Henry Woods,
A.R. a. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d.; post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s.
(fRElLLY (MRS.).—PHCEBE'S FORTUNES. Post 8vo, illust. bdiT2i^
(ySHAUGHNESSY (ARTHUR), POEMS BY.
LAYS OF FRANCE. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 10s. 6d.
MUSIC AND MOONLIGHT. Fcap. 8vo, cloth extra. 7s. 6d*
SONGS OF A WORKER. Fcap. Svo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d.
i8
BOOKS PUBLISHED BY
OUIDA, NOVELS BY. Cr.8vo, cl., 3s. 6d. each; post 8vo,illust.bds., 2s. each.
HELD IN BONDAGE.
TRICOTRIN.
STRATHMORE.
CHANDOS.
CECIL CASTLEMAINE'S
GAGE.
ID ALIA.
UNDER TWO FLAGS.
PUCK.
FOLLE-FARINE,
A DOG OF FLANDERS.
PASCAREL.
TWO LITTLE WOODEN
SHOES.
SIGNA.
IN A WINTER CITY.
ARIADNE.
FRIENDSHIP.
MOTHS.
PIPISTRELLO.
A YILLAGE COMMUNE.
IN MAREMMA. .
BIMBI.
WANDA.
FRESCOES.
PRINCESS NAPRAXINE.
OTHMAR. | GUILDEROY.
SYRLIN.
Crown 8vo. cloth extra, 3s. Oil. each.
RUFFINO.
WISDOM, WIT, AND PATHOS, selected from the Works of Ouida by F. Sydney
Morris. Post 8vo, cloth extra, 5s.— Cheap Edition, illustrated boards, 2».
PAGE (H. A.), WORKS BY. "
THOREAU: His Life and Aims. With Portrait. Post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s. 6d.
ANIMAL ANECDOTES. Arranged on a New Principle. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 5s,
PASCAL'S PROVINCIAL LETTERS. A New TrjmslationTwith"His-
torical Introduction and Notes by T. M'Crie, P.P. Post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s.
PAUL.—GENTLE AND SIMPLE. By Margaret A. Paul. With Frontis-
piece by Helen Patersqn, Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. Od.; post 8vo, illust. boards. 2s.
PAYN (JAMES), NOVELS BY.
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. each;
LOST SIR MASSINGBERD.
WALTER'S WORD.
LESS BLACK THAN WE'RE
PAINTED.
BY PROXY.
HIGH SPIRITS.
UNDER ONE ROOF.
A CONFIDENTIAL AGENT.
post 8vo, illustrated boards. 2s. each.
A GRAPE FROM A THORN.
FROM EXILE.
SOME PRIVATE YIEWS.
THE CANON'S WARD.
THE TALK OF THE TOWN.
HOLIDAY TASKS.
GLOW-WORM TALES.
THE MYSTERY OF MIRBRIDGE.
HUMOROUS STORIES.
THE FOSTER BROTHERS.
THE FAMILY SCAPEGRACE.
MARRIED BENEATH HIM.
BENTINCK'S TUTOR.
A PERFECT TREASURE.
A COUNTY FAMILY.
LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON.
A WOMAN'S YENGEANCE.
CARLYON'S YEAR. I CECIL'S.TRY ST.
MURPHY'S MASTER.
AT HER MERCY.;
Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
THE CLYFFARDS OF CLYFFE.
FOUND DEAD.
GWENDOLINE'S HARVEST.
A MARINE RESIDENCE.
MIRK ABBEY.
NOT WOOED, BUT WON.
TWO HUNDRED POUNDS REWARD.
THE BEST OF HUSBANDS.
HALYES.
FALLEN FORTUNES.
WHAT HE COST HER.
KIT: A MEMORY. I FOR CASH ONLY.
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. each.
IN PERIL AND PRIVATION: Stories of Marine Adventure Re-told. With 17
Illustrations.
THE BURNT MILLION. | THE WORD AND THE WILL.
SUNNY STORIES, and some SHADY ONES. With a Frontispiece by Fred,
Barnard.
NOTES FROM THE "NEWS." Crown 8vo, portrait cover, Is.; cloth. Is. Cd.
PENNELL (H. CHOLMONDELEY), WORKS BY. Post 8vo,d., 2s. 6d. each.
PUCK ON PEGASUS. With Illustrations.
PEGASUS RE-SADDLED. With Ten full-page Illustrations by G. Du Maurier.
THE MUSES OF MAYFAIR, Vers de Societe, Selected by H C. Pennell.
PHELPS (E. STUART), WORKS BY. Post 8vo, Is. each; cloth, Is. 6d.each.
BEYOND THE GATES. By the Author I AN OLD MAID'S PARADISE.
of " The Gates Ajar." | BURGLARS IN PARADISE.
JACK THE FISHERMAN. Illustrated by C. W. Reed. Cr. 8vo, Is.; cloth, Is. 6d.
PIRKIS (C. L.), NOVELS BY.
TROOPING WITH CROWS. Fcap. 8vo, picture cover, Is.
LADY LOYELACE. Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s.
CHATTO & WINDUS, 214, PICCADILLY. 19
PLANCHE (J. R.), WORKS BY.
^ PURSUIVANT OF ARMS; or, Heraldry Founded upon Facts. With
Colored Frontispiece, Five Plates, and 209 Illusts. Crown 8vo, cloth, 7s. 6<1.
SONGS AND POEMS, 1819-1879. Introduction by Mrs. Mackarness. Cr. 8vo, cl., 6s.
PLUTARCH'S LIVES OF ILLUSTRIOUS MEN. Translated from the
Greek, with Notes Critical and Historical, and a Life of Plutarch, by John and
William Langhorne. With Portraits. Two Vols., demy 8vo, half-bound, IPs, 6d.
POE'STEDGAR ALLAN) CHOICE WORKS, in Prose and Poetry. Intro-
duction by Chas. Baudelaire, Portrait, and Facsimiles. Cr. 8vo, cloth, Vs. 6dk
THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET, &c. Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 3s.
POPE'S POETICAL WORKS. Post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s.
PRICE (E. C.), NOVELS BY.
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. each; post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
YALENTINA. | THE FOREIGNERS. | MRS. LANCASTER'S RIVAL.
GERALD. Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s.
PRINCESS OLGA.—RADNA; or, The Great Conspiracy of 1881. By
the Princess Olga, Crown 8vo. cloth extra, 6s.
PROCTOR (RICHARD A., B.A.), WORKS BY.
FLOWERS OF THE SKY. With 55 Illusts. Small crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d.
EASY STAR LESSONS. With Star Maps for Every Night in the Year, Drawings
of the Constellations, &c. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s.
FAMILIAR SCIENCE STUDIES. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s.
SATURN AND ITS SYSTEM. With 13 Steel Plates. Demy 8vo, cloth ex., lOs. 6d.
MYSTERIES OF TIME AND SPACE. With Illustrations. Cr. 8vo, cloth extra, 6s.
THE UNIVERSE OF SUNS. With numerous Illustrations. Cr. 8vo, cloth ex., 6s.
WAGES AND WANTS OF SCIENCE WORKERS. Crown 8vo, Is. 6d.
PRYCE.-MISS MAXWELL'S AFFECTIONS. By Richard Pryce,
Author of " The Ugly Story of Miss Wetherby," &c. 2 vols., crown 8vo. [Shortly.
PAMBOSSON.—POPULAR ASTRONOMY. By J. Rambosson, Laureate
of the Institute of France. With numerous Illusts. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. Od.
RANDOLPH.—AUNT ABIGAIL DYKES: A Novel. By Lt.-Colonel
George Randolph, U.S.A. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, ys. 6d.
READE (CHARLES), NOVELS BY.
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, illustrated, 3s. 6d. each; post 8vo, illust. bds., 2s. each.
PEG WOFFINGTON. Illustrated by S. L. Fildes, R.A.—Also a Pocket Edition,
set in New Type, in Elzevir style, fcap. 8vo, half-leather, 2s. 6«l.
CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE. Illustrated by William Small.—Also a Pocket Edition,
set in New Type, in Elzevir style, fcap. 8vo, half-leather, 2s. 6d.
IT IS NEVER TOO LATE TO MEND. Illustrated by G. J. Pinwell.
THE COURSE OF TRUE LOYE NEVER DID RUN SMOOTH. Illustrated by
Helen Paterson.
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A THIEF, &c. Illustrated by Matt Stretch.
LOVE ME LITTLE, LOYE ME LONG. Illustrated by M. Ellen Edwards.
THE DOUBLE MARRIAGE. Illusts. by Sir John Gilbert, R.A., and C. Keene. j
THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. Illustrated by Charles Keene.
HARD CASH. Illustrated by F. W. Lawson.
GRIFFITH GAUNT. Illustrated by S. L. Fildes, R.A., and William Small.
FOUL PLAY. Illustrated by George Du Maurier.
PUT YOURSELF IN HIS PLACE. Illustrated by Robert Barnes.
A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION. Illustrated by Edward Hughes and A. W. Cooper,
A SIMPLETON. Illustrated by Kate Craufurd.
THE WANDERING HEIR. Illustrated by Helen Paterson, S. L. Fildes, R.A.,
C. Green, and Henry Woods, A.R.A.
A WOMAN-HATER. Illustrated by Thomas Couldery.
SINGLEHEART AND DOUBLEFACE. Illustrated by P. Macnab.
GOOD STORIES OF MEN AND OTHER ANIMALS. Illustrated by E. A.
Abbey, Percy Macquoid, R.W.S., and Joseph Nash.
THE JILT, and other Stories. Illustrated by Joseph Nash;
READIANA. With a Steel-plate Portrait of Charles Reade.
BIBLE CHARACTERS: Studies of David, Paul, &c. Fcap. 8v0, leatherette, Is.
SELECTIONS FROM THE WORKS OF CHARLES READE. With an Introduction
by Mrs. Alex. Ireland, and a Steel-Plate Portrait. Crown 8vo, buckram, 6s,
BOOKS PUBLISHED BY
RIDDELL (MRS. J. HA NOVELS BY.
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. Gd. each; post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s.each.
HER MOTHER'S DARLING. | WEIRD STORIES.
THE PRINCE OP WALES'S GARDEN PARTY.
Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
UNINHABITED HOUSE. | FAIRY WATER. | MYSTERY IN PALACE GARDENS.
RIMMER (ALFRED), WORKS BY. Square 8vo, cloth gilt, 7s. Gd. each.
OUR OLD COUNTRY TOWNS. With 35 Illustrations.
RAMBLES ROUND ETON AND HARROW. With 50 Illustrations.
ABOUT ENGLAND WITH DICKENS. With 58 Illusts. byC. A. Vanderhqof, &c.
ROBINSON CRUSOE. By Daniel Defoe. (Major's Edition.) With
37 Illustrations by George Cruikshank. Post 8vo, half-bound, 2s.
ROBINSON (F. W.), NOVELS BY.
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. Gd. each; post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
WOMEN ARE STRANGE. | THE HANDS OF JUSTICE.
ROBINSON (PHIL), WORKS BY. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d. each.
THE POETS' BIRDS. | THE POETS' BEASTS.
THE POETS AND NATURE: REPTILES, FISHES, INSECTS. {Preparing
ROCHEFOUCAULD'S MAXIMS AND MORAL REFLECTIONS. With
Notes, and an Introductory Essay by Sainte-Beuve. Post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s.
ROLL OF BATTLE ABBEY, THE : A Gist of the Principal Warriors
who came from Normandy with William the Conqueror, and Settled in this Country,
a.d. 1066-7. With Arms emblazoned in Gold and Colours. Handsnmelv nrinted. 5«.
ROWLEY (HON. HUGH), WORKS BY. Post 8vo, cloth, 2s. Gd. each. ~~
PUNIANA: RIDDLES AND JOKES. With numerous Illustrations.
MORE PUNIANA. Profusely Illustrated.
RUNCIMAN (JAMES), STORIES BY.
Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each; cloth limp, 2s. 6d. each.
SKIPPERS AND SHELLBACKS. I GRACE BALMAIGN'S SWEETHEART.
SCHOOLS AND SCHOLARS. |
RUSSELL (W. CLARK), BOOKS AND NOVELS BY:
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s. each; post 8vo, iliustraied boaius, 2s. each.
ROUND THE GALLEY-FIRE. I A BOOK FOR THE HAMMOCK.
IN THE MIDDLE WATCH. MYSTERY OF THE " OCEAN STAR."
A VOYAGE TO THE CAPE. | THE ROMANCE OF JENNY HARLOWE.
ON THE FO'K'SLE HEAD. Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s.
AN OCEAN TRAGEDY. Cr. 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d.; post 8vo, illust. bds., 2s.
MY SHIPMATE LOUISE. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. Gd.
CAINT AUBYN (ALAN), NOVELS BY. '
" A FELLOW OF TRINITY. With a Note by Oliver Wendell Holmes and a
Frontispiece. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. Gd.; post 8vo, illust. boards, 2s.
THE JUNIOR DEAN. 3 vols., crown 8vo. [.Shortly.
SALA.—GASLIGHT AND DAYLIGHT. By George Augustus Sala.
Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s.
SANSON.—SEVEN GENERATIONS OF EXECUTIONERS : Memoi.s
of the Sanson Family (1688 to 1847). Crown 8vo, cloth extra. 3s. Gd.
SAUNDERS (JOHN), NOVELS BY.
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. Gd. each; post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
GUY WATERMAN. | THE LION IN THE PATH. | THE TWO DREAMERS,
BOUND TO THE WHEEL. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. Gd.
SAUNDERS (KATHARINE), NOVELS BY.
Crown 8vo, cloth extra. 3«. Gd. each; post 8vo. illustrated boards, 2s. each.
MARGARET AND ELIZABETH. I HEART SALYAGE.
THE HIGH MILLS. | SEBASTIAN.
JOAN MERRYWEATHER. Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s.
GIDEON'S ROCK. Crown 8vo, cloth extra. 3s. Gd.
SCIENCE-GOSSIP : An Illustrated Medium ot Interchange tor Students
and Lovers of Nature. Edited by Dr. J. E. Taylor, F.L.S., &c. Devoted to Geology,
Botany, Physiology, Chemistry, Zoology, Microscopy, Telescopy, Physiography
Photography,&c. Price 4d. Monthly ; or 5s. per year, post-free. Vols. I. to XIX.
jnay be had, 7s. 6d. each; Vols. XX. to date, 5s. each. Cases for Binding, Is. Gd.
CHATTO 8t WINDUS, 214, PICCADILLY. 21
SECRET OUT, THE: One Thousand Tricks with Cards; with Enter-
Experiments in Drawing-room or " White Magic." By W. H. Cremer.
With 300 Illustrations. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 4s. 6d. '
SEGUIN (L. G.), WORKS BY.
E COUNTRY OP THE PASSION PLAY (OBERAMMERGAU) and the Highlands
varia- Wkh Map and 37 Illustrations. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d.
WALKS IN ALGIERS. With a Maps and 16 Ulusts. Crown 8vo, cloth extra. 6s.
SENIOR (WM.).—BY STREAM AND SEA. Post 8vo, cloth, 2s. 6d.
SHAKESPEARE, THE FIRST FOLIO. —Mr. William Shakespeare's
Comedies, Histories, and Tragedies. Published according to the true
Originall Copies. London, Printed by Isaac Iaggard and Ed. Blount. 1623.—
A reduced Photographic Reproduction. Small 8vo. half-Rnxburarhe. 7s. Gd.
SHAKESPEARE FOR CHILDREN: LAMB'S TALES FROM SHAKESPEARE. With
Illustrations, coloured and plain, by J. Moyr Smith. Crown 4to. cloth, 6s.
SHARP.—CHILDREN OF TO-MORROW: A Novel. By William
Sharp. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s.
SHELLEY.—THE COMPLETE WORKS IN VERSE AND PROSE OF
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. Edited, Prefaced, and Annotated by R. Herne
Shepherd. Five Vols., crown 8vo, cloth boards, 3s. 6d. each.
POETICAL WORKS, in Three Vols.:
Vol. I. Introduction by the Editor; Posthumous Fragments of Margaret Nicholson; Shelley's Corre-
spondence with Stockdale; The Wandering Jew; Queen Mab, with the Notes; Alastor,
and other Poems ; Rosalind and Helen : Prometheus Unbound ; Adonais, &c.
Vol. II. Laon and Cythna ; The Cenci; Julian and Maddalo; Sweiifoot the Tyrant; The Witch of
Atlas; Epipsychidion: Hellas.
Vol. III. Posthumous Poems; TJ?e Masque of Anarchy; and other Pieces.
PROSE WORKS, in Two Vols.:
Vol. I. The Two Romances of Zastrozzi and St. Irvyne; the Dublin and Marlow Pamphlets ; A Refuta-
tion of Deism ; Lettersto Leigh Hunt, and some Minor Writings and Fragments.
VoL. II. The Essays; Letters from Abroad; Translations and Fragments, Edited by Mrs. shelley.
With a Bibliography of Shelley, and an Index of the Prose Works.
SHERARD.—ROGUES : A Novel. By R. H. Sherard. Crown 8vo,
picture cover, Is.; cloth, Is. 6d.
SHERIDAN (GENERAL). — PERSONAL MEMOIRS OF GENERAL
P. H. SHERIDAN. With Portraits and Facsimiles. Two Vols., demy 8vo, cloth, 24s.
SHERIDAN'S (RICHARD BRINSLEY) COMPLETE WORKS. With
Lie an d Anecdotes. Including his Dramatic Writings, his Works in Prose and
Poetry. Translations, Speeches, Jokes, &c. With 10 lllusts. Cr. 8vo, cl., 7s. 6d.
THE RIVALS, THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL, and other Plays. Post 8vo, printed
on laid paper and half-bound, 2s.
SHERIDAN'S COMEDIES: THE RIVALS and THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.
Edited, with an Introduction and Notes to each Play, and a Biographical Sketch, by
Brander Matthews. With Illustrations. Demy 8vo, half-parchment, 12s. 6d.
SIDNEY'S (SIR PHILIP) COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS, includ-
ingall thosein "Arcadia." With Portrait, Memorial-Introduction, Notes, &c. by the
Rev. A. B. Grosart, P.P. Three Vols., crown 8vo, cloth boards, Y8s.
SIGNBOARDS : Their History. With Anecdotes of Famous Taverns
and Remarkable Characters, by Jacob Larwood and John Camden Hotten.
With Coloured Frontispiece and 94 Illustrations. Crown 8vo, cloth extra. 7s. 6d.
SIMS (GEORGE R.), WORKS BY.
Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each; cloth limp, 2s. 6d. each.
ROGUES AND VAGABONDS. I MARY JANE MARRIED.
THE RING 0' BELLS. TALES OF TO-DAY.
MARY JANE'S MEMOIRS. | DRAMAS OF LIFE. With 60 Illustrations.
TINKLETOP'S CRIME. With a Frontispiece by Maurice Creiffenhagen.
Crown 8vo, picture cover, Is. each ; cloth. Is. 6d. each.
HOW THE POOR LIYE; and HORRIBLE LONDON.
THE DAGONET RECITER AND READER: being Readings and Recitations in
Prose and Verse, selected from hts own Works by George R. Sims.
DAGONET DITTIES. From the Referee.
THE CASE OF GEORGE CANDLEMAS.
SISTER DORA : A Biography. By Margaret Lonsdale. With Four
illustrations. rw>my pir-uirf» cover. 4d.; cloth, Gd.
22
books published by
SKETCHLEY.—A MATCH IN THE DARK. By Arthur Sketchley.
Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s.
SLANG DICTIONARY (THE): Etymological, Historical, and Anec-
dotal. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s. 6<1.
SMITH (J. MOYR), WORKS BY.
THE PRINCE OF ARGOLIS. With 130 Illusts. Post 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d.
TALES OF OLD THULE. With numerous Illustrations. Crown 8vo, cloth gilt, 6«.
THE WOOING OF THE WATER WITCH. Illustrated. Post 8vo, cloth, 6*.
SOCIETY IN LONDON. By A Foreign Resident. Crown 8vo,
Is.; cloth, Is. 6<1.
SOCIETY IN PARIS : The Upper Ten Thousand. A Series of Letters
from Count Paul Vasili to a Young French Diplomat. Crown 8vo, cloth, 6s.
SOMERSET. — SONGS OF ADIEU. By Lord Henry Somerset.
Small 4to, Japanese vellum, 6s.
SPALDING.—ELIZABETHAN DEMONOLOGY : An Essay on the Belief
in the Existence of Devils. By T. A. Spalding, LL.B, Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 5s.
SPEIGHT (T. W.), NOVELS BY.
Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
THE MYSTERIES OF HERON DYKE. I THE GOLDEN HOOP.
BY DEVIOUS WAYS, and A BARREN HOODWINKED; and THE SANDY'
TITLE. | CROFT MYSTERY.
Post 8vo, cloth limp, Is. 6d. each.
A BARREN TITLE. | WIFE OR NO WIFE?
THE SANDYCROFT MYSTERY. Crown 8vo, picture cover, Is.
SPENSER FOR CHILDREN. By M. H. Towry. With Illustrations
by Walter j. Morgan. Crown 4to, cloth gilt, 6s.
STARRY HEAVENS (THE): A Poetical Birthday Book. Royal
i6mo, cloth extra, 2s. 6d.
STAUNTON.-TKETaWS AND PRACTICE" OF CHESS. With an
Analysis of the Openings. By Howard Staunton. Edited by Robert B. Wormald.
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 5s,
STEDMAN (E. C.), WORKS BY.
VICTORIAN POETS. Thirteenth Edition. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 9s.
THE POETS OF AMERICA. Crown 3vo, cloth extra, 9s.
STERNDALE. — THE AFGHAN KNIFE: A Novel. By Robert
Armitage Sterndale. Cr. 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d.; pest 8vo, illust. boards. 2s.
STEVENSON (R. LOUIS), WORKS BY. Post 8vo, cl. limp, 2s. (id. each.
TRAVELS WITH A DONKEY. Eighth Edit. With a Frontis.by Walter Crane.
AN INLAND YOYAGE. Fourth Edition. With a Frontispiece by Walter Crane.
Crown 8vo, buckram, gilt top, 6s. each.
FAMILIAR STUDIES OF MEN AND BOOKS. Fifth Edition.
THE SILVERADO SQUATTERS. With a Frontispiece. Third Edition.
THE MERRY MEN. Second Edition. | UNDERWOODS: Poems. Fifth Edition.
MEMORIES AND PORTRAITS. Third Edition.
YIRGINIBUS PUERISQUE, and other Papers. Fifth Edition. | BALLADS.
NEW ARABIAN NIGHTS. Eleventh Edition. Crown 8vo, buckram, gilt top, 6s.;
post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s.
PRINCE OTTO. Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s.
FATHER DAMIEN: An Open Letter to the Rev. Dr. Hyde. Second Edition.
Crown Svo, hand-made and brown paper, Is.
STODDARD. — SUMMER CRUISING IN THE SOUTH SEAS. By
C. Warren Stoddard. Illustrated by Wallis Mackay. Cr. 8vo, cl. extra, 3s, 6d.
STORIES FROM FOREIGN NOVELISTS. With Notices by Helen and
Alice Zimmern. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d.; post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s.
CHATTO & WINDUS, 214, PICCADILLY. 23
STRANGE MANUSCRIPT (A) FOUND IN A COPPER CYLINDER^
With 19 Illustrations by Gilbert Gaul. Third Edition. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 5s.
STRUTT'S SPORTS AND PASTIMES OF THE PEOPLE OF
ENGLAND; including the Rural and Domestic Recreations, May Games, Mum-
meries, Shows, &c., from the Earliest Period to the Present Time. Edited by
William Hone. With 140 Illustrations, Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7s, 6d.
SUBURBAN HOMES (THE) OF LONDON : A Residential Guide. With
a Map, and Notes on Rental, Rates, and Accommodation Crown 8vo, cloth, 7s. 6<1.
SWIFT'S (DEAN) CHOICE WORKS, in Prose and Verse. With Memoir,
Portrait, and Facsimiles of the Maps in " Gulliver's Travels." Cr. 8vo, cl., 7s. 6<1.
GULLIVER'S TRAVELS, and A TALE OF A TUB. Post 8vo printed on laid
paper and half-bound, 2s.
A MONOGRAPH ON SWIFT. By J. Churton Collins. Cr. 8vo, cloth, 8s. [Shortly.
SWINBURNE (ALGERNON C.), WORKS BY.
SELECTIONS FROM POETICAL WORKS
OF A. C. SWINBURNE. Fcap. 8vo, 6s.
ATALANTA IN CALYDON. Cr. 8vo, 6s.
CHASTELARD: A Tragedy. Cr. 8vo, 7s.
NOTES ON POEMS AND REVIEWS.
Demy 8vo, 1 s.
POEMS AND BALLADS. First Series.
Crown 8vo or fcap. 8vo, 9s.
POEMS AND BALLADS. Second Series.
Crown 8vo or fcap. 8vo, 9s.
POEMS AND BALLADS. Third Series.
Crown 8vo, 7 s.
SONGS BEFORE SUNRISE. Crown 8vo,
lOs. 6d.
BOTHWELL: A Tragedy. Crown 8vo,
12s. 6<1.
SONGS OF TWO NATIONS. Cr. 8vo, 6s.
GEORGE CHAPMAN. (See Vol. II. of G.
Chapman's Works.) Crown 8vo, 6s.
ESSAYS AND STUDIES. Cr. 8vo, 12s,
ERECHTHEUS: A Tragedy. Cr. 8vo, 6s.
SONGS OF THE SPRINGTIDES. Crown
8vo, 6s.
STUDIES IN SONG. Crown 8vo, 7s.
MARY STUART: A Tragedy. Cr.8vo, 8s
TRISTRAM OF LYONESSE. Cr. 8vo. 9s
A CENTURY OF ROUNDELS. Sm. 4to, 8s.
A MIDSUMMER HOLIDAY. Cr.8vo, 7s.
MARINO FALIERO: A Tragedy. Crown
8vo, 6s.
A STUDY OF VICTOR HUGO. Cr.8vo,6s.
MISCELLANIES. Crown 8vo, 12s.
LOCRINE : A Tragedy. Cr. 8vo, 6s.
A STUDY OF BEN JONSON. Cr. 8vo, 7s.
SYMONDS.—WINE, WOMEN, AND SONG : Mediaeval Latin Students'
Songs. With Essay and Trans, by J. Addingtqn Symqnds. Fcap. 8vo, parchment, 6s.
SYNTAX'S (DR.) THREE TOURS : In Search of the Picturesque, in
Search of Consolation, and in Search of a Wife. With Rowlandson's Coloured Illus-
trations, and Lite of the Author by J. C. Hotten, Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d.
TAINE'S HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. Translated by
x Henry Van Laun. Four Vols., medium 8vo, cloth boards, 30s.—Popular Edition,
Two Vols., large crown 8vo, cloth extra, 15s.
TAYLOR'S (BAYARD) DIVERSIONS OF THE ECHO CLUB: Bur-
lesques of Modern Writers. Post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s.
TAYLOR (DR. J. E., F.L.S.), WORKS BY. Cr. 8vo,cl. ex., 7s. 6d. each.
THE SAGACITY AND MORALITY OF PLANTS: A Sketch of the Life and Conduct
of the Vegetable Kingdom. With a Coloured Frontispiece and 100 Illustrations.
OUR COMMON BRITISH FOSSILS, and Where to Find Them. 331 Illustrations.
THE PLAYTIME NATURALIST. With 366 Illustrations. Crown 8vo, cloth, 5s.
TAYLOR'S (TOM) HISTORICAL DRAMAS. Containing <• Clancarty,"
"Jeanne Dare," "'Twixt Axe and Crown," "The Fool's Revenge," " Arkwright's
Wife," "Anne Boleyn,'' " Plot and Passion.'' Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d.
» ^ *e* The Plays may also be had separately, at Is* each,
TENNYSON1 (LORD): A Biographical Sketch. By H. J. Jennings.
With a Photograph-Portrait. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s.
THACKERAYANA : Notes and Anecdotes. Illustrated by Hundreds of
Sketches by William Makepeace Thackeray, depicting Humorous Incidents in
his School-life, and Favourite Characters in the Books of his Every-day Reading.
With a Coloured Frontispiece. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d.
THAMES.—A NEW PICTORIAL HISTORY OF THE THAMES.
By A. S. Krausse. With 340 Illustrations Post 8vo, Is.; cloth, Is. 6d.
24 BOOKS PUBLISHED BY
THOMAS (BERTHA), NOVELS BY. Cr. 8vo, cl„ 3s. 6d. ea.; post 8vo, 2s. ea.
CRESSIDA. [ THE YIOL1N-PLAYER. | PROUD MAISIE.
THOMSON'S SEASONS, and CASTLE OF INDOLENCE. Introduction
by Allan Cunningham, and Illustrations on Steel and Wood. Cr. 8vo, cl„ 7s. Gd.
THORNBURY (WALTER), WORKS BY. Cr. 8vo, ci. extra, y.. «d. each.
THE LIFE AND CORRESPONDENCE OF J. M. W. TURNER. Founded upon
Letters and Papers furnished by his Friends. With Illustrations in Colours.
HAUNTED LONDON. Edit, by E. Walfqrd, M.A. Ulusts. byF W. Fairholt, F.S.A.
Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
OLD STORIES RE-TOLD. | TALES FOR THE MARINES.
TIMBS (JOHN), WORKS BY. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. Gd. each.
THE HISTORY OF CLUBS AND CLUB LIFE IN LONDON: Anecdotes of its
Famous Coffee-houses, Hostelries, and Taverns. With 42 Illustrations.
ENGLISH ECCENTRICS AND ECCENTRICITIES: Stories of Wealth and Fashion,
Delusions, Impostures, and Fanatic Missions, Sporting Scenes, Eccentric Artists,
Theatrical Folk, Men of Letters, &c. With 48 Illustrations.
TROLLOPE (ANTHONY), NOVELS BY.
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. Gd. each; post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
THE WAY WE LIYE NOW. I MARION FAY.
KEPT IN THE DARK. MR. SCARBOROUGH'S FAMILY.
FRAU FROHMANN. THE LAND-LEAGUERS.
Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
GOLDEN LION OF GRANPERE. | JOHN CALDIGATE. | AMERICAN SENATOR-
TROLLOPE (FRANCES E.), NOVELS BY.
Crown 8vo. cloth extra, 3s. Od. each: post 8vo. illustrated boards, 2s. each.
LIKE SHIPS UPON THE SEA. | MABEL'S PROGRESS. | ANNE FURNESS.
TROLLOPE (T. A.).-DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. Post 8vo, illust. bds., 2s,
TROWBRIDGE.—FARNELL'S FOLLY: A Novel. By J. T. Trow-
bridge. Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s.
TYTLER (C. C. FRASER-).-MISTRESS JUDITH: A Novel. By
C, C. Fraser-Tytler. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. Gd.; post 8vo, illust. boards, 2s.
TYTLER (SARAH), NOVELS BY.
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. Gd. each; post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
THE BRIDE'S PASS. I BURIED DIAMONDS.
NOBLESSE OBLIGE. THE BLACKHALL GHOSTS.
LADY BELL.
Post 8vo. illustrated boards, 2s. each.
WHAT S'HE CAME THROUGH. I BEAUTY AND THE BEAST.
CITOYENNE JACQUELINE. DISAPPEARED.
SAINT MUNGO'S CITY. | THE HUGUENOT FAMILY.
VILLARI.—A DOUBLE BOND. By Linda Villari. Fcap. 8vo, picture
cover Is.
WALT WHITMAN, POEMS BY. Edited, with Introduction, by
William M. Rossetti, With Portrait. Cr. 8vo, hand-made paper and buckram, Gs.
WALTON AND COTTON'S COMPLETE ANGLER; or, The Con-
templat.ve Man's Recreation, by Izaak Walton ; and Instructions how to Angle for a
Trout or Grayling in a clear Stream, by Charles Cotton. With Memoir^and Notes
by Sir Harris Nicolas, and 61 Illustrations. Crown 8vo, cloth anti<jue, ys. Gd.
WARD (HERBERT), WORKS BY. r
FIYE YEARS WITH THE CONGO CANNIBALS. With 92 Illustrations by the
Author, Victor Perard, and W. B. Davis. Third ed. Roy. 8vo, cloth ex., 14s.
MY LIFE WITH STANLEY'S REAR GUARD. With a Map by F. S. Weller,
F.R.G.S. Post 8vo, Is.; cloth, Is. Gd.
WARNER.—A ROUNDABOUT JOURNEY. By Charles Dudley
Warner. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s.
CHATTO & WiNDUS, 214, PICCADILLY. 25
walford (edward, m.a.), works by.
WALFORD'S COUNTY FAMILIES OF THE UNITED KINGDOM (1891). Contain-
ingthe Descent, Birth, Marriage, Education, &c.f of 12,000 Heads of Families,
Heirs- Offices, Addresses, Clubs, &c. Royal 8vo, cloth gilt, 50s.
WALFORD'S SHILLING PEERAGE (1891). Containing a List of the House of
Lords, Scotch and Irish Peers, &c. 32mo. cloth. Is.
WALFORD'S SHILLING BARONETAGE (1891). Containing a List of the Baronets
of the United Kingdom, Biographical Notices, Addresses, &c. 32mo, cloth, Is.
WALFORD'S SHILLING KNIGHTAGE (1891). Containing a List of the Knights
ot the United Kingdom, Biographical Notices, Addresses, &c. 32mo, cloth, Is.
WALFORD'S SHILLING HOUSE OF COMMONS (1891). Containing a List of all
Members of Parliament, their Addresses, Clubs. &c. 3zmo, cloth. Is.
WALFORD'S COMPLETE PEERAGE, BARONETAGE, KNIGHTAGE, AND
HOUSE OF COMMONS (1891). Royal 32mo, cloth extra, gilt edees 5s.
WALFORD'S WINDSOR PEERAGE, BARONETAGE, AND KNIGHTAGE (1831).
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 12s. Gd.
TALES OF OUR GREAT FAMILIES. Crown 8™, cloth extra, 3s. Gd.
WILLIAM PITT: A Biography, Post8vo, cloth extra, 5s.
warrant to execute charles i. A Facsimile, with the 59
Signatures and Seals. Printed on paper 22 in. by 14 in. 2s.
WARRANT TO EXECUTE MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS. A Facsimile, including
Queen Elizabeth's Signature and the Great Seal. 2s.
Weather, how to foremx^fietwlth pocket spec-
TROSCOPE. Bv F. W. Cory. With 10 Illustrations. Cr. 8vo. Is.; cloth, Is. Gd.
WESTROPP.—HANDBOOK OF POTTERY AND PORCELAIN. By
Hodder M. Westropp, With Illusts. and List of Marks. Cr. 8vo. cloth, 4s. Gd.
WHIST.-HOW TO PLAY SOLO WHlST: By Abraham S. Wilks
and Charles F. Pardon. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. Gd.
WHISTLER'S (MR.) TEN O'CLOCK. Cr. 8vo, hand-made paper, Is.
WHITE.—THE NATURAL HISTORY OF SELBORNE. By Gilbert
White, M.A. Post 8vo, printed on laid paper and half-bound, 2s.
WILLIAMS (W. MATTIEU, F.R.A.S.), WORKS BY.
SCIENCE IN SHORT CHAPTERS. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. Gd.
A SIMPLE TREATISE ON HEAT. With Illusts. Cr. 8vo, cloth limp, 2s. 6d.
THE CHEMISTRY OF COOKERY. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, Gs.
THE CHEMISTRY OF IRON AND STEEL MAKING. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 9s.
WILLIAMSON.—A CHILD WIDOW. By Mrs. F. H. Williamson.
Three Vols., crown 8vo.
wilson (dr. andrew, f.r.s.e.), works by.
CHAPTERS ON EVOLUTION. With 259 Illustrations. Cr. 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. Gd.
LEAVES FROM A NATURALIST'S NOTE-BOOK. Post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s. Gd.
LEISURE-TIME STUDIES. With Illustrations. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, Gs.
STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE. With numerous Illusts. Cr. 8vo, cl. ex., Gs.
COMMON ACCIDENTS: HOW TO TREAT THEM. Illusts. Cr. 8vo, Is.; cl., Is.Gd.
GLIMPSES OF NATURE. With 35 Illustrations. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s, Gd.
winter (j. s.), stories by. Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
CAVALRY LIFE. | REGIMENTAL LEGENDS.
wissmann.—my second journey through equatorial
AFRICA, from the Congo to the Zambesi, in 1886, 1887. By Hermann von Wiss-
mann. With a Map and 92 Illustrations. Demy 8vo, clotb extra, 14>s.
WOOD.—SABINA : A Novel. By Lady Wood. Post 8vo, boards, 2s.
WOOD (H. F.), DETECTIVE STORIES BY.
Cr.own 8vo, cloth extra, Gs. each ; post 8vo. illustrated boards, 2s. each.
PASSENGER FROM SCOTLAND YARD. | ENGLISHMAN OF THE RUE CAIN.
woolley.—rachel armstrong; or, Love and Theology. By
Celia Parker Woolley. Post svo, illustrated boards, 2s.; cloth, 2s. Gd.
wright (thomas), works by. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. Gd. each.
CARICATURE HISTORY OF THE GEORGES. With 400 Pictures, Caricatures,
Squibs, Broadsides, Window Pictures, &c.
HISTORY OF CARICATURE AND OF THE GROTESQUE IN ART, LITERA-
TURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. Illustrated by F. W. Fairholt. F.S.A.
vrates-(edmund), novels by. Post 8vo, illustrated boards. 2s. each.
* land at last. 1 ih&jgqrlorm hope. j castaway
26
BOOKS PUBLISHED BY
LISTS OF BOOKS CLASSIFIED IN SERIES.
For full cataloguing, see alphabetical arrangement, pp. 1-25.
THE MAYFAIR LIBRARY.
A Journey Bound My Room. By Xavier
DE MaISTRE.
Quips and Quiddities. By W. D. Adams.
The Agony Column of "The Times."
Melancholy Anatomised: Abridgment of
" Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy."
The Speeches of Charles Dickens.
Literary Frivolities, Fancies, Follies,
and Frolics. By W. T. Dobson.
Poetical Ingenuities. By W. T. Dobson.
The Cupboard Papers. By Fin-Bec,
W. S. Gilbert's Plays. First Series.
W. S. Gilbert's Plays. Second Series.
Songs of Irish Wit and Humour.
Animals and Masters. By Sir A. Helps.
Social Pressure. By Sir A. Helps.
Curiosities of Criticism. H.J.Jennings.
Holmes's Autocrat of Breakfast-Table.
Pencil and Palette. By R. Kempt.
Post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s. 6d. per Volume.
Little Essays: from Lamb's Letters.
Forensic Anecdotes, By Jacob Larwood
Theatrical Anecdotes. Jacob Larwood.
Jeuxd'Esprit. Edited by Henry S. Leigh.
Witch Stories. By E. Lynn Linton.
Ourselves. By E. Lynn Linton.
Pastimes & Players. By R. Macgregor.
New Paul and Virginia. W.H.Mallock.
New Republic. By W. H. Mallock.
Puck on Pegasus. By H. C. Pennell.
Pegasus Re-Saddled. By H. C. Pennell.
Muses of Mayfair. Ed. H. C. Pennell.
Thoreau: His Life & Aims. By H. A. Page.
Puniana. By Hon. Hugh Rowley.
More Puniana. By Hon. Hugh Rowley,
The Philosophy of Handwriting.
By Stream and Sea. By Wm. Senior.
Leaves from a Naturalist's Note-Book.
By Dr. Andrew Wilson.
THE GOLDEN LIBRARY.
Bayard Taylor's Diversions of the Echo
Club.
Bennett's Ballad History of England.
Bennett's Songs for Sailors.
Godwin's Lives of the Necromancers.
Pope's Poetical Works.
Holmes's Autocrat of Breakfast Table.
Post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s. per Volume.
Holmes's Professor at Breakfast Table.
Jesse's Scenes of Country Life.
Leigh Hunt's Tale for a Chimney
Corner.
Mallory's Mort d'Arthur: Selections.
Pascal's Provincial Letters.
Rochefoucauld's Maxims & Reflections.
THE WANDERER'S LIBRARY.
Wanderings in Patagonia. By Julius
Beerbohm. Illustrated.
Camp Notes. By Frederick Boyle.
Savage Life. By Frederick Boyle.
Merrie England in the Olden Time. By
G. Daniel. Illustrated by Cruikshank.
Circus Life. By Thomas Frost.
Lives of the Conjurers. Thomas Frost.
The Old Showmen and the Old London
Fairs. By Thomas Frost.
Low-Life Deeps. By James Greenwood.
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. each.
Wilds of London. James Greenwood.
Tunis. Chev. Hesse-Wartegg. 22 Ulusts.
Life and Adventures of a Cheap Jack.
World Behind the Scenes. P.Fitzgerald.
Tavern Anecdotes and Sayings.
The Genial Showman. By E. P. Hingston.
Story of London Parks. Jacob Larwood.
London Characters. By Henry Mayhew.
Seven Generations of Executioners.
Summer Cruising in the South Seas.
By C. Warr-en Stoddard. Illustrated.
POPULAR SHILLING BOOKS.
Harry Fludyer at Cambridge.
Jeff Briggs's Love Story. Bret Harte.
Twins of Table Mountain. Bret Harte.
A Day's Tour. By Percy Fitzgerald.
Esther's-Glove. By R. E. Francillon,
Sentenced! By Somerville Gibney.
The Professor's Wife. By L. Graham.
Mrs. Gainsborough's Diamonds. By
Julian Hawthorne.
Niagara Spray. By J. Hollingshead.
A Romance of the Queen's Hounds. By
Charles James.
The Garden that Paid the Rent. By
Tom Jerrold.
Cut by the Mess. By Arthur Keyser.
Our Sensation Novel. J. H. McCarthy.
Doom! By Justin H. McCarthy, M.P.
Dolly. By Justin H. McCarthy, M.P.
Lily Lass. Jvstin H. McCarthy, M.P.
Was She Good or Bad? ByW. Minto.
That Girl in Black. Mrs. Molesworth.
Notes from the "News." By J as. Payn.
Beyond the Gates. By E. S. Phelps.
Old Maid's Paradise. By E. S. Phelps.
Burglars in Paradise. By E. S. Phelps.
Jack the Fisherman. By E. S. Phelps.
Trooping with Crows. By C. L. Pirkis.
Bible Characters, By Charles Reade.
Rogues. By R. H. Sherard. .
The Dagonet Reciter. By"G. R. Sims.
How the Poor Live. By G. R. Sims.
Case of George Candlemas. G. R. Sims
Sandycroft Mystery. T. W. Speight,
Hoodwinked. By T. W. Speight.
Father Damien. By R. L. Stevenson.
A Double Bond. By Linda Villari.
My Life with Stanley's Rear Guard. Bj
Herbert Ward.
unni 06 wiiNUUS, 214, PICCADILLY.
27
MY LIBRARY.
Choice Works, printed on laid paper, bound half-Roxburghe, 2s. 6«1. each.
Frenchwomen. By Austin Dobson. I Christie Johnstone. By Charles Reade.
Citation and Examination of Wiliiam With a Photogravure Frontispiece.
Shakspeare. By W. S. Landor. | Peg Wofflngton. By Charles Reade.
THE POCKET LIBRARY. PostSvo,
The Essays of Elia. By Charles Lamb.
Robinson Crusoe. Edited by John Major.
With 37lllusts. by George Cruikshank.
Whims and Oddities. By Thomas Hood.
With 85 Illustrations.
The Barber's Chair, and The Hedgehog
Letters. By Douglas Jerrold.
Gastronomy as a Fine Art. By Brillat-
Savarin. Trans. R. E. Anderson, M.A.
printed on laid paper and hf.-bd., 2s. each.
The Epicurean, &c. By Thomas Moore.
Leigh Hunt's Essays. Ed. E. Ollier.
The Natural History of Selborne. By
Gilbert White.
Gulliver's Travels, and The Tale of a
Tub. By Dean Swift.
The Rivals, School for Scandal, and other
Plays by Richard Brinsley Sheridan.
Anecdotes of the Clergy. J. Larwood.
THE PICCADILLY NOVELS.
Library Editions of Novels by the Best Authors, many Illustrated,
crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. each.
By GRANT ALLEN.
Philistia. For Maimie's Sake.
Babylon The Devil's Die.
In all Shades. This Mortal Coil.
The Tents of Shem. The Great Taboo.
By ALAN ST. AURYN.
A Fellow of Trinity.
By Rev. S. BAKING GOULD.
Red Spider. | Eve.
By W. BESANT & J. RICE.
My Little Girl.
Case of Mr.Lucraft.
By Celia's Arbour.
Monks of Thelema.
The Seamy Side.
Voouc' n
Ten Years' Tenant.
This Son of Vulcan.
Golden Butterfly.
Ready-Money Mortiboy.
With Harp and Crown.
'Twas in Trafalgar's Bay.
The Chaplain of the Fleet.
By WALTER BESANT.
All Sorts and Conditions of Men.
The Captains' Room.
All in a Garden Fair
The World Went Very Well Then.
For Faith and Freedom.
Dorothy Forster. To Call Her Mine.
Uncle Jack. The Holy Rose.
Children of Gibeon. Armorel of Lyon-
Herr Paulus. esse.
Bell of St. Paul's.
By ROBERT BUCHANAN.
The Shadow of the Sword.
A Child of Nature.
The Martyrdom of Madeline.
God and the Man. The New Abelard.
Love Me for Ever. Foxglove Manor.
Annan Water. Master of the Mine.
Matt. Heir of Linne.
By HALL CAINE.
The Shadow of a Crime.
A Son of Hagar. \ The Deemster.
PHORT. & FRANCES COEEINS.
Sweet Anne Page. | Transmigration.
From Midnight to Midnight.
Blacksmith and Scholar.
Village Comedy. | You Play Me False
Ry Mrs.H. LOVETT CAMERON.
Juliet's Guardian. | Deceivers ?'FJ
Ry WILKIE UOLLlK
Armadale.
After Dark.
No Name.
Antonina. | Basil.
Hide and Seek.
The Dead Secret.
Queen of Hearts.
My Miscellanies.
Woman in White.
The Moonstone.
Man and Wife.
Poor Miss Finch.
Miss or Mrs?
New Magdalen.
11a#
i5/ r
The Frozen Deed,
The Two Destinies.
Law and the Lady.
Haunted Hotel.
The Fallen Leaves.
J ezebel's Daughter.
The Black Robe.
Heart and Science.
"I Say No."
Little Novels.
The Evil Genius.
The Legacy of Cain
A Rogue's Life.
Blind Love.
Ry BUTTON COOK.
Paul Foster's Daughter.
Ry W1LLIA.T1 CYPLES.
Hearts of Gold.
Ry ALPHONSE BAUBET-
The Evangelist; or, Port Salvation.
By JAMES BE MI LEE.
A Castle in Spain.
By J. EE IT 31 DERWENT
Our Lady of Tears. | Circe's Lovers.
By Mrs. ANNIE EBWARBES.
Archie Lovell.
By PERCY FITZGERALD.
Fatal Zero.
By R. E. C IS AN CI LEON.
Queen Cophetua. I A Real Queen.
One by One. 1 King or Knave?
Pref.bySir BARTEE FRERE.
Pandurang Hari.
By EBWARD BARRETT.
The Canel Girls.
28
BOOKS PUBLISHED BY
The Piccadilly (3/6) Novels—continued.
ISy CHARLES GIBBOIV.
Robin Gray. I The Golden Shaft.
In Honour Bound. | Of High Degree.
Loving a Dream.
The Flower of the Forest.
By JULIAN IIAWTIIORAE.
Garth. I Dust.
Ellice Quentin. Fortune's Fool.
Sebastian Strome. | Beatrix Randolph.
David Poindexter's Disappearance.
The Spectre of the Camera.
By Sir A. HELPS.
Ivan de Biron.
By ISAAC HENDERSON.
Agatha Page.
By Mrs. ALFRED HUNT.
The Leaden Casket. | Self-Condemned.
That other Person.
toaJly JEAN INGELOW.
Fanes',<to be Free.
V- ®By R. ASHE KING.
A Drawn Game.
♦'The Wearing of the Green."
By HENRY KINGSLEY.
Number Seventeen.
By E. LYNN LINTON.
Patricia Kemball. I lone.
UnderwhichLord? Paston Carew.
"My Love!" I Sowing the Wind.
The Atonement of Learn Dundas.
The World Well Lost.
By HENRY W. LUCY.
Gideon Fleyce.
By justin McCarthy.
A Fair Saxon. | Donna Quixote.
Linley Rochford. Maid of Athens.
Miss Misanthrope. I Camiola.
The Waterdale Neighbours. .
My Enemy's Daughter.
Dear Lady Disdain.
The Comet of a Season.
By AGNES MACDONELL.
Quaker Cousins.
By FEORENCE MARRYAT.
Open! Sesame!
By D. CHRISTIE MURRAY.
Life's Atonement. I Coals of Fire.
Joseph's Coat. Yal Strange.
A Model Father. | Hearts.
A Bit of Human Nature.
First Person Singular.
Cynic Fortune.
The Way of the World.
B> MURRAY & HERMAN.
The Bishops' Bible.
By GEORGES OIINET.
A Weird Gift.
The Piccadilly (3/6) Novels—continued.
By Mrs. olipiiant.
Whiteladies.
By OUIDA.
Held in Bondage. 1 Two Little Wooden
Strathmore.
Chandos.
Under Two Flags.
Idalia.
CecilCastlemaine's
Gage.
Tricotrin. | Puck.
Folle Farine.
A Dog of Flanders
Pascarel. I Signa,
Princess N
ine.
laprax-
Shoes.
In a Winter City.
Ariadne.
Friendship.
Moths. I Ruffino.
Pipistrello.
AYillageCommune
Bimbi. | Wanda.
Frescoes.
In Maremma.
Othmar. | Syrlin.
Guilderoy.
By MARGARET A. PAUL.
Gentle and Simple.
By JAMES PAYN.
Lost Sir Massingberd.
Less Black than We're Painted.
A Confidential Agent.
A Grape from a Thorn.
Some Private Views.
In Peril and Privation.
The Mystery of Mirbridge.
The Canon's Ward.
Walter's Word. Talk of the Town.
By Proxy. Holiday Tasks.
High Spirits. The Burnt Million.
Under One Roof. The Word and the
From Exile. Will.
Glow-worm Tales. Sunny Stories.
By E. C. PRICE.
Yalentina. I The Foreigners.
Mrs. Lancaster's Rival.
By CHARLES READE.
It is Never Too Late to Mend.
The Double Marriage.
Love Me Little, Love Me Long.
The Cloister and the Hearth.
The Course of True Love.
The Autobiography of a Thief.
Put Yourself in his Place.
A Terrible Temptation.
Singleheart and Doubleface.
Good Stories of Men and other Animals.
Hard Cash. I Wandering Heir.
Peg Woffington. | A Woman-Hater.
ChristieJohnstone. A Simpleton.
Griffith Gaunt. Readiana.
Foul Play. | The Jilt.
By Mrs. J. ii. RIDDELL.
Her Mother's Darling.
Prince of Wales's Garden Party.
Weird Stories.
By F. W. ROBINSON.
Women are Strange.
The Hands of Justice.
By W. CLARK RUSSELL.
An Ocean Tragedy.
My Shipmate Louise.
By JOHN SAUNDERS.
Guy Waterman. | Two Dreamers.
Bound to the Wheel.
The Lion in the Path.
CHATTO & WINDUS, 214, PICCADILLY.
2£
The Piccadilly (3/6) Novels—continued.
By ANTHONY XBOLLOPE.
Frau Frohmann. I Kept in the Dark,
Marion Fay. Land-Leaguers.
The Way We Live Now.
Mr. Scarborough's Family.
By IYAN TURGENIEFF; &c.
Stories from Foreign Novelists.
By C. C. FRASEB-TYTLER.
Mistress Judith.
By SARAH TYTI.ER.
The Bride's Pass. I Lady Bell.
Noblesse Oblige. | Buried Diamonds.
The Biackhall Ghosts.
The Piccadilly (3/6) Novels—continued.
By KATHARINE SAUNDERS.
Margaret and Elizabeth.
Gideon's Rock. I Heart Salvage.
The High Mills. | Sebastian.
By HARTLEY SMART.
Without Love or Licence.
By R. A. STERNDALE.
The Afghan Knife.
By BERTHA THOMAS.
Proud Maisie. I Cressida.
The Yiolin-player.
By FRANCES E. TROLLOPE.
Like Ships upon the Sea.
Anne Furness. | Mabel's Progress.
CHEAP EDITIONS OF POPULAR NOVELS.
Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
By BRET IIARTE.
By ARTEMUS WARD.
Artemus Ward Complete.
By EDMOND ABOUT.
The Fellah.
By HAMIETON AIDE.
Carr of Carrlyon. | Confidences.
By MARY ALBERT.
Brooke Finchley's Daughter.
Bv Mrs. ALEXANDER.
Maid, Wife, or Widow ? | Valerie's Fate,
By GRANT ALLEN.
Strange Stories. I The Devil's Die.
Philistia. This Mortal Coil.
Babylon. I In all Shades.
The Beckoning Hand.
For Maimie's Sake. | Tents of Shem.
By ALAN ST. AUBYN.
A Fellow of Trinity.
By Rev. S. BARING GOULD.
Red Spider. | Eve.
By FRANK BARRETT.
Fettered for Life.
Between Life and Death.
BySIIELSLE Y BEAUCHAMP
Grantley Grange.
By W. BESANT & J. RICE.
By Celia's Arbour.
Monks of Thelema.
The Seamy Side.
Ten Years' Tenant.
This Son of Vulcan
My Little Girl.
Case ofMr.Lucraft.
Golden Butterfly.
Ready-Money Mortiboy
With Harp and Crown.
'Twas in Trafalgar's Bay.
The Chaplain of the Fleet.
By WALTER BESANT.
Dorothy Forster. I Uncle Jack.
Children of Gibeon. | Herr Paulus.
All Sorts and Conditions of Men.
The Captains' Room.
All in a Garden Fair.
The World Went Very Well Then.
For Faith and Freedom.
By FREDERICK BOYLE
Camp Notes. | Savage Life.
Chronicles of No-man's Land.
Flip. | Californian Stories
Maruja. | Gabriel Conroy.
An Heiress of Red Dog.
The Luck of Roaring Camp.
A Phyllis of the Sierras.
By HAROLD BRYDGES.
Uncle Sam at Home.
By ROBERT BUCHANAN.
The Shadow of the
Sword.
A Child of Nature.
God and the Man.
Love Me for Ever.
Foxglove Manor,
The Martyrdom a
Madeline.
Annan Water.
The New Abelard.
Matt.
The Heir of Li
The Master of the Mine.
By HALL CAINE.
The Shadow of a Crime.
A Son of Hagar. | The Deemster.
By Commander CAMERON.
The Cruise of the "Black Prince."
By Mrs. LOVETT CAMERON
Deceivers Ever. | Juliet's Guardian
By AUSTIN CLARE.
For the Love of a Lass.
By Mrs. ARCHER CJL.IVE.
Paul Ferroll.
Why Paul Ferroll Killed his Wife.
By MACLAREN COBBAN.
The Cure of Souls.
By C. ALLSTON COKLINS.
The Bar Sinister.
MORT. & FRANCES COUUINS
Sweet Anne Page. | Transmigration.
From Midnight to Midnight.
A Fight with Fortune.
Sweet and Twenty. | Village Comedy.
Frances. I You Play me False.
Blacksmith and Scholar.
30
BOOKS PUBLISHED BY
Two-Shilling Novels—continued.
By WILK1E COLLINS.
My Miscellanies.
Woman in White.
The Moonstone.
Man and Wife.
Poor Miss Finch.
The Fallen Leaves.
Jezebel's Daughter
The Black Robe.
Heart and Science.
"I Say No."
The Evil Genius.
Little Novels.
Legacy of Cain.
Blind Love.
Armadale.
After Dark.
No Name.
Antonina. | Basil.
Hide and Seek.
The Dead Secret.
Queen of Hearts.
Miss or Mrs?
New Magdalen.
The Frozen Deep.
Law and the Lady.
The Two Destinies.
Haunted Hote'.
A Rogue's Life.
By 111. JT. COEQUIIOUN.
Every Inch a Soldier.
By BUTTON COOK.
Leo. | Paul Foster's Daughter.
By C. EGBERT CRABBOCK.
Prophet of the Great Smoky Mountains.
By WILLIAM CITIES.
Hearts of Gold.
By ALPHONSE BAUBET.
The Evangelist; or, Port Salvation.
By JAMES BE MILLE.
A Castle in Spain.
By J. LEITI1 BERWENT.
Our Lady of Tears. | Circe's Lovers.
By CHARLES BICKENS.
Sketches by Boz. I Oliver Twist.
Pickwick Papers. | Nicholas Nickleby.
By DICK DONOVAN.
The Man-Hunter. | Caught at Last!
Tracked and Taken.
Who Poisoned Hetty Duncan?
The Man from Manchester.
A Detective's Triumphs.
By CONAN DOYLE, &c.
Strange Secrets.
By Mrs. ANNIE EBWARBES.
A Point of Honour. | Archie Lovell.
By M. BETHAM-EBWARBS.
Felicia. | Kitty.
By EDWARD EGGLESTON.
Roxy.
By PERCY FITZGERALD.
Bella Donna. I Polly.
Never Forgotten. I Fatal Zero.
The Second Mrs. Tillotson.
Seventy-five Brooke Street.
The Lady of Brantome.
ALBANY BE FONBEANQUE.
Filthy Lucre.
By R. E. FRANCIEEON.
Olympia. I Queen Cophetua.
One by One. King or Knave?
A Real Queen. | Romances of Law,
By HAROLD F KEBERICK.
Seth's Brother's Wife.
The Lawton Girl.
Pref.by Sir BARTEE FRERE.
Pandu»rang Hari.
Two-Shilling Novels—continued.
By IIAIN FRISWEEE.
One of Two.
By EDWARD GARRETT.
The Capel Girls.
By CHARLES GIBBON.
Robin Gray.
Fancy Free.
For Lack of Gold.
What will the
World Say?
In Love and War.
For the King.
In Pastures Green.
Queen of Meadow.
A Heart's Problem.
The Dead Heart.
In Honour Bound,
Flower of Forest.
Braes of Yarrow.
The Golden Shaft.
Of High Degree.
Mead and Stream.
Loving a Dream.
A Hard Knot.
Heart's Delight.
Blood-Money.
By WILLIAM GIEBERT.
Dr. Austin's Guests. I James Duke.
The Wizard of the Mountain.
By HENRY GREVIEEE.
A Noble Woman.
By JOHN HABBERTON.
Brueton's Bayou. | Country Luck.
By ANDREW HALLIDAY.
Every-Day Papers.
By Eady BUFFUS IIARDY.
Paul Wynter's Sacrifice.
By THOMAS HARDY.
Under the Greenwood Tree.
By J. BERWICK HARWOOD.
The Tenth Earl.
By JUEIAN HAWTHORNE.
Sebastian Strome.
Dust.
Beatrix Randolph.
Love—or a Name.
Garth.
Ellice Quentin.
Fortune's Fool,
Miss Cadogna.
David Poindexter's Disappearance.
The Spectre of the Camera.
By Sir ARTHUR HEEPS.
Ivan de Biron.
By Mrs. CASHEE HOEY.
The Lover's Creed.
By Mrs. GEORGE HOOPER.
The House of Raby.
By TIGHE HOPKINS.
'Twixt Love and Duty.
By Mrs. AEFREB HUNT.
Thornicroft's Model. I Self Condemned*
That Other Person. | Leaden Casket.
By JEAN INGEEOW.
Fated to be Free.
By HARRIETT JAY.
The Dark Colleen.
The Queen of Connaught.
By MARK KERSHAW.
Colonial Facts and Fictions.
By R. ASHE KING.
A Drawn Game. I Passion's Slave.
" The Wearing of the Green."
CHATTO & W1NDUS, 214, PICCADILLY.
Two-Shilling Novels—continued.
By IIENBY KINOSLEY.
Oakshott Castle.
By JOHN LEYS.
The Lindsays.
By MAKY LI^SKILL.
In Exchange for a Soul.
By E. LYNN LINTON.
Patricia Kemball. I Paston Carew.
World Well Lost. " My Love t"
Under which Lord? I lone.
The Atonement of Learn Dundas.
With a Silken Thread.
The Rebel of the Family.
Sowing the Wind.
By IIENRY W. LUCY.
Gideon Fleyce.
By justin McCarthy.
A Fair Saxon. I Donna Quixote.
Linley Rochford. Maid of Athens.
Miss Misanthrope. | Camiola.
Dear Lady Disdain.
The Waterdale Neighbours.
My Enemy's Daughter.
The Comet of a Season.
By ACNES MACDONELL.
Quaker Cousins.
KATHARINE S. MACQUOID.
The Evil Eye. | Lost Rose.
By W. H. MALLOCK.
The New Republic.
By FLORENCE MARRYAT.
Open! Sesame! | Fighting the Air.
A Harvest of Wild Oats.
Written in Fire.
By J. MASTERMAN.
Half-a-dozen Daughters.
By BRANDER MATTHEWS.
A Secret of the Sea.
By JEAN MIDDLEMASS.
Touch and Go. | Mr. Dorillion.
By Mrs. MOEESWORTH.
Hathercourt Rectory.
By j. E. MUDDOCK.
Stories Weird and Wonderful,
The Dead Man's Secret.
By D. CHRISTIE MURRAY.
A Model Father. Old Blazer's Hero.
Joseph's Coat. Hearts.
Coals of Fire. Way of the World.
Yal Strange. Cynic Fortune.
A Life's Atonement.
By the Gate of the Sea.
A Bit of Human Nature.
First Person Singular.
By MURRAY and HERMAN.
One Traveller Returns.
Paul Jones's Alias.
By HENRY MURRAY.
A Game of Bluff.
By ALICE O'HANLON.
The Unforeseen. | Chance ? or Fate?
Two-Shilling Novels—continued.
By GEORGES OIINET.
Doctor Rameau. | A Last Love.
By Mrs. OLIPHANT.
Whiteladies. | The Primrose Path.
The Greatest Heiress in England.
By Mrs. ROBERT O'REILLY.
Phoebe's Fortunes.
By OUFDA.
Held in Bondage.
Strathmore.
Chandos.
Under Two Flags.
Idalia.
CecilCastlemaine's
Gage.
Tricotrin.
Puck.
Folle Farine.
A Dog of Flanders.
Pascarel.
Signa.
Princess Naprax-
ine.
In a Winter City.
Two Little Wooden
Shoes.
Ariadne.
Friendship,
Moths.
Pipistrello.
A Village Com-
mune.
Bimbi.
Wanda.
Frescoes.
In Maremma.
Othmar.
Guilderoy.
Ouida's Wisdom,
Wit, and Pathos.
MARGARET AGNES PAUL.
Gentle and Simple.
By JAMES PAYN.
£200 Reward.
Marine Residence.
Mirk Abbey.
By Proxy.'
Under One Roof.
High Spirits.
Carlyon's Year.
From Exile.
For Cash Only.
Kit.
The Canon's Ward
Talk of the Town.
Holiday Tasks.
Bentinck's Tutor.
Murphy's Master.
A County Family.
At Her Mercy.
Cecil's Tryst.
Clyffards of Clyffe.
Foster Brothers.
Found Dead.
Best of Husbands.
Walter's Word.
Halves.
Fallen Fortunes.
Humorous Stories.
Lost Sir Massingberd.
A Perfect Treasure.
A Woman's Vengeance.
The Family Scapegrace.
What He Cost Her.
Gwendoline's Harvest.
Like Father, Like Son.
Married Beneath Him.
Not Wooed, but Won.
Less Black than We're Painted.
A Confidential Agent.
Some Private Views.
A Grape from a Thorn.
Glow-worm Tales.
The Mystery of Mirbridge.
By C. L. PIRKIS.
Lady Lovelace.
By EDGAR A. POE.
The Mystery of Marie Roget.
By E. C. PRICE.
Valentina. I The Foreigners.
Mrs, Lancaster's Rival.
Gerald.
32 CHATTO & WINDUS, 214, PICCADILLY.
Two-Shilling Novels—continued.
By CHARLES RCAIIC.
It Is Never Too Late to Mend.
Christie Johnstone.
Put Yourself in His Place.
The Double Marriage.
Love Me Little, Love Me Long.
The Cloister and the Hearth,
The Course of True Love.
Autobiography of a Thief.
A Terrible Temptation.
The Wandering Heir.
Singlsheart and Doubleface.
Good Stories of Men and other Animals.
Hard Cash. A Simpleton.
Peg Woffington. Readiana.
Griffith Gaunt. A Woman-Hater.
Foul Play. The Jilt.
By Mrs. J. II. R1DDELL.
Weird Stories. | Fairy Water.
Her Mother's Darling.
Prince of Wales's Garden Party.
The Uninhabited House.
The Mystery in Palace Gardens.
By F. W. ROBINSON.
Women are Strange.
The Hands of Justice.
By JAMES BFNCIUIAN.
Skippers and Shellbacks.
Grace Balmaign's Sweetheart.
Schools and Scholars.
By W. CLARK RFSSELL.
Round the Galley Fire.
On the Eo'k'sle Head.
In the Middle Watch.
A Voyage to the Cape.
A Book for the Hammock.
The Mystery of the " Ocean Star."
The Romance of Jenny Harlowe.
An Ocean Tragedy.
GEORGE AUGUSTUS SALA.
Gaslight and Daylight.
By JOHN SAUNDERS.
Guy Waterman. | Two Dreamers.
The Lion in the Path.
By KATHARINE SAUNDERS.
Joan Merryweather. I Heart Salvage.
The High Mills. | Sebastian.
Margaret and Elizabeth.
By GEORGE R. SIMS.
Rogues and Vagabonds.
The Ring o' Bells.
Mary Jane's Memoirs.
Mary Jane Married.
Tales of To-day. | Dramas of Life.
Tinkletop's Crime.
By ARTHUR SKETCIIEEY.
A Match in the Dark.
By M . W. SPEIGHT.
The Mysteries of Heron Dyke.
The Golden Hoop. | By Devious Ways.
Hoodwinked, &c.
Two-Shilling Novels—continued.
By B. A. STERNBAEE.
The Afghan Knife.
By R. LOUIS STEVENSON.
New Arabian Nights. | Prince Otto.
BY BERTHA THOMAS.
Cressida. | Proud Maisie.
The Violin-player.
By WALTER THORN BURY,
Tales for the Marines.
Old Stories Re-told.
I T. ADOLPIIUS TROLLOPE,
Diamond Cut Diamond.
By F. EEEANOR TROEEOPE,
Like Ships upon the Sea.
Anne Furness. | Mabel's Progress.
By ANTHONY TROEEOPE.
Frau Frohmann. I Kept in the Dark,
Marion Fay. | John Caldigate.
The Way We Live Now.
The American Senator.
Mr. Scarborough's Family.
The Land-Leaguers.
The Golden Lion of Granpere.
By J. T. TROWBRIDGE.
Farnell's Folly.
By IVAN TURGENIEFF, &(
Stories from Foreign Novelists.
By MARK TWAIN.
Tom Sawyer. | A Tramp Abroat
The Stolen White Elephant.
A Pleasure Trip on the Continent.
Huckleberry Finn.
Life on the Mississippi.
The Prince and the Pauper.
By C. C. FRASER-TYTEER
Mistress Judith.
By SARAH TYTEER.
The Bride's Pass. Noblesse Oblige.
Buried Diamonds. Disappeared.
SaintMungo'sCity. Huguenot Famil;
Lady Bell. Blackhall Ghosts
What She Came Through.
Beauty and the Beast.
Citoyenne Jaqueline.
By J. S. WINTER.
Cavalry Life. | Regimental Lego^;
By H. F. WOOD.
The Passenger from Scotland Yard.
The Englishman of the Rue Cain.
By Eady WOOD.
Sabina.
CEEIA PARKER WOOEEE
Rachel Armstrong; or, Love & Theol'J
By EDMUND YATES.
The Forlorn Hope. | Land at La'
Castaway.
ogden, smale co, limited, primtlius, ulceftt-«*®eron hill, e.c,
Ample entertainment for the immense circle of readers it deserves
to find, and always will find."—Times.
One Shilling Monthly.
THE GENTLEMAN'S MAGAZINE
While maintaining an historical continuity which dates back to the reign of
George the Second (the Magazine was founded in 1731), no attempt is made by
the present management to adhere slavishly to traditions the application of
which is unsuited to the altered conditions of society at the present time. It is
sought to render the GENTLEMAN'S MAGAZINE to the gentleman of
to-day what in earlier times it proved to the gentleman of a past generation.
New features have been introduced to take the place of those which have dis-
appeared ; in the most important respects, however, the connecting links
between the present and the past are closest. Biography and History still
retain the prominence originally assigned them, and are treated with the
added breadth that springs from increased familiarity with authorities and
more exact appreciation of the province of the Biographer and Historian.
Science, which confers upon the age special eminence, has its latest conclu-
sions and forecasts presented in a manner fitted to bring them within the
grasp of the general reader. Archaeology, Topography, Natural History, Sport,
Poetry, Belles I.ettres, the Theatre, and Art constitute a portion of the con-
tents; and Essays upon social subjects are interspersed. The Editor spares
no exertion that is necessary to secure the highest class of contributions, to
place the Magazine in the first rank of serials, and to fit it to take its place on
the shelves of all classes of cultivated Englishmen.
Fourpence Monthly ; or Five Shillings a Year, post-free.
SCIENCE-GOSSIP
&n Illustrate lite turn of Interchange for Students
anU TLoOers of Mature.
Edited by J. E. TAYLOR, Ph.D., F.L.S., F.G.S., &c.
For twenty-six years this popular Magazine has maintained its hold on the
igood opinion of lovers of Natural Sconce. During that period 1 Illustrated
[.Articles from the pens of the best known Scientific Writers of the day, in every
^department of Science, have appeared in its pages. Not a few of the popular
.books of the day are reprints of such series.
1 A Monthly Summary of Discovery and Progress in every Department of
Natural Science all over the world is given, so that the Volumes of SCIENCE-
GOSSIP form an unbroken history of Science for over a quarter of a century.
New Books on Scientific Subjects are duly noticed or reviewed.
A large space is devoted to Scientific " Notes and Queries," thus enabling
""ivery lover of nature to chronicle his own original observations, or get his
ipecial difficulties settled.
For active workers and collectors the " Exchange Column " has long proved
well and widely-known means of barter and interchange. The column de-
oted to " Answers to Correspondents " has been found helpful to students
equiring personal help in naming specimens, &c.
London: CHATTO & WINDUS, 214, Piccadilly, W.
POPULAR TWO-SHILLING NOVELS.
This is a SELECTION only.—FULL LISTS of 450 NOVELS free by post.
By Mrs. ALEX NDER.
Maid, Wife, or Widow? | Valerie's Fate.
By GRANT ALLEN.
Strance Stories. i The Beckoning Hand.
In ail Shades. The-Devil's Die.
For Maimie's Sake. This Mortal Coil.
Philistia. I Baoylon.l The Tents of Shem.
By ALAN ST. AUBYN.
A Fellow of Trinity.
By ARTEMUS WARD.
Artemus Ward's Complete Works.
By Rev. S. BARING GOULD.
F.cd Spider. I Eve.
By FRANK BARRETT.
Fettered for Life. .
By BESANT AND RICE.
By Celia's Arbour.
llie Monks of Thelema
"Twssinl'rafalgar'sBay
The Seamy Side.
Ten Years' Tenant.
Chaplain of the Fleet.
K eady-Money Mortiboy
With Harp and Crown.
This Son of Vnlcan.
My Little Girl.
The Case of Mr.Lucraft
The Golden Butterfly.
By WALTER BESANT.
All Sorts <fc Conditions.) Uncle Jack.
The Captains' Room. Children of Gibeon.
All in a Garden Fair. World wentwell then.
Dorothy Forster. | Herr Paulus.
For Faith and Freedom.
By BRET HARTE.
An Heiress of Red Dog. Gabriel Conroy.
Inca of Roaring.Camp I Many a. I Flip.
Canfornian Stories. | APhyllisof the Sierras
By ROBERT BUCHANAN.
Shadow of the Swoid. .Martyrdomot Madeline
A Child of Nature. Love Me tor Ever.
God and the Man Foxglove Manor.
Annan Water. | Matt. Master of the Mine.
The New Abelard. I The Heir of Linne.
By HALL CAINE.
The Shadow of a Crime. I A Son of Hagar.
The Deemster.
By COMMANDER CAMERON.
The Cruise of the "Black Prince."
By Mrs. LOVETT CaMERON.
Juliet's Guardian. | Deceivers Ever.
AUSTIN CLARE.—For Love of a Lass.
By Mrs. ARCHER CLIVE,
PaulFerroll. | Why Paul terroll Killed HisWife
By MORTIMER &, FRANCES COLLINS.
Sweet Anne Page. , Transmigration.
Midnight to Midnight. A Fight with Fortune
Sweet and Twenty. The Village Comedy.
Frances. | You Play me False.
Blacksmith and Scholar.
By WILKIE COLLINS.
1 "" ' The Frozen Deep.
The Law and the Lady.
Armadale.
Aiitonina. | No Name.
Hide and Seek | Basil
The Dead Secret,
Queen of Hearts.
My Miscellanies.
The Woman in White.
Moonstone | Legacy of
Man and Wife. [Cain.
Poor Miss Finch.
Miss or Mrs.?
The New Magdalen
The Two Destinies.
The Haunted HoteL
The Fai.en Leaves.
The Black
Heart and Science.
" I Say No'
The Evil Genius.
Little Novels.
A Rogue's Life.
By DUTTON COOK.
Leo. | Paul Foster's Daughter.
By C. EGBERT CRADDOCK.
The Prophet of the Great Smoky Mountains.
By A. DAUDET.- The Evangelist.
By J. LEITH DERWENT.
Our Lady of Tears. | Circe s Lovers.
CONAN DOYLE, &c.—strange Secrets.
By CHARLES DICKENS.
Sketches by Boz. I Oliver Twist.
The Pickwick Papers. | Nicholas hickleby.
By DICK DONOVAN.
The Man-Hunter, I Who Poisoned Hetty
Caught at Last I Duncan ?
Tracked and Taken. | Man from Manchester
By Mrs. ANNIE EDWARDES.
A Point of Honour. I Archie Lovell.
By M. BETHAM-EDWARDS.
Kitty. I Felicia.
By EDWARD EGGLESTON.—Rosy.
By PERCY FITZGERALD.
Bella Donna. I 75, Brooke Street.
Polly. | Fatal Zero. Never Forgotten.
Second Mrs. Tillotson I The Lady of Brantome.
By R. E. FRANCILLON.
Olympia. | A Real Queen.
One by One. King or Knave?
Queen Cophetua. I Romances of the Law.
By HAROLD FREDERIC.
Seth's Brother's Wife. | The Lawton Girl.
By CHARLES GIBBON.
Robin Gray. | A Heart's Problem.
------- |Th
For Lack of Gold.
What will World 8ay 7
In Honour Bound.
In Love and War.
For the King.
In Pastures Green,
Queen of the Meadow
The Braes of Yarrow.
The Golden Shaft.
Of High Degree.
Loving a Dream.
Bv Mead and Stream.
A Hard Knot,
vuccu v. uuc 1UCO.UUW i Heart s Delight.
Flower of the Forest. I The Dead Heart.
Fancy Free. I Blood-Money.
By WILLIAM GILBERT.
Dr. Austin's Guests. | James Duke.
The Wizard of the Mountain.
By HENRY GRtVILLE.—A Noble Woman.
By JOHN HABBERTON.
Brueton's Bayou. | Country Luck.
By A. HALLIDAY.—Every-Day Papers.
By Lady DUFFUS HARDY.
Paul Wynter's Sacrifice.
By THOMAS -HARDY.
Under the Greenwood Tree.
By J. B. HARWOOD.-The Tenth Ea.
By JULIAN HAWTHORNE.
Garth. | Dust. I Fortune's FooL
EUice Quentln. Beatrix Randol +..
Sebastian Strome. Miss Cadogna.
Spectre oi Camera. I Love - or a Name ?
David Poindexter's Disappearance.
Mrs. CASHEL HOEY.—The Lover's Creed.
By Mrs. ALFRED HUNT.
Thornicroft's Model. I The Leaden Casket.
Sell-Condemned | That Other Person.
By JEAN INGELOW.—Fated to be Free.
By HARRIETT JAY.
The Dark Colleen. | Queen of Connaught.
By MARK KERSHAW.
Colonial Facts and Fictions.
By R. ASHE KING.
A Drawn Game. | ' The Wearing of the Green.'
Passion s Slave.
By HENRY KINGSLEY.—Oakshott Castle
By JOHN LEYS—The Lindsays.
By MARY LINSKILL.
In Exchange for a Soul.
By E. LYNN LINTON.
Patricia Kemball. With a Silken Thread*
Atonement of Learn Rebel of the Family.
My Love | -
lone I Paston Carew.
Dund&B.
The World Well Lost.
Under which Lord ? Sowing the Wind.
By HENRY W. LUCY.—Gideon Fleyce.
London: CHATTO & WINDUS, 214, Piccadilly, W. j-x
POPULAR TWO-SHILLING NOVELS.
„* This is a SELECTION only.-
By justin McCarthy,
Linley Rochford.
Donna Quixote.
The Comet of a Season
Maid of Athene.
Camiola.
Sear Lady Disdain.
Waterdale Neighbours.
My Enemy's Daughter
A Fair Saxon.
Miss Misanthrope.
By KATHARINE S. MACQUOID.
The Evil Eye. | Lost Rose.
By W. H. MALLOCK.—The New Republic
By FLORENCE MARRYAT.
Open) Sesame! I Written in Fire.
Fighting the Air | A Harvest of Wild Oat*.
By JEAN MIDDLEMASS.
Touch and Go. | Mr. Dorillion.
By Mrs. MOLESWORTH.
Hathercourt Rectory
J. E. MUDDOCK.—The Dead Man's Secret.
By CHRISTIE MURRAY.
A Life's Atonement.
A Model Father.
Joseph's Coat.
Coals of Fire
First Person Singular.
By the Gate of the Sea.
Val Strange. | Hearts.
TheWav of the World.
Bit of Human Nature.
Cynic Fortune.
Old Blazer's Hero.
CHRISTIE MURRAY and H HERMAN.
One Traveller Returns. I Paul Jones's Alias.
By GEORGES OHNET.
Doctor Rameau. | A Last Love.
By Mrs. OLIPHANT.
Whiteladles. I The Primrose Path.
The Greatest Heiress in England.
By OUIDA.
Held in Bondage. Pascarel | Signa.
Strathmore. In a Winter City.
Chandos. | Idalia. Ariadne. I Moths.
Under Two Flags. Friendship I Pipistrello.
Cecil Castlemaine. A Village Commune.
Tricotrin. } Puck Bimbi I in Maremma.
Folle Farine Wanda. | Frescoes.
A Dog of Flanders. Princess Napraxine.
Two Wooden Shoes lothmar. | Guilderoy.
Wisdom, Wit, and Pathos.
By JAMES PAYN
Lost Sir Massingberd.
* Perfect Treasure,
-entinck's Tutor.
Murphy's Master.
A County Family.
At i 'r Mercy.
A V nan's Vengeance.
Cecil's Tryst.
The Clyfiard3 of Clyfle.
The Family Scapegrace,
The Foster Brothers.
Found Dead, j Haives
The Best of Husbands.
Walter's Word.
Fallen Fortunes.
What He Cost Her.
Humorous Stories.
Gwendoline'* Harvest.
The Talk of the Town.
Like Father, Like bun.
By E. C
Valentina.
Marine Residence.
Married Beneath Him
Mirk Abbey
Not Wooed, but Won.
£200 Reward.
Less Black than We're
By Proxy. [Painted.
Under One Roof.
High Spirits.
Carlyon s Year.
A Confidential Agent.
Some Private Views.
From Exile.
A Grape from a Thorn
For Cash Only.
Kit.
The Canon's Ward.
Holiday Tasks
Glow worm Tales.
Mystery of Mirbridge
PRICE.
I The Foreigners.
FULL LISTS of 450 NOVELS free by post.
By Mrs. J. H. RIDDELL.
Her Mother's Darling, i Weird Stories.
Uninhabited House. Fairy Water.
The Mystery in Palace The Prince of Wales'*
Gardens. I Garden Party.
By F. W. ROBINSON.
Women are Strange. | The Hands of Justlc*.
By JAMES RUNCIMAN.
Skippers and Shellbacks. | Schools and Scholar*
Grace Balmaign's Sweetheart.
By W. CLARK RUSSELL.
Round the Galley Fire. ) On the Fok'sle Head.
In the Middle Watch. A Voyage to the Cape
Book for^the Hammock. Jenny H&rlowe.
Mystery'of' Ocean Star.'| An Ocean Tragedy.
By G. A. SALA.—Gaslight and Daylight.
By JOHN SAUNDERS.
Bound to the Wheel. I The Lion In the Path.
One Against the World I The Two Dreamers.
Guy Waterman.
By KATHARINE SAUNDERS.
Joan Merryweather. I Sebastian.
The High Mills. | Heart Salvage.
Margaret and Elizabeth.
By GEORGE R. SIMS
Rogues and Vagabonds. I Mary Jane Married.
Mary Jane's Memoirs. Tales of To-a^y.
The Ring o' Bells. | Dramas of Life.
By T. W. SPEIGHT.
Mysteries Heron Dyke. I By Devious Ways.
The Golden Hoop. | Hoodwinked. &c.
By R. LOUIS STEVENSON.
New Arabian Nights. | Prince Otto.
By BERTHA THOMAS.
Cressida. i Proud Maisle. | The Violm-Player,
By WALTER THORNBURY.
Tales for the Marines. | Old Stories Re-told.
By ANTHONY TROLLOPE.
The Way We Live Now The Land-Leaguers.
American Senator. I Mr. Scarborough's
Frau Frohmann. Family.
Marion Fay John Caldigate.
Kept in the Dark. | The Golden Lion.
T. A. TROLLOPE.-Diamond Cut Diamond.
By FRANCES ELEANOR TROLLOPE.
Anne Furness. | Mabel's Progress.
Like Ships upon the Sea.
By J. T. TROWBRIDGE.—Farnell's Folly.
By MARK TWAIN.
Tom Sawyer. i A Pleasure Trip on the
A Tramp Abroad. Continent of Europe.
Stolen White Elephant. Huckleberry Finn.
Life on the Mississippi I Prince and the Pauper
By C. C. FRASER-TYTLER.
Mistress Judith.
By SARAH TYTLER.
MrB. Lancaster's Rival. | Gerald.
By CHARLES RtADE.
Never too Late to Mend ~
Hard Cash.
Peg Woffington.
Christie Johnstone.
Griffith Gaunt
Put Y'rself in H1b Place
The Double Marriage
Love Little. Love Lung.
Foul Play
Course ol True Love.
Autoblog. of a Thief.
A Terrible Temptation.
The Wandering Heir.
A Woman-Hater
A Simuleton.
Singleheart & Double-
face.
Good Stories.
Cloister and the Hearth The Jilt. | Readiana.
St. Mungo's City.
Lady Bell.
Disappeared.
Burled Diamonds.
The Biackhall Ghosts.
What She Cam eThrough
Beauty and the Beast.
Noblesse Oblige.
Citoyenne Jacqueline
The Bride's Pass.
By J. S. WINTER.
Cavalry Life. | Regimental Legends.
By H. F WOOD
The Passenger from Scotland Yard.
The Eng.ishman of the Rue Cain.
By Lady WOOD.
Paul Wynter's Sacrifice.
By CELIA PARKER WOOLLEY
Rachel Armstrong: Love and Theology.
By EDMUND YATES.
The Forlorn Hope I Land at Last.
Castaway.
London: CriATTO & WINDUS, 214, Piccadilly, W.
12
ONE OF THE THINGS
WE ARE APT TO GRUMBLE AT
IN FRANCE,
The -providing of one's oivn soap at hotels !
Permit me to remark that this is one
of those things ^
THEY DO MANAGE BETTER if! FRANCE
than we do here. I am strongly of opinion
that every one ivhen travelling should
carry his or her own soap as one takes
one's own hair-brush or sponge. It is
much more cleanly, and there can be no
better providing in this respect for the hot„
sun and warm winds and dust of travel
than a cake of
"PEARS'"
which, under such circumstances, I have
found very efficient in the prevention of
sunburn and allied annoyances.
- —
FROM AN ARTICLE BY
Dr. Andrew WILSON.F.F 5. R.,
Lect urer on Physiology and Health ulv't -c the
Editor of " Heal&h."
i: h ' - .