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w,,.- ■ . ■ r DAVIS & SHORT, PUBLISHERS. VOLUME I. The Brunswick .idroeute , js published every Thursday Morning, in the city of Brunswick, Glynn County, Georgia, at .fid per annum, in advance, or .s>4 at the end of the year. No subscriptions received for a loss term than six months and no paper discontinued until all arrearages are paid except at the option of the publishers. [£pAll letters and coiunkunications to the Ed.tor or Publishers in rijSSßn to the paper, must be POST PAID to ensure attention. conspicuously in serted at One Dollar per one hundred words, for the first insertion, and Fifty Cents for ev ery subsequent continuance—Rule and figure work always rioubfe price. Twenty-five per rent, added, if not paid in advance, or during the continuance of the advertisement. Those sent without a specification of the number of insertions will be published until ordered out, and charged accordingly. . v Legal Advertisements published at the usual rates. [Jj’N. I>. Sales of La nd, by Administrators, Executors or Guardians, are required, by law, to be held on the first Tuesday in the month, between the hours of ten in the forenoon and three in the afternoon, at the Court-house in the county in which the property is situate.— Notice of these sales must be given in a public gazette, SIXTY Days previous to the day of sab 1 . Sales of Negroes must be at public anc(pi, on the first Tuesday of the month, betweeiiuie usual hours of sale, at tlfe placd of public sales in the county where the letters testamentary, of Administration or Guardianship, may have been granted, first giving sixty days notice thereof, in one of the public gazettes of this State, and at the door of the Court-house, where sucli sales are to be held. Notice for the sale of Personal Property, must be given in like manner, Forty days previous to the day of sale. N.dffee to the Debtors and Creditors of .fn Es tate must he published for Forty days. Notice that application will he made to the Court of Ordinary for leave to sell Land, must be published for Font Months. Notice for leave to sell Negroes, must be published for Foi rt Months, before any order absolute shall be made thereon by the Court. 1* R O S I* E CTtS UiUWfSTST iIiDTvQSiISBEk A WEEKLY I’AI’KR, PUBLISHED AT BRUNSWICK, GIANN; COUNTY, GEORGIA. | Tun causes which render necessary the e§-j ! ahlishment of this Press, and its claims to the j support of the public, can best be presented by the statement of a few facts. Brunswick possesses a harbor, which lor ac cessibility, spaciousness and security,’ is ones- j quailed on tile Southern Const. This, of itself, j would be sufficient to fender its growth rapid, j and its importance'permanent; for the best port South of tho Potomac must bccoifie the S site of a great commercial city. But when to this is added the.singular salubrity of tlio cli mate, free from those noxious exhalations gen-1 crated by the union of salt and river waters, j and which are indeed ‘’charnel airs’’ to a white j population, it must he admitted that Brunswick I contains all the requisites for a healthy and populous city. Tims much has been the work ! of Nature : but already Art has begun to lend j her aid to this favored spot, and the industry of; man bids fair to increase its capacities, and j add to its importance a hundred fold. In a few months, a canal will open to the harbor of I Brunswick the vast and fertile country through j whicli flow' the Altamaha, and its great tribu- I tnrics. A Rail Road will shortly be conn none- j ed, terminating at Pensacola, thus uniting the w aters of the, Gulf of Mexico with the Atlantic 1 Ocean. Other Rail Roads intersecting the > State in various directions, will make Bruns wick their depot, and a large portion of the trade from the Valley of the Mississippi will yet find its way to her wharves. Such, in a few words, are the principal causes which will j operate in rendering Brunswick the principal city of the South. But while its advantages j are so numerous and olniotis, there have been ! found individuals and presses prompted by sel fish fears and interested motives, to oppose an j undertaking which must add so much to the j importance and prosperity of the State. Their ' united powers are now applied to thwart in every possible manner, this great public bene fit. Misrepresentation and ridicule, invective and denunciation have been heaped on Bruns wick and its friends. To counteract these ef forts by the publication and wide dissemination of the facts—to present the claims of Bruns wick to the confidence and favor of the public, lo furnish information relating to all the great works of Internal Improvement now go ing on through the Elate, and to aid in devel oping the resources of Georgia, will be the leading objects of this Press. Such being its end and aim, any interfer ence in the party politics of die day would be improper and impolitic. Brunswick has re ceived benefits from—it has frifends in all par ties, and every consideration is opposed to rendering its Press the organ of a party. To the citizens of Georgia—and not to the mem bers of a party —to the friends of Brunswick— to die advocates of Internal Improvement—to die considerate and reflecting—do we apply lor aid and support Terms—Three dollars per annum in ad vance, or four dollars at dip end of the year. J. W.‘ FROST’, Editor. DAVTF & SHORT, Publish*^. in ISC! 111, I, AIV Y. From the New Monthly Magazine. THE PAINTER S TALE. “1 lie picture I—it is a strange picture,” ! said the painter, smiling, “of which you asked me so many questions some nights since,—it is a portrait, and a striking por trait, though you see nothing but the eyes; the cloak covers everything else, it is ; as I saw it; and I was told I was fortun ate in catching so much. You perceive I have not been dealing with my own fantasies: before 1 have dune, you will feel I knew the man.” Have any of my fair readers been at! San Marino« Probably none. It is not a place for Italians, who must have their ! | opera and Corso ; and Englishmen, as of J old*in despite of the rebuke of Casti, i travel “like their trunks.” Yet San Ma- j rino is a place to spend a week, nay weeks, at. It is a republic, ond republics are' now antiquities, to artists it. is ‘a new j I mine: no small inducement to me. We ! want something of the kind, Rome and ! Romans having been long since painted j out. In line, it is a terra incognita. —aj “jntolo propria vrrgine” —a [flace for all classes of the curious to explore. W ith I some such object I rambled there, com ing up from Rieti and Terni, some four \ |or five years ago. I had no intention of ; staving longer than a day, but no better I motive for quitting it ; so, whether it was iny indolence or my destiny, (one usually stands for the other,) I passed there, I*do not well know how or wherefore, an en tire month. The patricians were com ing in from Rimini for the summer, and very pressing and hospitable: the burgh ers were like the patricians; so that, between both, 1 ran great risk of being naturalized, and becoming a citizen my-J self. The place is really a curious sort j of extravaganza in our modern times. Imagine an almost perpendicular rock,; crowned with a church, a town at iti»j feet, and a territory of about five miles j round, and you have “the state;” The' I nobles keep the rock, and the burghers | j enjoy the plain ; so that society is divi j ded by the very ground, and each stands jas punctiliously to his topography as to nls “ceto.” I was a sort of public guest,! j Honoured with all the honourable tilings j |of the place. Placed on the red sergeJ I seats of the Grilime at church; at the j Arengo, besides the capitani themselves ; I | admitted without question into the Caffe! ;de Nobili in the rock, above, and into 1 1 the cool cavern wine-cellars—of the burghers below, —I drew up laws, or pain-! j ted pofraits of their great men, in the j j morning, and, with their bailiffs, walked I j the circuit of the republic in the evening, i The church was tnv usual haunt : it seem- ed hewn by some Cyclop out of the rock i itself. I liked the cool stone bed of Sail Marino, and still more this inscription,— “To the Author of our Liberties.”—S. Marino, Auctori Libertatis,” rather an odd juxtaposition, and which, in our days, would have stamped him a carhouaro. The view from this place is delicious. Far off bevond Rimini, to the east, the long, blue, level line of the Adriatic is seen, .with white specks, or dashes of towns,“villas, and villages dappling the luxuriant green; then, to the left, nest ling in the foldings of the Umbrian moun tains, clusters of little hamlets, scarcely de tected by their smoke; before you the rich plain, with its heavy harvest, and vine yards purpling and mellowing- them, and its twisted streams and red old towers now in ruins—another age still lingering with ours. But all are not so. There is one far off : I could point it out to you, yon der, to the left, as if I were now sitting under the church-citadel, —of some famd* in the old Morea wars, and still retaining part of its former renown. It is now u* sed by the-Pope as a sort of country St. Angelo—a prison confined to state offen ces. The San Marino people, who, I believe, have nothing of the kind, go there occasionally on a sort of antiquari an excursion. A patrician friend of mine, who had come up with the others from the Marina, to spend his six months, accor ding to law, in his two-storied palace on the rock, talked of it as one of the ‘mag nificences’ of the neighbourhood so in cessantly, that, to see, or avoid hearing of it, I determined on riding over there the first morning the heats would allow me. At San Marino you have, in the full per fection of their freshness, all the breezes the Adriatic on one side, and tlie Umbri an forests on the other, can send you. No inducement, then, to venture into the plain, especially after a sixth or seventh fever from your Roman malaria. ' The heats abated, and we set out. To San Leo isbULa short journey, though to an artist a most agreeable one. At 'that time of the year, too, there are so many things, and so much in all things, to ; see. The castle itself, intertor and exte ! rior, is very much like other castles— gloomy, clumsy, vast, solitary ; sounding ! corridors—impregnable walls—doors knot ! ted and gnarled with iron—windows let ! ting in the light merely <o show the dark- BRUNSWXCE, GEORGIA, THURSDAY* HORNING, JULY 20, 1837- ness and the misery—a vast array of strength against a few weak men. Now and then prisoners have been sent here irom Bologna ; but, to give the San Padre j and his Morea subjects their due, it is gen erally empty enough. There was one prisoner, however, who had been for many years at San Leo, and is there still, bun ded in the adjoining chapel. He drew a- I way the attention from all the other pris oners r I only saw him twice ; but it was enough, 1 believe, for us both. Os him ! is my present history. . ' The governor had shown ns all the ! cells (wo had a “permesso” from the’del j egato) with the exception of one, which he had forgotten or concealed, when on | turning up the chief staircase, in our way to upper day, I heard, or thought I liftaid in strong but shattered voice to my left, | the chauntof a “De Profimdis.” “Whom I are they burying,” I exclaimed, “at this | hour of day ? You do not wait in the i fortress, I perceive, for night. No vvon jder.” | “Pardon, Signor,” returned my guide: j “we are somewhat more courteous, both to the dead and to the living. You hear one of the prisoners.” “Celebrating his obsequies, like Charles the Fifth, beforehand. Is he afraid that you will defraud him ? I admire his fore sight. Have we yet seen him ? “No, Signor,” “And why not ? lie appears a cava lier of a most especial taste, qnd quite de serving of a visit.” “It is not possible.” “The ‘permesso.’ ” “Doubtless, Signor, the ‘perlnesso’ w ill carry you anywhere ; but he neither likes to see strangers, nor strangers to see him. The man is old now, and the more test he has for body and soul the better, 1 take it, and am some judge in these mat ters, sos both. He has been dying all this winter, and cannot live through the next. A heavy account like his is not easily set tled. We had better go on.” The “De ProfuAdis ”tvas now resumed, with some harsh touches in it searched my very soul. It came up from the very cell over which we were walking, and, as we advanced, was more and more thickened and stifled by the increasing solidity of the arch. “ In pare'." said uiy guide. “Amen!” T replied mechanically, and fell some minutes into silence. “But if you will see him,” continued ho, interpreting my abstraction, “I think it may be done. You are a friend of the Signor Delegato, and 1 am here ‘percom piacergli.’ ” With that we turned through an iron grating, and descended some twenty or thirty winding steps, by frequent usage worn into one, and stood before the dun geon from which the voice had come. “Have you the courage to enter Sig nor ?” “Certainly,” I replied. “Unlock the door.” “But it is uot at all times he bears to be troubled. Let us first listen.” “Is he not your prisonor,” I continued, “and you his keeper “Why, certainly.” “But the mind perhaps, is gone. Is it so ?” “Not exactly that; but guijt, Signor, is a heavy load, even after twenty -years of suffering and penitence. Stay near this pilonc: I will enter first.” I followed the direction, and remained near the pilonc, watching the movements of my guide. He turned the lock of the cell, and let down quietly the heavy oak en bolts, not wishing too suddenly to break upon its inmate. It was now half open. 1 beheld a miserable sight : there was little light ; the only window high up, was small and heavily grated, and looked out upon the dry moat, and was nearly choked with briars and hr am hies, and tall, sweeping hemlocks ; but by the green glaring sort of twilight it throw up on the floor of the dungeon, I soon saw enough. For a short time all was silent: I doubted whether there was a prisoner. , Something-mow began to move along the stone pavement, in the far-off end of the j coll, —not a man, surely, for it crawled on all-fours; and yet nothing but man could find entrance here. Wbo vexes, at this hour, the dead and the buried, and the judged, and the con demned ?—who hath a right but God, and God’s own angels ?” exclaimed a hollow human voice, as if it came out of the earth. “Is it not written—‘l have given hij angels charge over thee V Shall the worm man presume to dispute vengeance with God and God’s angels !” A pause ensued : it was brief. “Have I not stri ven for thee ? Ten, aye twenty have been said to-night. Art thou never to have rest? The chains drop, like flax in fire, from thousands of other souls; and thou art there—for ever there.’ Is it never, never to have an end ! Oh, God ! thou art a jealous God! —in all thy ways strong and fearful 1” In the speaking, he suddenly raised Aiimeelf up. -I saw a human head : tha “HEAR ME FOR MY CAUSE.” light from the window came directly upon it. The figure was for an instant visible; it was soon covered up again, sucli as you sec in the portrait. I cannot describe it. The face was that of a man past sev enty —age and utter misery had done their worst upon it; the scars of a long internal combat were everywhere trenched and rugged. A white heard went in stiff flakes down to his middle—the head was na ked—totally bald. Yet the eye, in the midst of all these wrecks, was strong with life* and soul ; it had an untamed bird-of-prey kind of fire within, which years and suffering had not been in the least able to put down. When lie look ed up, it was,t(x threaten or command; but all this was soon over, am! he sank [down again, and went moping away in penance anil despair. “Leave me! leave the outcast, the accursed—thou art not needed; the worm stings which shall uev-i er die, and the vulture feeds and is always hungry—and the heart grows and shall | grow, for ever and ever, for their food. I have wrestled to extort a blessing ; Israel struggled with the angel of God and pre vailed—l wrestle still.” With these words he clasped a tall brazen crucifix, which I could now discover had been planted for him in the extremity of the dungeon, and lay at length upon the floor groaning out horrid prayers, and with his hands clenched the cross, as if devils were dragging him from it. “Hasthe sentence been quite read,” lie exclaimed,.“quite, quite written, and pro nounced, and published, through hell ! lfave Michael and the other chastisers heard it ? Has Chri st sworn it? Is there i no repeal—no respite—no reprieve ? The had thief sits with him in Paradise, but where is Iscariot ? there is no mercy lor Iscariot.—The blood falls thick from his wounds, hut not on my head; Oh God ! on all heads but on iiis and on mine!” And then began again the same dreadful chaunt ol the “De Profimdis,” mixed with moans, and imprecations, ami prayers, and blasphemies so harrowing and appalling, tliatl supplicated the guide with my hands on my ears in haste to retire. I could not for some time speak : the guide charitably left me to myself, till we canje into the open air. “All, Signer ! to pai'lon, hut God is good. There is hope for all but the sinner against the Holy Ghost !” “Deeply hath he repented,” said I, “sore and sharply been scourged,—no matter what hath been his crime. It is always so ?” “Even so,” continued my informant. “I was standing at this very gate that e veniug—the last day, of the octave of Corpus-Christi, about fifteen years ago,— a fair and quiet evening like this, —when he arrived at the hour of Ave Maria, at our hold. I never saw a finer form of man, though no longer young,—nor a firmer tread, nor, ghastly pale as lie was, a prouder look, than wfien he came down amongst us, between the two Pope’s guards, double-manacled, without a word. They left him at the door of that prison —he bpwed, and entered, and never quitted it inore ! He never complains —he cats, drinks, and sleeps, as if some other being did it for him, with whom his mind, has no sort of communion. It is all with himself that he is at war-a-with voices in Ks own heart that lie talks— with beings the bad only see that he strives! The crucifix you saw is his stay He clings to it sometimes, like adrotVning man, and laughs when he has got hold of it, and turns back scoffing at the fieuds whom he has foiled. But this is over in an instant, and then he falls away grovelling and gro ping through the darkness, as before. Beard, hair, nor nails has tie ever cut ; nor will he stand up erect, or walk like, other men. ‘No, no,’ said he, when I importuned him, ‘I have lost all that—l am no longer that—l am a man-beast— a wild beast—a beast of the forest and tftedeu! I must not be proud?” And with that he falls flat, and seems as he yvOTild enter and hide him into the very earth. The voice, too, when lie first ap peared in the fortress, was clear ; damps and misery have made it what it is. Ah, Signor ! it is a dismal thing to hear it half cry, half moan, on* the winter’s nights, when I am often the only walker in these galleries, and can scarcely dis tinguish between it and the swinging and whistling of the dreary pines overhead. The agonies of those nights are uot for human ears. Good God ! have mercy on his soul.” “This fortress,” said I, “is a prison for political offences only. What political crime can that be which thus whips his conscience so unremittingly ? There are prisoners at San Angelo, at Ainona, many more in Dalmatia, in the Austrian and Hungarian fortresses ; yet we have never heard of any thing like this. Has he stab bed his commanding given up his trust in treason ?” “Worse 1” “What worse can there be !” “Zeconi ie a priest.” ► “What then ?” “It was that which brought him to San Leo : which makes this dungeon, and could make a palace, a hell.” “He has then married, broken his vows, ! or written a book ?” “No, Signor; Ijis vows are inviolate, and he has never offended against faith, lie is orthodox, he has nothing to recant, lie is here, by letters from the Secretary of State—he is here for crime ” “Great"?” “Heinous ! —hut he has done penance for fourteen years. Who of us can say as much ?” “True. Is it known ?” “No, Signor ! the crime was secret— the punishment is secret. It is right the Santo Padre, as a good shepherd, should guard his flock from all scandal. Zaconi :< a priest. To you, however, such things are without danger. You have also a ‘permesso.’ Let us remove to the seat yonder, where we shall be out of the sun, and secure from interruption, and you shall hear a miserable story.” We changed our seat, and in a few mo ments heJjegan. “One evening in November, after chap el was over, a stranger in the dress of an officer, but wrapt up in his Roman tabar ro, appeared fit the portone of the Con vent of San Francesco, and demanded to speak with the Padre Guardiano. He was of a tall, soldierly appearance, bold and somewhat overbearing in his tone, contracted mutually enough in a camp, but of a dignified bearing; and, as anyone who looked on his broad forehead and clear eye would know, of right noble blood. In a few moments the Guardiano saw him, and the next morning the Signor Cavalier was seen kneeling a novice, with the oth er novices, in "the choir. “These changes are common in our convents, but little noticed. God works many a miracle of which we take no count. Even in these evil days he is not forget ful of his Church. No questions were asked of the motives of this new conver sion, had they been, would an answer have been vouchsafed. It was only known that Don Antonio had been distin guished by an unfortunate duel arising out of an affair, some said of gallantry— others, of national punctilio : that, in the wars against the French, ne had been foremast amongst the Guerillas of the Monte Camino, and had now appeared in the convent either to reform Ins lift*, and to atone for worldly vanities and trans gressions, or, as others contended, to con tinue them, and to make Ara Cudi a lad der to some of the ricli suburban bish opricks, if not to the cardinal-vicariate, or secretaryship of state itself. “These surfniscs, however, soon died. Asa novice, little was known of him. You, Signor, know well what the Ara Cudi is;—it is a world ! The novice in a few years passed his probation, and be came the Padre Zaconi. ThePudraZa coni wts known in Rome as a sharp theo logian, and as. keen at his syllogism as he once was at his sword : but he hardly left the convent, and shunned even its Thesis, days, when all Rome was there, and the Pope himself condescended to honour them with his presence. He soon be came master of the novices, and a strict master he was. He was a.true reforma tore, and,had he lived in more fervent times he would have founded an order himself. Many is the saint.now- who would have saved a sinner but for the Padre Zacoqi. The noviziato had been gieatly relaxed under the preceeding padre maestro, w ho was an old man, and too contemplative for such active duty. The Padre Zaconi had not been in office three months, when there was an entire change. The novices of Ara Cotli were cited as examples in every other convent in The san to padre heard of it with delight, and of ten came to visit them in villrgiaturt, and to speak on his methods with the Padre Zaconi. Nor was the padre !t preacher of doctrines he did not practice. He was a canonized saint. The hard duties of. the Ara Cadi were not enough for him; he talked of leaving it for a stricter ob servance. He spent great part of the night in his cell in prayer : those who slept near heard the discipline : the fasts of others were feasts to him. He ate meat but once a week, and oh festivals, and then by strict order from his superior— ‘sub vinculo ohedientiat.’ Yet was he not morose nor harsh ; he spoke seldom, it is true, and briefly—but never 'austerely. If he commanded, he gave the example, too. No one could plead excuse when he saw the maestro in the road before him. He was humble, too, or seemed so —never refused an act of self-denial ; was kind, especially to the lay-brothers ; and, if he hud friends, they were of the lowest rank in the convent. Honours he held cheap. The second year of his the ology, he came froni the disputations with such applause that his Holiness sent to the padre guardiano to testify his satisfac tion, and to express the hope that ere long he should see him as the padre profes sor*. A vacancy occurred not long after, J. W. FROST, EDITOR. NUMBER 7.': I by the promotion of the then professor to 1 the bishopric of Forli, but the maestro r*- I fused it. So it was with every other offer, ‘lie had found,’ he said, ‘with some diffi culty, his way into port, and it would be sad indeed if he should now be wrecked in smooth water.’ V> “Yet somehow or other he was not lilt ed. With all his strictness, it is true, the novices were fond of him ; but the padri, though t’uey all praised him, did no more. It is certain lie stood aloof from them also; but many said it was because he knew them wcH. It is nqt for us, Sig nor, to judge, but San Francesco himsaf had often to deal with men who were qgt of his spirit. TheSeraphical £>rder hq| had, I think, three reformers, and, if re port says true, Wiough Heaven forfend I should believe aught to the disparagement of God’s holy servants, at that tkne Jlra Cadi stood in much need of a fourth.. Perhaps they felt it, and saw in the Padre Zaconi one who, if he set* about it, woild cut and carve darcro. They may have dreaded or envied him ; but, as I said, all praised him, but no more. “So the years passed, every year ad ding to his reputation, when it fell out that the general of the order, who first returned from his visitation, —wheth- er with the heat, or the fatigue, or dis pleasure, at the state of sdme of the vents, —took to his bed the morning after his arrival, and never left it more. Dur ing his illness the zeal of the Padre Za coni knew no bounds. Nothinajigffi re move him from his bedside. , there was not a better confor,tatorff/fainy confraternity at Rome than estro. He was always sure to be The first sent for, and the first also to go in every epidemic, and to the poor, in prefeajnceto the rich. The Reverend Generale died after a few days’ illness. It was he tpd the padre guardiano who closed his eyes. “The obsequies were celebrated with due pomp in Ara Cieli, and many of the older of the community wept over his grave. The Padre Zaconi showed no feeling one way or the other; but dbring the time that the body was espied near the high altar, he watched constantly and silently by its side. “The funelal was now over, the ques tion was, who should replace the deceased; l , You know, Signor, that the blessed-army of San Francesco extends over the whole earth; ‘ln totum orbem terrarum evirit sonus eorum.’ It must be no ordinary hand or head which can rule so many, and rule all well. All Romo was on tip toe. The other orders shared the ferment of the convent; day and night new arri vals from the provinces, rgessages to the gate, surmises, conjectures reports ; in fact, had the conclave itself been assem bled, there could not have been Qjofe ex* citoment. The merits of the prominent men were daily discussed. Somf looked to Naples, others to Spain ; the majority wished to confine it to ths walls. The public favor after a time seemed to set tle on three or four. Fra Agostino, Fra Antonio, and, above all, the venerqfefler. Padre Bernardro, divided the suffrages. The Padre Zaconi was of course men tioned ; hut some doubted his age, otheTs the good will of his bretheren. The Fra Agostino had been a wealthy proprietor in the Patrimonio, had given no small assis tance in founding the new convent of h!an ta Ghiara, at Otricoii; he was homver but a poor theologian, having beguft some what late; he held the situation, too,of procurator at the time, hut would not have answered for any thing higher : it was well known his Holiness would never have ap proved of him. Fra Antonio failed in the other extreme; he knew nqthing out of his class-room. Four or five folios, over which the students used to sleep, were the monuments of his fame out of Ara Cadi he has still more considered; he was a light of the order. The Barnardowas of a high family,had ear ly taken the habit, passed through most, of the offices, and for sanctity of life was superior even to Zaconi. I wish you * could have seen his mass on the winter"* mornings *it was crowded. He was at this time about seventy, but still no nov ice was more fervent His sermons con verted thousands, yet he was no preacher. Multitudes watchea him on leaving the pulpit to touch the hem of his garment, or catch a blessing from his eye.«ln truth, it was hard to look on his grey hairs and calm countenance without desir ing and resolving to be better.: It was his look and life which did the wonder. “It was now- the end of December, and it was fixed that the election should take place in time to be announced to bis Ho liness the first day of the ensuing ye*r- The‘Te Deum’ had been sung'in Are Cceli, as in the othet churches of the city, in thanksgiving for the blessings of the past year, and, after matins, tbs chapter for the election was declared do* ly * opened. Several of the candid*!** had retired. Fra Antonio, *|t refectOfJ, the night before, had entreated the **!s» munity not to think of. hiss,-bait; to leave him to his belertd th*ol#gy