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clouds. Here the curate, a young boy of
from eleven to twelve years, read aloud the
breviary of the curate, and cast, from time to
time, an envious eye upon a young man of
16 years, robust, tall and nervous, and who
labored actively at the cultivation of a little
garden, attached to the humble dwelling of
the curate. Margarita, become blind, listened
attentively.
At this moment, the noise of a carriage
was heard, and the little boy uttered a cry of
joy
“Oh! the fine carriage! the fine car
riage !”
In fact, a superb carriage had come from
Seville. It stopped before the house of the
cerate. A domestic, richly clad, approached
the old man, and asked of him a glass of wa
ter for his master.
“ Carlos,” said the curate to the younger
of the boys, “give a glass of water to this
gentleman, and add to it a glass of wine, if it
pleases him to accept of it. Go, then, quick
ly.”
The gentleman descended from his carriage.
He was a man of about fifty years.
“Are these boys your nephews?” asked
he of the curate.
“ They are better ; they are my children—
my children of adoption.”
1 How is that ?”
“I shall relate to you, for I have nothing
to refuse a great lord like you; and, since 1
am poor and old, and inexperienced in the
world, I have need of good counsel to know
in what manner to insure the interests of
these two young boys.”
And he related to him the history of the
children.
“ Now, what do you advise me to do with
them ?” demanded he, after having terminated
the recital.
“Ensigns in the Royal Guards; and, in or
der that they may have the means of main
taining themselves suitably, it will be neces
sary to assign to them an allowance of four
thousand ducats.
“ I ask your counsel, and not your pleasan
tries, Signor.”
“ And then it will be necessary to re-build
your church, and beside the church we shall
put a pretty parsonage. A handsome grating
of iron shall enclose it all. Hold ! I have the
plan in my pocket. Does it please you ?
And we shall give to the church, when fin
ished, the name of the Church of the glass of
water.”
“What signifies? What do you say?
What vague remembrances! These fea
tures !—this voice !”
“It signifies that I am Don Jose della Ri
tieira, and that I was, 12 years ago, the bri
gand Jose. I have escaped from prison.
Times have changed; and from the chief of
robbers, they have made me the chief of a
party. You have been my host, and you
have been a father to my children. Let them
come and embrace me ; let them come,” ad
ded he, extending his arms to the young men,
who immediately threw themselves into the
arms of their father.
And when he had finished embracing them,
lovingly, affectionately, and at different times
with tears, with confused words, and with
broken exclamations, he extended his hand
to the aged curate.
“ Ah, well'. Do you not accept the church
of the glass of water, my father?”
The curate turned to Margarita, and, with
much emotion, he said:
“ Whosoever shall give to drink unto one
of these little ones a cup of cold water, only
in the name of a disciple, verily, I say unto
you, he shall in no w T ise lose his reward.”
“ Amen !” said the old woman, who then
shed tears of joy at the happiness of her
master, and of his adopted children, and who
subsequently shed tears of grief at parting
with them.
A year afterwards, Don Jose della Ribeira
§®®lFEl &IB El IL HIT S B &&Y ©& $ & THF *
and his two sons were present at the benedic
tion of the Church of San Pietro of the Glass
of Water, one of the prettiest churches in the
environs of Seville.
©litnpses of Books.
DEATH OF CHARLES THE SECOND.
[From the New History of England, by Thomas
Babington Macauley.]
The death of King Charles the Second took
the nation by surprise. His frame was natu
rally strong, and did not appear to have suf
fered from excess. He had always been
mindful of his health, even in his pleasures;
and his habits were such as to promise a
long life and a robust old age. Indolent as
he was on all occasions which required ten
sion of the mind, he was active and perse
vering in bodily exercise. He had, when
young, been renowned as a tennis player,
and was, even in the decline of life, an inde
fatigable walker. His ordinary pace was
such, that those who were admitted to the
honor of his society, found it difficult to keep
up with him. He rose early, and generally
passed three or four hours a day in the open
air. He might be seen, before the dew was
off the grass, in St. James’ Park, striding
among the trees, playing with his spaniels,
and flinging corn to his ducks; and these
exhibitions endeared him to the common peo
ple, who always love to see the great un
bend.
At length, towards the close of the year
1684, he was prevented, by a slight attack of
what was supposed to be gout, from rambling
as usual. He now spent his mornings in his
laboratory, where he amused himself with
experiments on the properties of mercury. —
His temper seemed to have suffered from con
finement. He had no apparent cause for dis
quiet. His kingdom was tranquil; he was
not in pressing want of money; his power
was greater than it had ever been; the party
which had long thwarted him had been beat
en down; but the cheerfulness which had
supported him against adverse fortune, had
vanished in this season of prosperity.
A trifle now sufficed to depress those elas
tic spirits which had borne up against defeat,
exile, and penury. His irritation frequently
showed itself by looks and words, such as
could hardly have been expected from a man
so eminently distinguished by good humor
and good breeding. It was not supposed,
however, that his constitution was seriously
impaired.
His palace had seldom presented a gayer
or a more scandalous appearance, than on
the evening of Sunday, the Ist of February,
1685. Some grave persons, who had gone
thither, after the fashion of that age, to pay
their duty to their sovereign, and who had
expected that on such a day his court would
wear a decent aspect, Avere struck with as
tonishment and horror. The great gallery of
Whitehall, an admirable relic of the magnifi
cence of the Tudors, was crowded with rev
ellers and gamblers. The King sat there
chatting and toying with three women, whose
charms were the boast, and whose vices were
the disgraces, of three nations. Barbara Pal
mer, Duchess of Cleveland, was there, no
longer young, but still retaining some traces
of that superb and voluptuous loveliness
which, twenty years before, overcame the
hearts of all men. There, too, was the
Duchess of Portsmouth, whose soft and in
fantine features were lighted up with the vi
vacity of Franee. Hortensia Mancini, Duch
ess of Mazarin, and niece of the great Cardi
nal, completed the group. She had been ear
ly removed from her native Italy to the court
where her uncle was supreme. His poAver
and her own attractions had drawn a crowd
of illustrious suitors round her. Charles him
self, during his exile, had sought her hand in
vain. No gift of nature or of fortune seemed
to be wanting to her. Her face was beauti
ful with the rich beauty of the south, her
understanding quick, her manners graceful,
her rank exalted, her possessions immense ;
but her ungovernable passions had turned all
these blessings into curses. She had found
the misery of an ill-assorted marriage intole
rable, had fled from her husband, had aban
doned her vast wealth, and, after having as
tonished Rome and Piedmont by her adven
tures, had fixed her abode in England. Her
house was the favorite resort of men of wit
and pleasure, who, for the sake of her smiles
and her table, endured her frequent fits of in
solence and ill-humor. Rochester and Go
dolphin sometimes forgot the cares of State
in her company. Barillon and st. Evremond
found, in her drawing-room, consolation for
their long banishment from Paris. The
learning of Yossius, the wit of Waller, were
daily employed to flatter and amuse her. But
her diseased mind required stronger stimu
lants, and sought them in gallantly, in bas
set, and in usquebaugh. While Charles flirt
ed with his three sultanas, Hortensia’s French
page, a handsome boy, whose vocal perform
ances were the delight of Whitehall, and
were rewarded by numerous presents of rich
clothes, ponies, and guineas, warbled some
amorous verses. A party of twenty courtiers
was seated at cards, round a large table, on
which gold was heaped in mountains. Even
then, the King had complained that he did
not feel quite well. He had no appetite for
his supper ; his rest that night was broken ;
but on the following morning he rose as usual,
early.
To that morning, the contending factions in
this country had, during some days, looked
forward with anxiety. The struggle betAveen
Halifax and Rochester seemed to be approach
ing a decisive crisis. Halifax, not content
with having already driven his rival from the
board of treasury, had undertaken to prove
him guilty of such dishonesty or neglect in
the conduct of the finances, as ought to be
punished by dismission from the public ser
vice. It was even whispered that the lord
president would probably be sent to the tow
er before night. The King had promised to
inquire into the matter. The second of Feb
ruary had been fixed for the investigation;
and several officers of the revenue had been
ordered to attend with their books on that
day. But a great turn of fortune was at
hand.
Scarcely had Charles risen from his bed,
when his attendants perceived that his utter
ance was indistinct, and that his thoughts
seemed to be wandering. Several men of
rank had, as usual, assembled to see their
sovereign shaved and dressed. He made an
effort to converse with them in his usual gay
style; hut his ghastly look surprised and
alarmed them. Soon his face grew black;
his eyes turned in his head; he uttered a cry,
staggered, and fell into the arms of Thomas
Lord Bruce, eldest son of the Earl of Ailes
bury. A physician who had charge of the
royal retorts and crucibles, happened to be
present. He had no lancet; but he opened
a vein with a penknife. The blood flowed
freely ; but the King was still insensible.
He was laid on his bed, where, during a
short time, the Duchess of Portsmouth hung
over him with the familiarity of a wife. But
the alarm had been given. The Queen and
the Duchess of York were hastening to the
room. The favorite concubine was forced to
retire to her own apartments. Those apart
ments had been thrice pulled down and thrice
rebuilt by her lover, to gratify her caprice.—
The very furniture of the chimney was massy
silver. Several fine paintings, which proper
ly belonged to the Queen, had been transfer
red to the dwelling of the mistress. The
side-boards were piled with richly-wrought
plate. In the niches stood cabinets, the mas
ter-pieces of Japanese art. On the hangings,
fresh from the looms of Paris, Avere depicted,
in tints which no English tapestry could ri
val—birds of gorgeous plumage, landscapes,
hunting matches, the lordly terrace of St.
Germain’s, the statues and fountains of Ver
sailles. In the midst of this splendor, pur
chased by guilt and shame, the unhappy wo
man gave herself up to an agony of grief,
which, to do her justice, Avas not wholly
selfish.
And iioav the gates of Whitehall, which
ordinarily stood open to all comers, were
closed; but persons whose faces Avere known,
were still permitted to enter. The ante
chambers and galleries Avere soon filled to
overfloAving; and even the sick room Avas
croAvded with peers, privy councillors, and
foreign ministers. All the medical men of
note in London were summoned. So high
did political animosities run, that the presence
of some whig physicians Avas regarded as an
extraordinary circumstance. One Roman
Catholic, whose skill was then Avidely re
nowned, Dr. Thomas Short, was in attend
ance. Several of the prescriptions have been
preserved, One of them is signed by four
teen doctors. The patient Avas bled largely.
Hot iron Avas applied to his head. A loath
some volatile salt, extracted from human
skulls, Avas forced into his mouth. He re
covered his senses, hut he Avas evidently in a
situation of extreme danger.
The Queen was, for a time, assiduous in
her attendance. The Duke of York scarcely
left his brother's bedside. The primate and
four other bishops Avere then in London.—
They remained at Whitehall all day. and
took it by turns to sit up all night in the
King’s room. The neAvs of his illness filled
the capital Avith sorrow and dismay. For his
easy temper and affable manners had won the
affection of a large part of the nation; and
those Avho most disliked him, preferred his
unprincipled levity to the stern and earnest
bigotry of his brother.
On the morning of Thursday, the fifth of
February, the London Gazette announced
that His Majesty was going on well, and was
thought by the physicians to be out of dan
ger. The bells of all the churches rang mer*
rily; and preparations for bonfires were made
in the streets. But in the evening it Was
known that a relapse had taken place, and
that the medical attendants had given up a ;j
hope. The public mind was greatly disturb
ed ; but there w r as no disposition to tumult
The Duke of York, who had already taken
on himself to give orders, ascertained that
the city was perfectly quiet, and that he
might, without difficulty, be proclaimed as
soon as his brother should expire.
The King Avas in great pain, and complain
ed that he felt as if a fire was burning within
him. Yet he bore up against his sufferings
with a fortitude which did not seem to belong
to his soft and luxurious nature. The sight
of his misery affected his Avife so much, that
she fainted, and was carried senseless to her
chamber. The prelates who were in Avait
ing, had from the first exhorted him to pre
pare for his end. They iioav thought it their
duty to address him in a still more urgent
manner. William Sancroff, Archbishop of
Canterbury, an honest and pious, though nar
row-minded man, used great freedom. “It is
time,” he said, “to speak out; for, sir, you
are about to appear before a Judge who is no
respecter of persons.” The King answered
not a word.
Thomas Kent, bishop of Bath and Wells,
then tried his poAvers of persuasion. He was
a man of parts and learning, of quick sensi
bility, and stainless virtue. His elaborate
Avorks have long been forgotten; but his
morning and evening hymns are still repeat
ed daily in thousands of dwellings. Though,
like most of his order, zealous for monarchy,
he Avas no sycophant. Before he became a
bishop, he had maintained the honor of his
gown by refusing, when the court was at
Winchester, to let Eleanor GAvyn lodge in
the house Avhich he occupied there as a pre
bendary. The King had sense enough to
respect so manly a spirit. Os all the prelates
he liked Kent the best. It was to no pur
pose, however, that the good bishop now put
forth all his eloquence. His solemn and pa
thetic exhortation awed and melted the by
standers to such a degree, that some among
them believed him to be filled Avith the same
spirit which, in the old time, had, by the
mouths of Nathan and Elias, called sinful
princes to repentance. Charles, hoAvever,
Avas unmoved. He made no objection, in
deed, Avhen the service for the Visitation of
the Sick AA r as read. In reply to the pressing
questions of the divines, he said that he was
sorry for what he had done amiss; and he
suffered the absolution to be pronounced over
him, according to the forms of the Church of
England ; but Avhen he was urged to declare
that he died in the communion of that church,
he seemed not to hear what Avas said; and
nothing conld induce him to take the Eucha
rist from the hands of the bishops. A table
with bread and wine Avas brought to his bed
side, but in vain. Sometimes he said that
there was no hurry, and sometimes that he
Avas too weak.
Many attributed this apathy to contempt
for divine things, and many to the stupor
Avhich often precedes death. But there Avere
in the palace a feAv persons Avho kneAV bet
ter. Charles had never been a sincere mem
ber of the established church. His mind had
lone; oscillated between Hobbism and Popery.
When his health was good, and his spirits
high, he was a scoffer. In his feA\ T serious
moments he was a Roman Catholic. The
Duke of York was aAA’are of this, but Avas
entirely occupied with the care of his own in
terests. He had ordered the out-ports to be
closed. He had posted detachments of the
guards in different parts of the city. He had
also procured the feeble signature of the dy
ing King to an instrument by Avhich some
duties, granted only till the demise of the
crown, Avere let to farm for a term of three
years. These tilings occupied the attention
of James to such a degree, that, though on
ordinary occasions he Avas indiscreetly and
unseasonably eager to bring over proselyte?
to his church, he never reflected that his
brother Avas in danger of dying without the
last sacraments. This neglect was the more
extraordinary, because the Duchess of Vork
had, at the request of the Queen, suggested,
on the moruing on Avhich the King was taken
ill, the propriety of procuring spiritual assist
ance. For such assistance, Charles Avas at
last indebted to an agency very different from
that of his pious wife and sister-in-law, A
life of frivolity and vice had not extinguish
ed in the Duchess of Portsmouth all senti
ments of religion, or all that kindness which
is the glory of her sex. The French ambas
sador, Barillon, who had come to the palace
to inquire after the King, paid her a visit.