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heart wonld burst. She kissed Harry on his
forehead and fl^d to her room.
"Somewhat later in the evening, Zollwitz ask
ed the man-servant whether Mrs. D imer was in
the drawing-room. He was told that she was,
and just entered the room as Mrs. Darner rose
from the piano.
*• I am so glad to see yon, Mr. Z fllwitz. Have
you heard anything more abont the inquest on
that poor French girl?”
“Positively nothing has been ascertained
about that poor young lady; not a scrap of pa
per, or a name about her. She had evidently
put aside all means of recognition on purpose;
but I have given your name at Scotland-yard in
case anything is found out. De*r madam, I
shall not be here myself; I am going away in the
morning. I have brought you the essay you
asked ol' me, and I place it in your hands. May
I say something else?” Z illwitz took both Mrs.
Darner’s hands; he pressed them
them respectfully. “My dear Mrs. Darner,-
thanks for your great kindness to me. I have
left an explanatory letter to Mr. Darner. He
gave me a cheque a week ago, a generous cheque.
Pray do not tell H irry rill I am gone, for him I
have also left a letter. And to your charge I
commit somebody else; oh, keep Ethel for me 1”
again he hastily kissed those gentle soft hands
and went quickly.
Mrs. Darner stood still in the middle of the
room. The great confidence that young man
placed in her woman’s nature for a moment
overwhelmed her. The little selfish pleasure in
b > evidently having enjoyed the ardent admira
tion of a young man of such superior culture
died out spontaneously, died of itself; her right-
minded instinct rose to the occasion at once, and
his leave taking left nothing in her heart but the
regret at losing her child's valuable friend. Har
ry entered, complaining loudly of Ethel’s un
graciousness; and Mrs. Darner wound her arms
round her boy, telling him to come with her in
to the Square-garden for an hour.
Aurora was sending her refreshing breath over
the e irth’s eastern hemisphere, before she daint
ily lifted the veil of night with her roseate fin
ger, wafting light z°phyr-clouds over London’s
stifled atmosphere, just as the House of Com
mons broke up near three o'clock the next morn
ing in tla month of May. Members hurried
out pele mele; cabs were called for; reporters rush
ed forth, and policemen hustled busily about.
A towering figure stalks majestically through
the throng.
“ There goes Darner,” said Tenterton to How-
den" there is no talking to him now; his feath
ers are ruffled.”
“You will see,” replied Howden, “he’ll never
stand it. There will be a place vacant in the
Cabinet soon.”
“Nonsense;I should be sorry.”
“ Gentlemen let me pass quickly,” cried a ju
nior lord. “The lion is coming and must be
avoided. There he goes, the impersonation of
British pluck. Who would have dared to say
what he did? It was enough to have raised the
shade of old Chatham, the unscrupulous, himself.
I am glad I am not going that man's way to-night,
or rather this morning. Birdcage Walk always
was a lonely place.”
The junior lord, (not a very young man eith
er) skipped off, and Darner, made room for on
every side, went his way. The lion was aroused;
there was no mistake about it; and when he had
got into the Walk, from George street, the lion
roared out in a true British grumble.
The Bight Hon. Mr. Darner had got to his jour
ney’s end, and opened his door with a latch key;
no sitting up in his house. “ Servants should
be treated like Christians, not like Cabinet Min
isters,” was his maxim. He threw himself on the
couch in his study; “would’nt go to bed then;
felt done up altogether."
Hours were early and punctual in Eaton Square.
Mrs. Dsmer occupied the breakfast room first:
asked in astonishment what had become of Mr.
Darner, and was told that he had j ust gone to
his dressing-room, having lain for only a few
hours on the study sofa. She became anxious.
At that moment Ethel entered, radiant in a blue
morning dress, the softest blush mantling her
cheeks. She went up to Mrs. Darner for the
usual morning salutation, aqd laid her head on
her aunt’s shoulder in a winning way.
“Trust me, Ethel,” whispered Mrs. Damer;
“I know something from Zollwitz. Did he ask
you to remember him?”
“ He did, and I said yes.
“Dear Ethel, let this feeling not go further
yet, but hope and trust.” Ethel in answer kiss
ed her aunt fervently.
In came boisterous Harry and Mr. Damer,
looking tired, but fresh as a Britisher from his
cold bath. He vouched no explanation, nor did
he notice Zollwitz’ absence. After breakfast pa
pers were taken up. Mrs. Damer had not yet
spoken to her lord.
“ I was thrown out last night at second read
ing, Jane”
“Oh. Robert, lam so sorry;and you had set
your heart on that measure.”
“Don’t pity me, for Heavens sake, Jane; they
did not even venture to do that last night; they
■were afraid. Don't read the leader in the Times;
J know there must he a leader. I believe the
rascals knew I should be thrown out—they guess
ed it —if they pity me I call them out, editor, sub
editor and all 1"
“ May I read your speech, Robert?”
“That you may, my dear, and I shall enjoy
to listen to my own words from your lips.”
“ What was the matter ? Mr. Damer had not
paid his wife a compliment tor a long time. Mrs.
Damer read. She warmed to the subject of her
husband's broad English sentences; his vast
brain-capability of taking in the great sides of a
question; his far-seeing arguments for its feasi
bility : but before she had ended, she felt that
the measures would not be carried. She had
forgotten everything, till she stopped breathless
ly, and a large cool hand was laid on hers.
“Jane,” said Mr. Damer “you understand me;
why the woman has got more sense than the na
tion.”
Mr. Damer did not yet kiss his wife, but he
walked to the window. An old German saying
then came home to him: “And when thy mind
is sad, then speak some words to those thou lov-
est, and the living word will alone bring light
into thy soul.”
The living word to one he loved, after all sin
cerely, had brought light into Mr. Darner's
soul.
“ Harry, tell the Secretary, with my compli
ments, that I shall not read a single letter this
morning; I am going out.”
Every one stared; but Mr. Damer was gone as
soon as said. He walked off at a round pace, and
calling a cab, told the man to drive to one of the
largest horticulturalists beyond the western sub
urbs. Arrived there, Mr. Damer asked for the
proprietor and was introduced to a young man.
He seemed surprised.
“ I knew your father, sir, and he knew me. I
want a bouquet, but I have a peculiar idea about
buying a bouquet. I must cut it myself, from
any plants I choose, and how I like. I pay any
price you ask. Your father knew all about it; is
he dead?”
“ Yes sir, he has been dead these three
and kissed*.^prejjpbtanmy
'amer,'maRy ‘ Shall I nS-t
• “ Dear me, three years I have bought no bou
quet; he was a very worthy and olever man. I
hope we shall understand each other as well.”
“ But sir, here are plants of whioh I do not
wish to cut the blosso ns off as yet, and others
von wonld not know how to handle."
“Never mind; then I’ll pay for the whole
plants, and you may keep them all the same. ”
, “But sir, that will be a very expensive process
or a bouquet.”
That is my affair. Do not be afraid. I shall
not grumble at anything. Your father knew all
about it. Give me the scissors.”
Mr. Damer began to cut, cut The tears en
tered the young man’s eyes, while he lifted up
his hands in dismay behind the Cabinet Minis
ter’s back. The work was done.
“ Why, sir, said the horticulturalist, “ twenty
pounds would not repay that damage.”
“Very well, you shall have twenty-five; but I
have got no money with me. Come along in the
oab, and I’ll give you a cheque at home. My
name is Damer.”
“ Now I know,” replied the young man with a
broad smile. “ I remember my father once reck
oning up your bouquets; it was a heavy sum. I
should be afraid to mention it.”
“Don’t mind—something like a thousand
pounds, eh ?”
The young man nodded.
“ That is my way. I never gave another
life.”
them up?"
No aboucfuet I give never goes through any
other hands. It comes to me from nature’s pre-
• cions gift, and goes from me to her to whom I
present it.”
Arrived in Eaton square, Mr. Damer first gave
theg;heq«ie,,.and then went into his wife’s bou
doir. , -She was not there, and he went into the
drawing-room and found Harry and Ethel.
“Oh, papa, what a beautiful bouquet! Do
let me look at it.”
“Leave it alone, sir; it is not for you. Where
is your mamma?”
“Formamma? this is a surprise. Why it is
years since you bought one?”
“That’s not your business.”
Mrs. Damer entered the room.
“Jane, my dear, I have got something for
you Will you accept it? and my resgnation shall
this hour go into the hands ofjthe Prime Minis
ter. We’ll go into Snffdk.”
“Hurrah, hnirih! Papa has got disgusted with
the country and nation, and is going to throw
up!”
“ Be quiet, sir.”
Mrs. Damer answered not a word. She took
the precious bouquet and looked up into her
husbands eyes with a long earnest glance that
went to his very soul. He bent down and press
ed one loving kiss on her smooth womanly fore
head.
“But where can Zollwitz be ?” said Harry re
garding his father and mother with fond excite
ment; “ he has not yet been seen.”
A servant entered and brought two letters; it
was young William, Zollwitz favorite; he went
up to Mr. Damer.
“If you please sir, Mr. Zollwitz left this morn
ing at six o’clock, and gave me this letter for
you with his compliments, and said he was sor
ry he could not see you last night. He waited
up all night, but never heard you come in. He
also gave me this letter for Mr. Harry."
“ Mr. Damer turned pale, scowled, and took
the letter. Harry tore his from William’s hand.
“Togo without seeing me; I could kill him,”
gnashed Harry.
When Mr. Damer had read the letter, he turn
ed to bis wife:
“Jane, did you know this?"
“I did, Robert. I saw Mr. Zollwitz last night.”
Ethel had fled from the room.
What a look from the husband’s eyes—an an
gry, suspicious, ugly look!
The wife went to a cabinet in the corner, she
opened it, and from it took a white-paper box;
she placed it before her husband, and said gent
ly, but firmly:
“ Robert, the bouquet you brought this morn
ing is like this one, your first to me; look at the
date. ” *
Mr. Damer took up the box, turned it round,
glanced at the withered bouquet and read the
date of seventeen years ago on a paper slip. Mr.
Damer meditated. Meanwhile Harry had slip
ped by to the secret cabinet, which 'his mother
always kept carefully locked.
“ Oh, papa, come here! the funniest array of
white boxes with labels that you ever saw; I do
believe they are all your bouquets.”
Mr. Damer rose and stood before the cabinet.
He took up each box and read the labels; every
one bore a date. There were the days before
marriage, the wedding-day the honeymoon—the
great days of a married life—the birthdays of
father and mother, the birthdays of the boys,
and the anniversaries of the wedding-day; there
were the 10001. There were no bonquets and no
labels for the last three years. Then Mr. Da
rner’s soul was flooded with one great, vast be
lief in his wife’s loving true nature; and the tall
big man turned round and looked a great look
of Btrong, staunch human love; he opened wide
his arms, and called “Jane;” in those big arms
nestled Jane Harrowby, the beauty of the coun
try, once more.
Harry, tears swelling up into his eyes, turned
round at a slight noise near the door. There
stood aunt Sarah, from Suffolk, having just ar
rived by the early train. Harry pulled his fa
ther's coat sleeve and pointed to the door. Both
husband and wife went up to aunt Sarah and
each took a hand: “Welcome, welcome.”
“Welcome, indeed,” replied she, “it makes
me choke; I might as well have stopped at home
when that’s the case; no use leaving the farm to
make peace, when people have for once been
wise and made it themselves.”
But Harry for a moment forgot the sorrow
about Zollwitz. and hugged aunt Sarah right
loyally.
A card was brought to Mr. Damer. “ What is
this, Jane? Who do you think has come? Pro
fessor Hollman; Zollwitz’s.friend and professor.
That man’s arrival is a blessing. Forgive me,
aunt, I must go down. John, show the gentle-
into my study.”
Mr. Damer descended and met Hollman at his
study door. The German Professor met with a
sturdy English greeting.
“ It gives me the most unfeigned pleasure to
see you in Eagland. I believe you speak Eng
lish. It is like speaking to an old acquaintance,
so much has Mr. Zollwitz told us abont you.”
“ Many thanks for your affable words. And
he is here with you, I believe, my pupil?”
“ He left this morning."
“ Left! and for what destination?”
“No one knows; his plans remained a se
cret.”
“ Good God, sir, you do not say so? It grieves
me excessively to hear it.”
“ Had Mr. Zollwitz an idea that you were in
England ?''
“None, whatever.”
“ Then you cannot blame him; you must be
patient. He has evidently some idea of further
ing his interests elsewhere.”
“ What will he do now? His is a restless
mind.”
“ No, I should say an aspiring one; but rest
assured that whatever information he gives us
shall be communicated to you. Tell, me, how
ever, where you are staying. Will you not take
up your abode with us?”
“ I am astonished at so much kindly warmth
in my reception by an Englishman of your high
standing; it is really undeserved.”
“By no means. Come now, you shall learn
to know us better; move here this very day.”
“I cannot; Hermann's uncle and sister are
with me.”
“.What? Major Zollwitz and Mademoiselle
Mary? My dear sir, wa shall be delighted to see
them all.”
Holmann was strongly affected. He took Mr.
Darner’s hand. “My most sincere thanks, my
dear sir. We have affairs to attend to which
will not enable us to use your hospitality; but
we hope to be friends all the same, my dear sir.
Let me again thank you, and very heartily, for
your reception assures me beyond all doubt that
our boy Hermann, my own dear pupil, has giv
en you no bad idea of us. ”
“Bad idea? Professor Holmann, had you not
come, it was my intention to come to you. I
want to take lessons from you.”
“From me? You, an English Cabinet Minis
ter?”
Yes, I am going into training again. I have
his rates, and was told, “ Her M ije-ity might
trust honest folk, if she didn't the t’other ones.’
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
had too much practice and too little theory, and
I wish to supply the want Here they would
laugh at me; you will not, will you?”
“Above all let us honor the tendency of that
mind that can acknowledge a deficiency, and that
can with such strong determination expand suffi
ciently wish to supply it But in what am I to
be your teacher? Surely not in politics, in ) m ii es north of Venice, lies the quaint old city
A Female Doctor.
To Whom God Gave a Diploma.
BT CHABLOTTE ADAMS.
Under the shadow of the Italian Alps, a few
which English statesmen are so pre-eminent.
“In politics—that is in the politics of thought
I have become aware that in politics we often
rush to action on the presumption of evident
facts, without having made exercise of those
thinking powers which would make the action
more valuable to ourselves and to posterity.”
“ Come, sir, I shall a have a delightfnl and
teachable pupil; but I must tell you that my or
der of men generally think with our learned
Johannes Muller, ‘ that all political work is vain
and useless in comparison with learned work;
that the latter effects centuries and nations that
are not yet; that it is the pure free fruit of the
mind, from which you can deduce a man’s worth:
the effect of the former passes away like steam,
as soon as a fool or villian misuses his power,
or neglects his part.’ That is, however, not my
idea; to me the political is the highest, for it rep
resents humanity in its working dress. But I
have a proviso: it must be guided by the thought
and reflection that has been acquired by the
mind which has learned to combine and com
pare the relations of mankind from sound de
duction.”
“Bravo, Professor! I'll come to you to school.
May we call upon the Major to-day?”
“Not to-day, pardon me my dear sir; he has
had a slight accident. Let us have that honor
to-morrow. And now, good morning.”
“ Then to-morrow I shall introduce you to my
wife and family; you will be,like an old welcome
friend among us!"
Holmann gave his card, and departed with an
idea that England had true warm hearts and in
telligent heads.
CHAPTER XXII.
a soul’s wkeck.
On the morning on which Professor Holmann
paid his visit to Mr. Darner’s house in search of
Zollwitz, Christian’s landlord was wending his
way to Dover street, neatly made up for the oc
casion by his Missis, and carrying a parcel for
his lodger. Arrived at the hotel, George stared
at the precise looking servant:
“ I want a party here, a big party.”
“A what?”
“ A party, as is tall and something like a par
ty-’
“ What do you want with him?”
“Now that’s my business, Mr. Flunkey. Don’t
be so cinsequential. You is talking to a British
householder, no more no less—and that means
taxes and rates. You isn’t responsible, I is.”
Up came another sedate, precise servant,
tell you, James; he’ll want the military facto
tum "
“ The military fac-tatum, you means. I know
I know—they had it at the Discussion. I know,
what you says, Mr. Flunkoy and Co., you means
the factum, that's the bottle-washer, or the ser
vant of all work. Come on, I’ll show you how
you dare call my party such willanous names;
and he is a party.”
The two twittered—out broke George.
“Don't sneer and dcsTt laugh. I'd fight you
both, I would; and w^at is you—nothin’—here
you wears fine clothes»*>ette-]f'than mine on Sun
days; here you looks gjand, what is you out of
it? Let me be a following you, you’d disappear
in the alley. Look at me; I is responsible; I be
longs to the British public, that pays taxes and
maintains the State. You’s got to look to me be
cause I makes the laws, not you. What are you?
nothing, not even paupers- for them the State do
own. There’s ouly two kinds the State knows:
them as maintains it, that’s taxes; and them
it has to maintain, that's paupers. The rest is
nothing, that’s you; the rest is a breath—fugh!
So says the Discussion, and the discussion is
right. Now, come on Mr. Flunkey and Co.,
don t sneer at your betters; let's have it all
out.”
George put down his parcel on the hall bench,
put up his sleeves, and squared for action.
Christian appeared on the scene, saw in amaze
ment his landlord threatening the two laughing
servants, took up the parcel, and bore it and
George off out of harm’s way. George, however,
once more turned round and threatened Flun
key and Co. with his fists. George was deposit
ed in the sitting-room, where Mary sat pale and
distraite, turning over some cards of invitation
that had arrived from the Embassay. She arose
and being told who George was, received him
with the kindliest smile possible. George could
not sufficiently acknowledge the kindness of
the reception and began:
“These are your shirts, Mr." Christian: beg
pardon Miss. The Missis says she couldn’t darn
or mend like them German ladies, so you
must take it in the rough; but the Missis is the
Missis, and she means well.”
Christian's eyes twinkled with pure human
love; and he cast about how he could testify to
his gratitude. Major Zollwitz, his arm in a sling,
entered, renewed the welcome, and George be
gan to feel that he was in good company. The
porte was fetched, Christian served George in
niggardly manner, and Mary had a long chat
with him, patiently listening to the home af
fairs, the Discussion Society, and lastly to the
glowing laudatory terms of Christian's good
qualities. Mary went to her room and brought
back a charming worsted shawl, knitted by her
self, presenting it to George for the Missis, and
promising one day to come with Christian to see
her. Christian brought forth a bottle of port
and sent it in acknowledgment of the shirts; and
Major Zollwitz beckoned to Christian, and by
much gesticulation made George that the five
hard sovereigns were for a new gown for the Mis
sis. •
“Won’t she be pleased," thought George;
that’ll just pay them horrid poor rates, as we’s
behind."
Professor Holmann returned from his visit,
looking weary and sorrow-laden; but he bright
ened up on George being presented to him. He
recognized at once the justice of the Missis’s re
mark, “that George was a k’racter.” A short
consultation outside the room mad6 Professor
Holmann determine to engage George’s services
for that evening’s visit to Chelsea, as he had ac
companied Christian there before; the latter hav
ing to mount guard over the Major’s bad tem
per, which might at any moment cause fresh em
broilments.
The Flunkey’s eyes stared, to George’s great
delight, when they saw him depart in a "cab—
paid for in advance—with the shall, the port
wine, and the five sovereigns in his pocket, look
ing a very hero of romance, Christian seeing him
off, as if he were a nobleman. On nearing home,
George stopped the cab at the entrance of the
paved court, and who should witness his arrival
but Miss Jemima?
“Oh my—won’t the Missis go bn about your
coming home in a cab! Your're a stunner, ain’t
you, and the expense—and Missis hard up for
the rates. ”
“ I’ve got’em, I have Jemima—come, quick—
and half a crown for you from Mr. Christian.”
Oh, you duck—well, you's a bright'un!”
A few minutes later the Missis was kissing
George, and shedding tears of genuine delight photograph of a young man in a priest s dress,
over the goodness of mankind in general and It was a beautiful face with such gentle corn-
those gentle folks and Mr. Christian in particu- passion in the large, clear eyes, such pure, high
that it belonged to some life of grand and lofty
purposes. I wondered how it could have come
there among those coarse featured peasants.
Some ascetic young cripple, I thought, whom
the Regina has cured. He has the looks of one
w ho beholds suffering very near.
“ Signorina,” said the Regina, in a low voice,
as I turned to her, inquiringly. “ He was my
sin. He is dead. He was the priest of the
church down there at the foot of the hill for
seven years, and he is buried near the side door.
Look, you can see where he lies from here.”
Across the road, in a low valley, among a knot
of houses, stood a little church, gray and
weather-beaten, with its circular belfry of deep-
red bright against the pale-green of the budding
vines. Low against the side, among the dark
ened gravestones, shone a mass of fresh white
marble.
“It was only three years ago,” the Regina
went on, “and he was so good—so good. He
went out night after night to the sick and the
dving. and the fever fastened on him, and con-
sumedJiim, inch by inch. He had my gift of
healing, and he knew everything. And he loved
me so! I have never been myself since he
died. I cannot even sleep now. I am only
waiting to do what good I can.’ v
Her hand pressed mine convulsively, and the
tears gathered in her eyes. She closed the win
dow-shutter in silence. One long ray of light
stole in th r ough the darkness, and transfigured
the young poet-face on the wall and the features
of the sorrowing mother. The same nameless
of Ceneda. It is filled with sleeping streets and
rows of white houses that are dazzling in the
sunlight, and cool plashing fountains, above
which marble nymphs stand, weatherworn and
dark, and simper down at the thirsty people
through the long summer days. There are
churches with bucklers of paper flowers sway
ing in the breeze over their doors, and a flutter
of red drapery escaping into the cheerful air,
and a breath of stale incense creeping out to the
broad, sunny piazza, where, under the arcades,
shabby men, in long cloaks, sit about the little
tables of the cafe, and where the stillness is nev
er broken, save by the heavy footfall of a peas
ant or the tread of a slow-paced donkey.
At some distance from the white-walled city,
close under the great dark shapes of the hills,
the stranger marks a large yellow house which
stands alone above the highway. If he atop
some brown-skinned, mild-eyed peasant woman
and ask to whom the villa belongs, the answer
will be, “Ah, signore, La Regina Dal Cin lives
there, the mother of all the country about. The
saints and the Virgin give her long life.”
One day in early Spring I passed up the road
between the sweet-scented hedges to the gate of
Regina’s house. She welcomed me at the door
with a cordial clasp of the hand, a merry, light
hearted laugh, and a torrent of picturesque
speech. She led me across the broad vestibule,
with its shining red and white marble pave
ments, its great ticking clock and its soft-cush
ioned lounges, to a little alcove at the foot of
the staircase. From the wall a great frescoed
lion, with wings, frowned down upon us.
Leaning against the panel were a score of
crutches, some large and some heavy, others so
small that they might well bring tears to one’s
eyes with the thought of the tiny creature that
had begun its pitiful young life upon them
Some of them were of polished rosewood, with
velvet cushions, telling of the rich stranger from
over the seas who had left them behind him in
the place of his deliverance, as the people hang
up waxen limbs in the churches about the altar
of the Mother of Sorrows when she has healed
their pain. Others there were so coarse and
rude and wayworn that one could seam to see
some patient brown face and sad old eyes look
ing out from under a crimson kerchief, while
poor work-knotted hands strained themselves to
grasp the rude staves that helped the crooked
feet on over the dusty road from the little cot
tage among the mulberry trees to the great yel
low house under the hill where there was help
and cure awaiting them
On the floor lay machines to straighten dis
torted limbs, and in one corner was a basket
Ailed with misshapen shoes. They were in
scribed with the name and residence of the for
mer owner, and on most of them was written,
“An offering of gratitude to the dear Regina
Dal Cin.” Dust and cobwebs and mould lay on
these dumb witnesses of human pain. They
seemed wrapped in a horrible isolation of suf
fering and silence.
“They were all left here,” said Regina, with
a smile in her kindly brown eyes, “by people
whom I cured. It is only lately that I have be
gun to collect them—since I built this house. I
always used to burn them.”
“How many people have you cured?"I asked,
wonderingly.
“Thousands. In Vienna I cured twenty-eight
people in an hour and a half in the hospitals,
and Francesco Guiseppe, quilbenedetto, gave me
a diploma.”
“What kind of cases were they?”
“Distorted limbs of all sorts, but chiefly dis
locations of the hip.”
“Have you ever studied medicine, surgery,
or is it a natural talent?”
“It is the gift of God,” said Regina, crossing
herself and glancing upward. “I thank the
Virgin and all the saints for it, and whenever I
cure anyone I tell him, it is not I who have done
it but the Great Spirit. I inherited the gift from
my mother. She could set bones, but she had
not my talent for reducing dislocations of the
hip. This came to me latir. When I was a
child I used to go to the cemetery to watch the
grave-diggers, and when a bone or a skull was
turned up by tie spade I stole it. Era una fes-
taper me! I could put the skeleton of a cat or
of a fowl together blindfolded when I was six
years old.
When I was nine, my mother started one d iv
for Coneglian j to set a bone for somebody. I
wished very mnch to go with her; but she would
not let me, and si I climbe 1 up on to the back
of the wagon, not seen by her, and off we went.
Half way from the town the horse took fright
and ran away, and mia mamma was thrown out
of the wagon and lay on the ground unable to
move. She found that her leg was broken and
told me how to set it. So I set it successfully
and called for help to carry her home, and she
stayed in bed for forty days, and I took her
place and set a!l the bones that were broken in
the neighborhood during that time.
“In Trieste, a few years ago, I cured three
hundred people. I was followed by crowds in
the street. The people called me out on the
balcony of the house where I was staying and
serenaded me. I dined with the podesta; I was
thanked by the municipio; I was presented with
an album containing the signatures of a thous
and workmen. The city offered me, if I would
stay, a villa, three thousand florins a year and
the freedom to practice, which my own town
grudged me; but I could not leave for all the
gold in the world.”
She grasped my hands in both her own as
she talked and pressed them now and then in
her innocent spontaneity of delight. A joyous
vitality bubbles over in her glad laugh and the
quick toss of her small dark head. She is short
in stature, ta'low of complexion, and is fiftj-
six years old. Her head is singularly shaped,
the nose long, the mouth wide, and the face
narrow in proportion. She possesses a peculiar
personal fascination which is not only the result
of her frank cordiality and cheerfulness, but of
a strong magnetic influence.
The light of a universal maternity shines
through her brown bright eyes. I could not won
der that thepeasants are wont to adorn her with
some oft .e gracious attributes they concede to
the celestial mother love. A faint conscious
ness dawned within me of the great principal of
maternity that is forever enshrining itself in
some new form to shed its merciful light over
the darknesss of the world. What matter it
beauty was on both faoes—the beauty that tran
scends form or ciroumstance— the mysterious
baptismal seal of spiritual power. With her, it
was pure instinct and devout belief; with him,
it was strengthened and refined by insight and
study. And over both faces was cast a veil of
humility, as though they said, “Behold a ser
vant oi the Lord.”
Suddenly the sweet bells rang out from the
little church below, and echoed from hill to hill.
‘Ttisthe Anqe'us," b A 1 the Regina. “Will you
come, signorina ? I am going to pray. ”
Something weary and heartsick in her face,
at war with her cheerful smile and clinging
hand, led me to refuse.
I followed her at some distance as she passed
down the hill with her black veil floating behind
her, and her black stuff gown falling to her feet
in straight folds. She looked like a sybil of
some early painter. It was pleasant to see how
reverently the people greeted her as she passed
before them into the church, how the men lifted
their broad, threadbare hats with more respect
than they would have shown to any of the nobles
who lived in the great houses near the town;
how the women gazed at her with a wistful, lov
ing sympathy; how the children crept close to
her, and followed her in a dumb, caressing way.
It was plain to see that they felt the distance
that lay between them. She, a woman of the
people, like themselves, poor, ignorant, obscure,
had been chosen out of their number to carry
healing to the nations. The mysterious power
that was in her they knew to be something that
had naught in common with the mulberry crop,
nor the yield of the silkworms, nor the new red
handkerchiefs, nor the holiday game of bowls.
They felt as did those dark Nazarenes, they who
were no seers, no prophets, no visionaries, when
they marked the humble mother toiling among
the olives with tho other women, filled with the
light of revelation and prophetic visions of the
opening heavens.
‘,\Vhen I first began to be known about the
country,” said the Regina once, “everybody
told me, ‘O, the doctors will put you in prison.’
And, indeed, they tried their best to do it, but
I was too much for them.”
“ Were you openly much persecuted by the
regular physicians?" I asked.
She opened her eyes wide and nodded her
head emphatically, with a peculiar compression
of her lips.
“ All my life long they have been against me,”
she laughed. “ Soon after I was married, I cur
ed a man whose leg the physicians had ordered
td be cut off, and they were so angry that they
persecuted me, and the court forbade me to
practice. And fof twenty years I worked on in
secret. The people loved me and there were
many good doctors who encouraged and helped
me; but there were others who hated me and did
their best to make me fail. About ten years ago
they instituted am t ier process against me, but
I came off triumphant. Then, last of all, while
I was in Trieste, a little child with a broken
arm was treated here in Ceneda by another wo
man. The arm had to be amputated. Then the
doctors made a great noise and said it was I.who
had done it, and I came back from Trieste to
prove that it was not I, and for seven days I went
to court. It was like going to the theatre—there
were so many ladies in the galleries, and the
judges were in long wigs and gowns, and the
procuatore of the king was all shining with sil
ver; and, best of all, I came off victorious. The
people were very glad, and the crowd followed
me horn 3 with a band of music, and we had afes-
ta here on the terrace and in the church, and
speeches and a luncheon and colored lanterns in
all the windows at Dight.”
A few days later I was present at an operation
performed by the Regina, which convinced me
of the genuineness of her claims upon the grati
tude of humanity. The case was one of hip dis
location, of nine month's standing, which had
been abandoned by the physicians. For seven
successive nights she enveloped the diseased
part in a poultice of bran and leaves of maloa, a
small herb which grows all over Italy, and is
known to the peasants for its healing qualities.
This was designed to soften and relax the stiff
muscles and tendons. On the eight day the op
eration took place. It occupied about two seconds
of time. The Regina gently swayed the limb
from left to right, then drew it slightly down
ward, and behold, the bone was in its place, She
applied white of an egg on tow to strengthen the
tendons, and ordered the patient to remain n
bed for fifteen days, at the end of which time
walking was to be allowed with the aid of a
cane.
There were two young children under treat
ment at this time in her house, both of whom
had both hips distorted from their birth. Three
weeks after the operation Lad been performed I
saw then walking al me and erect.
There are many cases which the Regina boldly
declares her inability to cure—sometimes those
of very long standing, others that have been the
vtctims of unsuitable treatment at the hands of
ignorant physicians. She never holds out a false
hope. She never yields an inch of her ground.
Her first quick intuition is her only guide.
There seems to be in her a certain exaggerated
affirmative power, an excess of physical and
moral vitality and will, which give her oontrol
over weaker human organizations. Something
of the divine sovereignty of spirit which in the
elder days produced workers of miricles—those
who made the blind to see and the lame to walk—
whether the great mother-spirit be called Nature,
or the Virgin, or Isis, or Diana of Ephesius, or j shines out from this rude peasant body,
that it should make its home in the rude body !
fo an humble, hardly nurtured peasant women, !
to shed its divine grace and pity over tortured,
suffering humanity.
“Come in here, signorina,” said Regina,
leading me into her little salon. “I want to
show you my albums.” The room was filled
with embroidered stools and cushions and table
A product of Havanna is a pineapple gauze made
solely from the fibres of that delicious fruit. This
fabric can without great difficulty be procured pure,
though there are numerous imitations—some very
pretty. The one I refer to is of that delicate tint,
a little deeper and richer than cream; it might be
called the shadow of fawn or wood color. This is
ornaments that had been given to her by her j made over a glistening silk of the same shade, and
(yrftiifnl narinntc X )arrro nnrtraif nf Paninn Y« <-> *• ! a _ J l t l .
gra.eful patients. A large portrait of Regian her- . is trimed with knife plaintings and ribbon loops,
self and a colored lithograph of the Pope hung A jabot of fine plisses up the front is further orna-
on the walls. Near by was suspended a large | mented by ribbon loops of the same tint.
INSTINCT PRINT