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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