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n I NTH K DAYS.
T) 1( > saddest of the year are these—
Wh-'ii n utn re dies,
The leaves crow brown, the flower’s low swoon
Neath leaden skies.
\"o ray ° r hope, no sun’s warm llfrht
M n v rest decay ;
l lonesome sadness wraps the air
Of nil the day.
•I, Christ! these days are sadi no thing
Nlny spring or leave;
T],e birds no longer chirp ; the days
The soi l deceive.
Car, far from all of these I’d fly.
>;ot one thing mourn ;
far unto the South, where fipWr*
To life are born.
v Konl, my soul, stands still, a dread
’ of nil that’s feared ;
\ dread— a mist before a gale’s
‘ Too often steered.
—Fred Lucca Squiehs.
Kocbe ter
71s Mm oi kk
li
BY ALEXANDRE DUMAS*
“No!”
“No! no!” repeated all the others, “not
after you have already lied to an entire
people.”
The lire of hatred showed in the viceroy’s
eye.
He contained himself.however,tremblingly
seized the puper, and leaned back against the
wall, in order, apparently, the better to
peruse it.
A moment of solemn silence followed.
All that was heard was the confused mur
mur of the crowd, and the noise made by the
muskets and partisans on the stoue flooring
of the palaca
Suddenly c. panel of the wall yielded be
hind the Duke of Arcos.
He glanced at the crowd of men before
him, gave a loud, sardonic yell, and disaj)-
peared.
Masaniello tried in vain to follow. A hun
dred arms st ruck, in turn, at the secret door
through which the viceroy passed. But the
panel yielded not. The insurgents could but
just perceive the joint, after they had torn
down the Astrakhan leather with which the
wall was covered.
Cries of ‘ Treachery! To armsl” now re
sponded on all sides.
Masaniello leaped on the carved oak table
which stood in the middle of the room. In
one hand he held his poniard, and in the
other the paper containing his decrees.
“The Duke of Arcos has fled!” said he.
"So much the better, for he only knew how
to pillage, assassinate and betray. The peo
ple are intelligent enough to govern for
themselves, and strong enough to defend the
independence they have conquered. I de
clare that Philip the Fourth, king of Spain,
has forfeited the throne of Naples, both he
and his descendants! Ixuig live our Lady
and our liberty 1”
“Long live our leader! long live Masaui
ello!” added the insurgents.
Masaniello was carried in triumph to the
terrace in front of the chamber in which the
scene we have just related took place.
The streets were filled with noisy and mot
ley crowds of women, peasants, fishermen
and lazaroni, who were rejoicing over their
victory, and singing their national songs.
The combat bad ceased, and not a soldier
was to be seen anywhere. The}’’ had all
taken refuge in the Castel-Nuovo, on tho
towers of which they were already pointing
their cannons against a people intoxicated
with joy.
An immense shout ran throughout the city
when the Neapolitan flag was seen floating on
the terrace of the Vicaria.
But a greater one still was raised when he
who had planted it there was recognized.
It was Masaniello.
He motioned the people to be silent.
“No more Spaniards!” cried he
“Long live Masaniello, the head of the
people!” replied tho multitude.
“No more taxes I”
“Long live Masaniello!”
“No more tyrants! Henceforth the motto
of Naples shail bo ‘Christ and Liberty I’ ”
“Christ and Liberty!” repeated tho enthu
siastic people, in voices of thunder.
The fisherman returned to tho council
chamber, called around him the leaders of
the revolt, ordered them to keep tho people
under arms, to place sentinels at the corners
of the streets, and to cut off the aqueducts
leading to the Castel-Nuovo.
Then he drew up a proclamation, in which
the life and property of every one was pro
claimed sacred, and in which those who com
mitted the slightest uct of pillage were
threatened with instant death.
At this moment Dora Francesco entered.
“He are victorious, father,” said Musa
niello. “The treacherous Duke of Arcos has
fled.”
‘‘Let him g#,” replied the monk, “and tell
bis master that tli9 people of Naples will no
ionger bear a foreign yoke, and that tkov
have regained all their rights and liberty.”
“Yes,” added Masaniello; “let him go,
though he takes with him my last hope—my
ouly love!”
“You weep, my son!” exclaimed the monk,
who was stiil ignorant of the dreadful secret
vhich Salvator Rosa had divulged.
“Francesco,” said Masaniello, “one day
has sufficed to destroy all my happiness.”
“What do you mean?”
“This young girl I loved”
“Well?”
“For whom I would sacrifice all, my life,
my liberty—is Isabella, the daughter of the
Duke Of Areos!”
“Unfortunate man!” exclaimed the monk.
Abundant tears ran down the fisherman’s
sunburned cheeks.
“All is lost!” murmured the monk.
“No! no!” exclaimed Masaniello. “Liberty
is too precious a thing to be thus abandoned;
it must be conquered by tears and suffering.
Were it even to kill me, I would tear fron*
my heart the love I have conceived—that
monstrous passion which was to unite the
man of tho people and the daughter of the
tyrant.”
“Will you have the strength to do this,
my son ?”
“Yes, father; the field of liberty must
often be watered with our tears as well as
with our blood.”
“May heaven bless your efforts, Masa
niello! Man is weak. Remember that the
look of a woman may break tho sword
grasped by the firmest hand. Isabella must
leave without your seeing her again.”
“Ohl there is nothing more in common
with me and the despot’s daughter,” replied
the fisherman.
Then he added, in a voice choked with
emotion:
“But where could I see her? Who knows
'what has become of her? Perhaps * But
no! 1 must have but one thought now, since
such is the will of heaven. The enemy of the
Duke of Arcos must be the enemy of his
daughter. Adieu 1 father, adieu 1”
CHAPTER XIII.
TOTS ABEEV OF SANTA CHIARA.
Dom Francesco had scarcely quitted tho
palace when Pietro appeared.
“What news of the Duke of Arcos?” asked
Masaniello.
“His standard is floating on the donjon of
the Castel-Nuovo. But it is not there that
soon arrived, and the hungry band fell upon
them like so many wild l>easts.
As soon as Corcelli had supjied he beckoned
to his two lieutenants and led them into the
adjoining room.
‘*We have, as you know,” said he, “been
balked of the pillage we expected.”
“Yes, duped!” interrupted a little old man
of paternal appearance, and whose angular
face was worn and haggard.
This personage had been nicknamed II
Boon Padre, on account of the simplicity of
his gestures and his unctuous way of shak
ing We need not add that II Buon Padre,
was one of the most determined, avaricious
and inexorable rascals of Corcelli’s band.
“The Duke of Arcos,” continued Corcelli
“though he had a certain love for hanging
us, which, 1 believe, is traditional in his
family, was yet a very generous viceroy,
who intrusted us, from time to time, with a
lucrative expedition. Then the lords and
ladies of the court sometimes honored us
with their confidence If they wanted to
calm a jealous husband or to correct a faith
less lover, it w as our poniards they employed
in both cases. But this cursed revolution,
which we, like fooh, helped to bring about,
has deprived us of the best part of our reve
nue.”
“Then why did you lead us against tho
Spaniards?” replied II Buon Padre. “Did
you not know that every kind of industry
suffers in time of riot? All confidence is de
stroyed, monej r disappears, there is nothing
to he done on the road, and, per Bacco, we
condottieri die of hunger.”
“11 Buon Padre is right,” added Marsupio,
the second lieutenant. “A nobleman like tho
Duke of Arcos, whose ancestors have inhab
ited a castle on the top of a mountain for the
last five centuries, and who have never had
any occupation but that of slaughtering tho
monks and plundering all travelers, can un
derstand a business like ours. He has some
respect for us gentlemen of the mountains,
and makes sbirri of us when we grow old
and when the sharp air of the Apennines no
longer suits our health. But these fishermen
and peasants have ueither pity nor consider
ation for us.”
After having allowed his lieutenants to give
free course to their bud humor, Corcelli
said:
“Masaniello has promised to pay me twenty
thousand ducats, but the humbug will be
like enough to seud down here five or six
hundred fishermen armed with boat hooks,
and to have us harpooned like congers. What
do you think, Marsupio?”
“1 think that viceroys in hobnails are
more dangerous than those in velvet doub
lets,” replied the lieutenant, pouring himself
out a glass of wine, which ho swallowed at
one draught.
“I have, therefore, determined,” continued
Corcelli, “to leave this very night, but before
doing so”
Here his voice became nearly inaudible.
“In a word, 1 kuow where to find a treas
ure —two treasures —which I will carry off at
any time.”
“Ah!” said tho two lieutenants—and they
drew nearer to Corcelli, and looked him anx
iously in the face.
“But these treasures are locked up in an
impenetrable house and protected by a strong
guard. ”
“Corpo Santo I” cried II Buon Padre and
Marsupio together.
“In what house?” asked the latter.
“In a convent.”
“Aud of how many soldiers does the guard
consist?”
“Of three hundred—nuns ”
The captain and his two lieutenants burst
into a loud laugh.
“Ah, Corcellil” said they, rubbing their
hands, “what a jolly fellow you are! A
convent to be stormed and three hundred
nuns to be reduced to slavery 1 We shall
keep the recollection of this night for a long
time.”
“Is the treasure heavy?” asked II Buon
Padre.
“Why, it is, and it isn’t; but let us get hold
of it first, and we will count the ducats after
ward. ”
“You’re right.”
“But I may as well tell you all,” added Cor
celli. “You recollect that we took the
daughter of the Duke of Arcos to the Abbey
of Santa Ckiara this morning?”
“Yes.”
“1 know that Jeanne, the sister of Masa
niello, is also staying in tho same retreat; I
will carry off these women, and, whichever
may be the party that triumphs, I shall be
sure to receive a good ransom.”
“What is the hour you have fixed on?”
“Midnight.”
“Good,” replied II Buon Padre. “"We will
go aud direct our men to rub their arms up a
little. For, suppose the nuns should resistl
Hang it! wo must be prepared for every
thing.”
Corcelli and his two lieutenants remained
some time longer in conversation, and then
returned to the room in which their men
were drinking, to give the signal to leave.
The greatest confusion now prevailed
among the banditti. The most intoxicated
of them got up, uttering frightful oaths, as
they tried to keep their equilibrium. Others
sought after their arms, and when the ranks
were at last formed it was discovered that
Conrad, Salvator Rosa’s model, was still ly
ing on tho floor, completely overcome with
liquor.
“Get up, you rascal,” said Corcelli, strik
ing the ground with his foot.
“I wand do ged indo de paggage vagons,”
growled tho drunkard.
“Good night, and good luck to you to-mor
row morning!” said the captain.
He placed himself at the head of his men,
and soon arrived in the neighborhood of the
Abbey of Santa Chiara.
The banditti hid themselves in the masses
of the surrounding houses, while their cap
tain went to reconnoiter the convent.
After examining the place for some time,
he found a low chapel, with a slanting roof.
He easily climbed up on tho edge that ran
round the top of the chapel, and looked in at
tho window in the roof.
The abbess and several nuns were engaged
in prayer around the altar.
Corcelli gave his men the signal to advance,
and a minute afterward the window was
broken in, and the glass of it fell with a loud
crash on the stone flooring of the choir.
In spite of the rule which commanded the
nuns to keep their ej'es constantly fixed on
the ground, they could not hinder themselves
from turning their affrighted looks toward
the place the noise came from.
A man appeared on tho edge of the win
dow and jumped nimbly into the middle of
tho choir; twenty others followed, and took
up their station on each side of the altar.
Tho nuns did not move. Their duty, at
doubtless their fear, riveted them to theii
places.
They appeared as if under the influence of
a frightful cireura.
Corcelli advanced toward the abbess, and
made her a mock obeisance.
II Buon Padre and Marsupio placed sen
tinels at every outlet, so that no one might
escape.
“Venerable mother,” said Corcelli to the
abbess, “permit a repentant sinner to kiss
your hand.”
And he took her hand,'kissed a magnifi
cent emerald which was on one of her fin
gers, drew it and let it fall into the im
mense pocket ot his tunic.
“Help, sisters, help I” cried the abbess.
“Prepare your arms,” roared Corcelli, in a
voice of thunder, “and shoot the first of these
women who stirs'or utters the least cry.”
The nuns covered their faces with their
veils; and then began a frightful scene of
sacrilege and spoliation.
The brigands had not half accomplished
their work of pillage and destruction, when
Corcelli, taking aide ten of his most de
termined scoundrels, approached the abbess.
“Have not two women taken refuge iu
your convent today?” inquired he.
“Two women!” stammered the abbess,
whose head was now confused by fear. “Yes
—certainly—but of whom are you talking?”
“Of Isabella, the daughter of the Duke of
Arcos, aud of Jeanne, the sister of Masani
ello. You must deliver these two women up
to us.”
“Oh! never! never!” exclaimed the abbess,
wringing her hands.
“Obey instantly, old woman!” replied Cor
celli, striking the ground with his musket.
“Obey instantly, old woman!”
“No! it shall never be said that I gave up
two young girls who had sought refuge in
the sanctuary of my convent!”
An instant afterward she fell back,
wounded in the arm by a trust from Cor
celli’s poniard.
. “Where are they?” roared Corcelli, foam
ing with rage.
The abbess answered nothing.
“Nuns of hell,” exclaimed he, “will you de
liver up to me Isabella, the daughter of the
Duke of Arcos, and Jeanne, the sister of Ma
saniellV?”
No voice returned an answer.
Corcelli repeated his question.
Then an old sister advanced, and taking
God to witness that she and her companions
were acting under the influence of fear, she
led the bandit into the cell occupied by the
young girls.
Jeanne arid Isabella were asleep in the
sain e bed.
The old nun awoke the sister and the affi
anced of Maso niello.
“Rise and dress yourselves, my dear chil
dren,” said she.
“Why so, good mother?” asked Isabella.
“You will know but too soon. Hasten,
then, and dress yourselves, and offer up a
fervent prayer to heaven. Tho convent has
been invaded. *’
“But where is my brother?” exclaimed
Jeanne.
“Masaniello is doubtless still ignorant of
thy misfortune. Tho holy Madonna alone
can save us.”
The two girls put their clothes on hastily.
Corcelli summoned Isabella to his pres
ence.
“Senora,” said he, “prepare to follow me.
Your father, the Duke of Arcos, is waiting
for you at the Castel-Nuovo, and I have or
ders to take you to him.”
“Has he given you any letter for me?”
“Any letter!—ah! noble lady, can you
think me silly enough to have such a thing
about me? If these beggarly Neapolitans
had stopped and searched mo, I should have
been lost.”
Isabella hesitated.
“Your companion must also accompany
you. The Duke of Arcos wills it so.”
“But my father does not know Jeanne.”
“It is I who have spoken to him of the sis
ter of Masaniello.”
“What can be my father’s object in wish
ing Jeanne to accompany me to the Castel-
Nuovo?”
“Masaniello holds you os a hostage.”
“Well?”
“Corpo Santo! the Duke of Arcos v/ould
not be sorry to have, in his turn, the sister of
Masaniello in his power.”
“It is false, villain!” exclaimed Isabella,
with indignation. “My father is a Castil
ian, my father is a nobleman, and he is in
capable of having given you such an order.”
“Less words, if you please,” cried Corcelli;
and turning to his men, he added: “To your
duty 1”
Five or six brigands rushed into the cell,
seized tho young girls, bound them in spite
of their cries, and then gagged them both.
Corcelli returned to the chapel, barricaded
tho gates of the convent on the outside, and
effected his l’etreat with his double prey
without having ai’oused any one iu the whole
neighborhood.
CHAPTER XV.
DOM FRANCESCO.
Pietro had faithfully executed the orders
of Masaniello; but, by a fatal series of cir
cumstances, he had been able to save neither
his affianced nor Isabella.
The smuggler had followed them in their
flight from the faubourg of Loretto to the
Convent of IS ant a Chiara, and had hidden
himself in an alley opposite, in order the
better to observe their movements. Unfor
tunaiely, the beginning - of this alley was oc
cupied by four or five of Corcelli’s men, who
hindered Pietro from seeing, forced as ho
was to retreat to the end of the alley, what
was going on.
At last Corcelli and his men set off from
the convent, but Pietro still remained ignor
ant of what had taken place. He followed,
and only learned his misfortune when, after
walking some distance, he saw the banditti
open the thick rank in which they were
marching, wkilo Corcelli led the prisoners to
a calessino which was waiting to receive
them. The vehicle took the road to Calabria
and the banditti formed themselves into a
running escort by the side of it.
Pietro still followed, for it was, above all,
necessary that he should know to what place
Corcelli conducted his victims.
Cn, on lie ran, with the courage of despair,
until he at lost fell down, worn out with
fatigue and weeping with rage, in the middle
of the road.
The poor fellow managed to drag himself
back to the faubourg of Loretto, where he
arrived at break of day.
He entered the tavern of II Cappucino, and
found Conrad still asleep there.
Pietro called up poor Cappucino.
“You have had carousing here to-night?”
said he to the tavern keeper.
“Ah! signore mio carissimo! don’t speak of
it,” replied II Cappucina; “but,” added he,
in a plaintive voice, “do you know Masa
niello?”
“Yes.”
“Well, then, this scoundrel here and his
followers, who have consumed more olla
podrida, hams and wine than would keep all
the ki lg’s cavalry for a week„ have told me
that Masaniello will pay for what they have
had. Do you believe it?”
“llow can 1 know? But listen,” added
Pietx-o; “if \ou will o!>ey me, I promise you
that you shall be paid.”
“What must I do, then, Santa Maria del
CarmiueT
“One of these fellows is still heref”
“Yes, signore mio. a horrid German, who
eats like a boa constrictor, and drinks more
than a fish.”
“Keep him here till I return.”
“Will that be soon? for if I have to keep
him long”
“Fear nothing. Let him have what he
likes, and you shall be paid to the last
penny.”
And Pietro cast a glance or two at Conrad,
in order to see with what sort of a rascal he
had to deal, and then took his departure for
the Vicaria.
Naples had just awoke when Dom Fran
cosco knocked at the gates of the Vicaria.
He was immediately received by Masaniello,
who led him into the council chamber.
“You did not slt*ep last night, my son,”
said the monk to Masaniello, whose cheeks
wex*e pale and whose eyes were red with
weeping.
“No,” replied the young man; “tho load I
now bear crushes me; yesterday I felt strong
aud full of resolution, but t day I feel my
weakness, and am ahnost sinking beneath de
spair.”
“Courage, Masaniello, courage! Woo be
tide him who hesitates, after having let loose
the gushing waters of promise!”
“Yes, woe betide me! for my ambition
will lose me!”
“Can you regret your victory?” asked Dom
Fi’ancesco, scrutinizing Masaniello’s coun
tenance.
“Tho future terrifiesyne.”
“You are embarked in*, a good cause, and
have accomplished a glorious revolution.
Continue the work you have so well begun,
and remain faithful to your principles; ac
complish, without hesitation, the mission
you have received to free the people of
Naples, and heaven will direct 3’our acts, and
will give you the force to triumph over every
danger.”
“Aid me, then, in my enrieavoi*s. Can yoVi
not advise me as to what plan I ought to pur
sue?”
“On leaving you yesterday, Masaniello, I
drew up the form of anew constitution.
Listen to*it.”
And the monk read as follows:
“In the name of the Holy Trinity, the
Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost, and
conformably to the pi’inciples of tho Gospel,
I, Masaniello, fisherman of Naples and head
of the people, declare what follows:
“The king of Spain and his descendants
have forever forfeited the thr one of Naples.
“The form of government will henceforth
bo that of a republic founded on election.”
Here Masaniello exhibited signs of impa
tience. Dom Francesco, however, feigned
not to perceive it, and continued:
“Every three years a council of ten,
charged with tho drawing up of the laws, will
be chosen by tho Neapolitan people, all of
whom, whatever may be their station or for
tune, vr ill have a right to vote. Any Neapol
itan is eligible to act in this council.
“A chief magistrate, chosen in the same
manner, will be charged to watch over the
constitution, and to see that tho laws are exe
cuted. He will be elected for two years and
will take the title of Tribune.
“Special laws will pi’ovide for the inde
pendence and regularit}* of the elections.
“Done, in the name of the Neapolitan peo
ple, at the palace of the Vicaria, in the year
of our Lord 1647.”
“Good, father. But tell me, do you think
£aat the king of Spain will allow us to estab
lish our republic without defending his
rights?”
“By tho aid of the people we have van
quished him, and by the aid of the people
we will vanquish him again.”
The fisherman shook his head incredu
lously.
“Have you not proclaimed from the ter
race,” exclaimed tho monk, “that Philip the
Fourth has forfeited the crown? You asserted
it youi’scTf on the night I guided you to the
catacombs, and you cannot now abandon the
cause of the people without committing an
act of cowardice and infamy.”
“Time Is a good counselor, Dom Francesco.
The Duke of Arcos occupies the Castel-Nxiovo,
tho forti’ess of St. Elmo, and two or three
other strongholds; in a few houx*s he could
reduce Naples to a heap of ruins, while we
have no means of defense.”
“Are not the aqueducts cut ofl:? Will not
the want of water force the viceroy to sur
render?”
“But we are without money. I had the
Vicaria searched yesterday from top to bot
tom, yet nothing was found. I owe Corcelli
20,000 ducats, but 1 do not possess a real.
How, then, are we to raise troops, or to ob
tain arms?”
“Make an appeal to your brothers —the
Neapolitans will not refuse to buy their ind -
pendenoe with the sacrifice of a few ducats.”
“So, then, the revolution, which was
brought about through the enormous amount
of taxes beneath which tho people groaned,
would but double the sums of money hitherto
exacted from them. No, no, father; this can
not be.”
“Everything appears impossible to those
who have no longer any faith in their cause,”
sorrowfully remarked the monk.
“Our fathers wero formerly happy, when
they possessed tho charter granted them by
Charles the Fifth,” continued Masaniello.
“They then loved Spain, and armed them
selves in her defense; let us, therefore, insist
on the restoration of tho rights which this
act gave us, and of which we have been un
justly deprived.”
“In other terms, you are willing to treat
with the viceroy I”
“And to restore him that power, the weight
of which is crushing me,” added the fisher
man.
Here the monk approached Masaniello,
took the young man’s hand affectionately in
his, and, looking him steadfastly in the face,
said:
“Swear that the recollection of Isabella
has had no influence on your conduct. Masa
niello, I fear the contrary.”
A deep blush spread itself over the young
man's face. He stammered out a few words,
but Pietro, who entered at this moment,
drew him from his embarrassment.
The smuggler was; covered with dust and
mud; his hair was in disorder, and his face
flushed with excitement.
His appearance made the monk and Masa
niello tremble.
“IVhat has happened?” cried the latter.
“Brother, prepare your arms,” replied
Pietro; “wo have all received a terrible
blow r .”
“Speak!”
“Corcelli has fled, and has left us cause to
remember him.”
“How so?”
“Ho has pillaged the convent ot Santa
Chiara.”
“But Jeanne—what has become of her?”
“He has carried her off.”
“Malediction!—and”
Masaniello . dared not pronounce the name
of Isabella.
“The daughter *ol’ the Duke of Arcos has
beeu carried off also.”
our most formidable enetny is to be found.
Corcelli ha-s assembled hi* men at the gate
of the Manna, and demands an hour’s pil
lage.”
“Ah! II Signore Corcelli wants to pillage
Naples,” murmured Masaniello. “He wants
to recover on terra tirma the ducats swal
lowed up by the ocean, but be has no longer
to do with his old acquaintance the sbirri
of the viceroy, rascals who were ever ready
to effect a compromisa He shall leave
Naples and her territory to-morrow or l
will have him tracked like a wild beast. But
are our comrades still in the palace, Pietro/”
“Yes.”
“Armed?”
“To the teeth.”
“Good. 1 will see Corcelli As for you,
return to the abbey of Santa Cbiara, and
tell my sister Jeanne that 1 am in perfect
safety. You must not be seen with me, for
I want you to keep a watch on these brigands
ore night more, and they would mistrust
you, if they knew we had l>een together.”
“Is there no one else in Naples, Masaniello,
who is dear to you/” asked Pietro.
“Of whom would you speak/”
“Of the young girl who repaired the harm
done us by the Duke of Arcosf
Masaniello turned pale, and said in a trem
bling voice:
“Has anything happened to her?”
“The people surrounded her carriage and
dispersed her escort,” replied Pietro, “at the
moment she was leaving the palace. Cor
eelli and 1 saved her, and, the Madonna be
praised, Isabella is now out of danger, for I
have taken her to”
“Enough! enough! Pietro!” interrupted
the fisherman; “1 neither wish to see this
woman again nor to know the place of her
retreat; return, therefore, to the abbey and
let Isabella be restored to her family; I will
join 3 T ou an hour hence.”
Masaniello took up his musket, assembled
his men, placed himself at their head and
left the Vicaria. Ho was triumphantly re
ceived by the crowd assembled without,
every voice blessed him and every hand
sought his. He passed slowly through the
enthusiastic multitude, repeating at every
step:
“Brothel's! let us becalm and moderate in
our victory, and show ourselves worthy of
the liberty we have just gained. Let us
even respect the property and persons of
those who have so long devoured the fruits
of our labor. Do not let us give our enemies
the right to accuse us. Let all pillagers be
seized and executed instautly. The power
which the people have founded must be re
spected.”
“Death to all pillagers!” immediately re
sounded on all sides.
“Paolo,”continued Masaniello, turning to a
lazaroni, “take five hundred of your most de
termined comrades, and go and occupy the
seashore between the harbor and the Marina;
do not let a single one of Corcellrs brigands
pass. 1 wdl march on them from the oppo
site side. These men have some sinister pro
ject in view.”
While Paolo was executing these orders,
Masaniello led an army of fishermen across
the market place, passed with them through
the gate of the Marina, and advanced toward
Corcelli’s undisciplined horde of banditti.
“Follow me,” said he to the captain, and he
led him into a neighboring tavern.
“Corcelli,” added ho to the condottiere,
“you served us usefully this morning.”
“Yes,” replied Corcelli, “1 do not think
that, without me, you would have put the
Spaniards to flight with your oranges, pome
granates and watermelons.”
“We must now think of restoring order
among the people, whose worst passions are
let loose.”
“Halloo! why you’ve soon learned the lan
guage of his excellency, Monsignore the Duke
of Arcos. Per Bacco! With .your torn hose,
red sash and dirty jacket, you.make a charm
ing little viceroy!”
“Laugh as much as you like, Corcelli, but
rest assured that you will not leave Naples
alive, unless you obey the orders of the little
viceroy who so much delights you.”
“Diavolo! if you want to be obe}'ed, you
ought at least to pay, my fine fellow; but
now that the galleon of Fernandez has blown
up, where are all the ducats you promised us?
To what blockhead did you intrust this ex
pedition? Oh! if I had been there! But you
mistrusted me, Masaniello.”
“Your men will be paid.”
“But how, mio caro?”
“That concerns me.”
“And what concerns me, carissimo, is to
take care that the doublets of my men are
riot riddled with balls, unless 1 see some
means of being able to replace them.”
“What do you propose doing, then?”
“You are ignOrant of the laws of war, my
dear Masaniello, for you have never waged
it but against the doradoos and turbots of
the bay. When a king, or a duke, or the
smallest baron possible, has employed the
services of a free company, and when he is
unable to pay their captain, do you know
what is the means the latter has recourse to
in order to fill the bellies of his men?”
“No.”
“Well, then, he pillages the people of the
said king, duke or baron. And, by St. Jan
uarius, 1 will treat you as a viceroy, Masa
niello.”
“And, by the holy Madonna, I will have
you hanged in the market place.”
Corcelli burst into a loud laugh.
“Sangue di Cristo!” exclaimed he, “the
Neapolitans have done a fine thing. They
have now got a ragged fisherman for their
master, instead of a Spanish grandee in an
embroidered doublet.”
“Aud the will of the people shall be more
respected than was that of the king in velvet
doublet, aud whose *yoke we have just shaken
oil,” said Masaniello.
He here led tho brigand to the window of
the tavern.
“Look!” continued he; “the shore is cov
ered with armed men. Your soldiers are
PM f\—
fj \ £ir&\ •
"Look!” continued he; “the shor<f7s~cov
cred with armed men”
surrounded by a circle of iron. On a word
or a sign from me you would all be mas
sacred.”
“Sacramento! we have been betrayed.”
“Leave Naples instantly, and as soon as
order is re-established I will pay you 20,000
ducats on your quitting the Neapolitan ter
ritory.”
Corcelli seemed to understand the danger
which menaced him. for he immediately pre
pared to obey Masaniello’s orders.
As soon as the bandits had disappeared
Masaniello set out for the abbey, where
Pietro was waiting for him.
When he arrived he found thenbbess ready
to receive him. and he was immediately con
ducted to his sister
“Oh! welcome, welcome, my dear brother,”
said Jeanne, “the Lord has chosen you r<> ac
complish great things, and 1 am proud to be
called your sister.”
Masaniello smiled gently
“Yes, we have accomplished great things,”
said Masaniello, “but 1 feel myself almost
unequal to the arduous du’.ies 1 have to ful
fill”
“Courage, brother, courage! Providence
never abandons those engaged in a good
cause, " added Jeanne, “but the daughter of
the viceroy is here.”
“Isabella herel” exclaimed Masaniello.
“You must see and console her, for mis
fortune has fallen o*Tier family and she is
in the greatest despair.”
[TO BK CONTINUE!!.]
YOUR EARS
Ought to have attention perhaps. If
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COULD HEAD A TICK CRAWL.
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“i GAVE UP TO DIE.”
Knoxville, Tenn., July 2, 1887
i had catarrh of the head for six years.
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1 w as over fifty years old and gave up to
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A PREACHER CURED OF DYSPEPSIA.**??*
Miccosukee, Fla., Leon Cos.. Jul.v 20, *BO
I have been a sufferer from indigestion
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llev. Roii’t C.
A BOOK OF WONDERS, FREE. ZZZ
All who desire full information about
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Address, Blood Balm Cos.,
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The First Symptom* of Death.
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The pleasant taste and agreeable aro
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