hunted? Have you a tranquil thought? Is there one fibre of your heart that is not pulled at by a care? You have children, too-things sent, they say, to bless and crown you. But, then, good Marco, they sometimes want a supper; and oh! the blessing."

"Do not, Messer Quattrino-for the saints' sake! do not," exclaimed Marco, lifting his clasped hands entreatingly.

"There is no physician, but gold; trust me, there is not; and when 'gold fails, believe it, there is no comforter but death." Such was the creed of

Creso Quattrino.

Marco sought his desolate home. As he lifted the latch, his heart quailed at the laughing voices of his younger children. Marianna read the thoughts of her father in his eyes. He sank upon a stool, and for a moment, hid his face in his hands; then, looking vacantly at his daughter, he uttered-"Yes; 'twill be the best-that I should have thought of it!-it will be the best."

"What, father? Tell me, what?" asked Marianna, winding her arms about his neck.

"To end this, and there is but one way. Yes, I will make myself a show for the people of Padua -what matters it? "Tis but an hour-and shall I not be free?"

"Father!"

"Every hope has left me, Marianna; turn where I will, I meet with scornful or with threatening faces. But there is yet a law in Padua, a kind law for the bankrupt," said Marco, shuddering.

"What law? You do not mean?"

"The Stone of Infamy," cried the father, his flesh quivering as he spoke. ""Tis but to sit an hour there to sit and be stared at, and, such is the good law, my creditors are paid."*

"And you will sit upon that stone?" asked Marianna.

“I must—I will," groaned Marco.

"When, father-when?" cried the girl. "To-morrow-if heaven will make me liveto-morrow," said Marco, and his head fell upon his bosom.

Marianna quitted her home, but in less than two hours returned. Her father sprang to his feet, as at the coming of a ghost. "Blessed Mother! Marianna!" cried Marco, staring at the white face, the cold eyes of his child. "What is this?" he exclaimed, as she held a purse towards him.

"Gold, father! gold," said Marianna.

"How got-how come by?" raved the father, for suddenly the wildest fears possessed him. "You are saved from shame," said the girl"from worse than death."

• See Moreri.

"How? Speak! Marianna; how?” exclaimed Marco.

"I am the wife of Creso Quattrino," answered Marianna; and as she spoke, she fell like a dead thing to the ground.

From the night Marianna became the wife of Quattrino, she smiled but once; it was when she kissed her new-born girl-a babe that, in one brief hour, was motherless. For three years, had Marianna lived a life of silent anguish. Her husband loathed her for the indifference with which she looked upon his wealth-for the coldness with which she listened to his golden schemes-his bargains made from ignorance or want. He feltand the thought haunted him like a demon-that he had bought a victim, not wedded a partner. He felt himself, with all his wealth, humbled before the simple nature of Marianna; her gentleness-her meek endurance-galled, enraged him: there was one to whom his bags of gold were but as hoarded ashes. Reproach at length subsided into neglect, then turned into disgust; and, when the miser looked upon the dead face of his wife, he smiled in sullen satisfaction. There was an intruding, though a silent, witness taken hence: even in the chamber of the dead, Quattrino breathe more freely. For the child, that should be to him a blessing-he would mould it to his own heart

there was no mother, no Marianna, with her speechless lips, yet cold, accusing eyes, to thwart the lessons of a thrifty father. The girl should wed a prince; yes, he had already gold sufficient,and time could not but treble it-to buy a throne. Auretta was scarcely three days old when, in the imagination of her parent, vain-glorious, drunk with wealth, she was a royal bride.

Years passed, and every year, Creso Quattrino became more hardened with his wealth. Fortune seemed his handmaid, so constantly did he prosper. His dealings were with men of all nations: he scrupled not to furnish the infidel with arms, heedless of the penalty; for Mother Church denied the Christian rites of burial to such ingrate traders. "It matters not," thought Creso, "so that I die rich, I am well content to risk the rest."

"Humph! where shall we meet to talk of this?" Thus one day spoke Quattrino to Jacob, the travelled Jew of Padua, with whom our Christian merchant was wont to have many dealings.

"Why not at your house, good signor?" asked Jacob. "Ere this, we have driven a bargain there."

"It has been noted; therefore, 'tis fit we deal more privily. Art thou not a Jew?"

"I thank Abraham! yes. I am a branded, despised Jew: I thank Abraham !"

"And I—I am a Christian; is it not so, Jacob?” asked Quattrino, a withering smile curling his lip. "I have heard that you were baptised, Signor Quattrino," replied the Jew.

"And our close and frequent communing may damage me in the confessional," said Creso, and still he sneered.

"Thy confessional! where may that place be found?" inquired Jacob.

"Where I lay by my ducats, Jew. Understand me; our church hath eyes, and ears, and—hands; and long ones."

"All this I know-all this I have felt," replied the Levite.

"This war with the Turk-if 'twere known that thou and I helped the wicked infidel to cut good Christian throats-dost know what might happen, Jew? Thy bones would crack for it."

Ugh!" and the Jew shuddered.

"Nay, more and worse; my coin would shrink : the priestly hand-thou knowest how huge its clutch-would be among it. I thank my good god Plutus! the war flourishes. 'Twas a hot fight the last-there are widows wailing in Venice, Jew."

"I thank my God! the God of Abraham, for it!" cried the Jew with deep devotion; "I have cause to hate thy brethren-God knows it !"

"Saidst thou brethren, Jew? To me all men