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. ~._ ~wa . _..___._. % ANTONIO Dl CARARA A PADUAN TALE .The languor of Italy in limate. manâ€" ners. and pursuits, melts away all individual character in the central southern division of the land. But the north boasts of manlier propensities The wind blows vigor of mind and body from the Alps. Beyond those hills lie Switzerland, the country of penur)‘ mild freedom; Germany, the country of tail, mental and bodily. Even the rough mountaineer of the Tyrol gives his share to the general activity of the region; and even the Veronese,though glancing on the luxuriant landscape that spreads like the waves of asung- mer sea to the south, feels the spirit of the hills and forests in him. at tav- ery breath» from those noble bulwarks of the land. [The character of theft- alian is thus mingled of contending elements, and, as chance directs, it. is propelled to lavish indulgences of the ’eapolitan, or to the hardy habits of the region that every morning glitters with its ten thousand pyramids of mar- ble, and its ten times ten thousand pinnacles of eternal snow above hIS head, in the north. The Counti An- tonio di Carara was a Paduan noble, descended from the famous Cararas, Princes of Padua. Antonio was a true Italian, steeped to the lips in the spirit of the south. ele- gant, luxurious, and languid. But the vicinage of the north had its share in his composition. His life was a. dream. His paternal opulence flowed away on singers, dancers, and dilet- tanti. He wrote sonnetsâ€"he compos- ed cavatinasâ€"he even invented a new fashion of wearing the hat and plume -â€"and was the first authority consulted on ery new arrival of a first-rate maegro of the violin, the sword, danc- ing dogs, anything. «But the spirit of the Alps was not altogether extinguishahle. Antonio began to grow weary of lingering for ever in the midst of the squabbles of bullying priests and, effeminate draâ€" goons, the abbesses of rival convents, and Opera singers. all perfection, and all ready to poniard or poison each other. The Austrian grasp, too, was heavy on the politics of his calm and venerable city. Yet it had charms still, whose spell defied even the tooth of time. and the insolence of the Aus- trian corporals. Padua. as all the world knows, is the paradise lot the far niente, the oriâ€" ginal Castle of Indolence, the Palace of Slumber; the. soft, silent, somnol- cut downle of Italy. The air itself slumbers; the grape-aatherers nod on the vines; the mules tread as if they were shed with felt; and though Padua produces no longer the silk and velvet that once made her name memorable to the ends of the earth, the genius of them both is in everything. All is silky, smooth, and gravely superb. A drowsy population yawns through life in a drowsy city, taught the art of iloing nothing by a. drowsy university. The old glories of Padu-in science are gone to sleep; her thousand doctors, once shedding wisdom into her myriads of students, have sunk down into shed- ilers of poppiesâ€"â€" a few innocent old lingerers among the shelves of her mighty libraries, dry as their dust, silâ€" ‘ent as their authors, and not half so active as the moths that revel in their sultry sunshine. Life creeps away in eating grapes, and drinking the worst “’lll(' in the world; in having the Mal- aria fever in summer. and the plcurisy in winter; in sitting under the shade of suiiburnt trees that mock the eye with the look of verdure. and fall in- to dust at a touch; and in blackening the visage over wood fires that. make man the rival, in odour, colour, and countenance, of the hour’s ham that hangs in his chimney. Antonio loved this velvet way of gliding ilirouglithc world, and in this taste fulfilled all the duties that the world expects from a citizen of Pa- duu. But in Padua even this grace- ful lover of his ease was nor. to beni- togclliei‘ tranquil. One day when he was indulging in the memory of cool (litâ€"for the reality of it was not to be found in even his marble palace, the month helm.r August, and the heav- ens burning over the. national head like, the roof of an immense furnace â€" the Count of (‘tll'lll‘:l, was roused from ly- lug at his full lvngtli on a sofa in a veranda that overlooked his ample gardens by the announcement of a strange r with lcitcrs of introlliirtion. 'l'h;- stranger was admittedâ€"~th letters were from a cousin of the Count. :1. gcm-ral in the Austrian service. cominviiding the. licrr Maximilian Bal- to to his goo-.1 Offices. as a Hungarian of family addicted to science, and who was attracted to lialy by his desire to Sct‘ the wonders and beauties of the mom famous and lovely land of the world. The stranger was :1 man of mature ago, with a form lowed by either yc'irs or study, and :i pale lut highly intelligent. countenance. 'l‘he (‘ount‘s pic! rcsquc eye immediately set him down as an admirable. study for a iziintcr. and his place in the 'l‘iiiun gal- cry of the pulazzo was fixed on before he uttered a word. But Antonio was equally susceptible of the charms of conversation: and the stranger’s con- versation was adapted to captivate a man of his skill in the graceful parts of life. The Herr Maximilian had tra- volled muchâ€"hid set-n everything that was remarkable in the principal rc~ gions of the globe. and Ind known or seen the principal pcrsonages» of the time. His conversation was ad- mirableâ€"easy, fluent. and various: its animation never flagged: its variety never degenerated into trifling, nor its description into caricature. The Count. a man of higher capacities than any that would he required by the indolâ€" once of his life. felt his intellectual consciousness revived. He was, as all men are. delighted with the discovâ€" ery: entered at once into the full en- ing, and began to wonder what he had been thinking of during the last thirty years, To suffer the friend who had done him this service to take his depart- ure as suddenly as he came, was out of the question. He pressed him to make the palazzo his residence for a week: the week passed, the request was lengthened to a month; the month passed away only to convince the Count, that, without the society of he the accomplished Hungarian, Padua would become dull to an intensity be- yond all human suffering. The request was extended to a year. His guest smiled, but told him that matters of importance compelled him to think of returning homeward; and that though he was determined to revisit. Italy and the Count, some years must elapse be- fore his return. Carara felt as an Italian feels on every occasion that thwarts his pro- pensities, be they what they will; he was in despair. There was but one al- ternative, to leave Italy and travel with this man of accomplishment round the world, consume life thus gyrating, and die after a prolonged conversation of fifty years. The Hun- garian argued strenuously against this genuine Italian remance; sat up half a night suffering himself to be convinc- ed, gradually gave way to all the Count’s arguments, and even pointed out. the means of making this pere- grination a much more delightful ad- venture than it had seemed to the glimpse of dawn,g1ided from his cham- faney of the Count; and at; the first her. with his valise on his shoulder, into the suburbs. As Padua would have been asleep all day, it could scar- cely have eyes for ‘the simple and lonely fugitive, who threaded its doz- ing streets at an hour when no Pa.- duan on record had ever known whe- ther it was the full blaze of sunshine, or the darkness of Erebus. He made his way accordingly; passed through streets of palaces and. walks of state as invisible as a. spirit; walked through magnificent gates where no sentinel challenged, and no Swiss kept the key, straight forward through Sousovino’s bronze horseman, and Barbarini’s ; and, unbayed at by a solitary dog, reached the Cemetario grands; the true emblem of the city, weedy, calm, soundless, and decayingâ€"a. bed of but more steady slumberâ€"a Padua under ground. A year passed away, but not like the years before. The'Hungarian was a philosopher, and the word had many meanings at the time. He had seen many nations, and the view had not raised his conception of human na- ture; he had lived under various gov- ernments, and his conception of the wisdom of kings and the happiness of their subjects did 'not prevent him an oeeasional sarcasm on both; he was a man of imagination, and one of its employments was the construction of an Utopia. He was a man of science and the sudden discoveries of the French and German chemists in the last century had kindled him into the reveries of the century before, and made him a searcher after the philos- opher’s stone. What must have been the power and impulse of so much curi- ous speculation, inventive skill, bold theory, and actual knowledge, pour- ing suddenly upon the sensitive spirit of an Italian aroused for the first time to a feeling of his own sensitive- lncssl It was the sudden opening of his curtains at midnight, to show him the blaze of a conflagration; the sud- den perception that there was round him. not the monotonous luxury of an Italian palace, but the vividness, acti- vity, and intellectual vigour of aworld -a world all alive, vigorous, stirring, fierce, enthusiastic, brilliantâ€"a, world in which ambition might fly abroad, until it wearied its wildest wing; in which vanity might play its most fun- tastic game; in which philosophy might build its noblest conceptions, till they reached lo the very gates of heaven: in which Science might explore the depth of things until it reached the centre: a world of grandeur, beauty, sirrng‘ih. weakness. life, immortality; a world of wonders. The luxurious Italian lzccame the philosopher: he rose wiih the. sun. he studied until midnight, he plunged in- to the mysteries of science, he grew recluse. pale and severe. But the de- light of discovery repaid all the la- bours of the pursuit. The transmuiaâ€" tioii of metals, that: most dazzling dream of science, which will dazzle to the end of time. let him onward with an cnihusiast's disregard of all things l.u'r his crucible. In the mean- while he. himself ll‘ltl become an object of attention: and the Count C'nrara had already marked the day and hour when he was to become master of the grand secret of this world‘s wealth. whcii a knock at his study door dis- turbed himin the midst of the opera- tion, and u corporal of grciiadiers handed a paper to him. containim.r an order for his arrest on the ground of frt‘f‘tllilxonl'y. Til“ Count was indignant at the in- terruption: the fire of the. Italian character blazed out in wrath at the insole-ure of disturbing a noble in his own sanctuary: hit the corporal had no cars for reason. the bayoncts at his back were better argusrs; and in tln1 midst of a plantoon of whiskcred giants, the philosopher was marched first into the presence of the gnvol‘« norâ€"who informed him that his estate was confiscated to the. use of better subjects. of whom the governor himself was to be presumed the most deserving -and next to the wellâ€"known 'I‘orrc di Eccelino. This famous remnant of the ages of bloodâ€"which every living ltalian rccords as the ages of glory. when every liltle town of It. _v had its lmttlemehls, its for: tories. its slaves. its army. its despot as fierce joyment of his awakened understand. as the Grand Turk. and its enemy within half a league. as inveterate as the Kalmnc Tartar; its war once a month, bloody, as if the weal of the world. depended on the sword; and its Siege. storm, and sack once a year,â€" hafl been just converted into a state prison. Yet it was the very spot. which. if Carara, had been free to choose. he would have chosen. From its summit, Eccelino, the most sanguin- ary of the sanguinary, the most sub- tle, daring, and ambitions of an age of civil and martial ferocity, watched the movements of the vast turbulent city below, then filled with partisans of all the desperate feuds of the day. From its summit he too had watched the stars, that as they rose or set, twinkled above. or flaShed in constella. tion, wrote in characters of fire the fates of heroes and empires. \Vithin its recesses, too, the man of power and blood had plunged in those forbid- den studies, which shook sovereigns from their thrones, disturbed popes and conclaves with‘ new terrors, filled nations with sudden tumults. and laid waste the happiness of human nature. But here he was declared, by the ton- gue of all Italy, to have laid the foun- dations of .his incomparable success; to have discovered the means of over- throwing all resistance in the field. and baffling all resolve in the coun- cil; to have found wealth inexhaustibe knowledge that surpassed the reach of‘the human mind, sagacity that no- thing could perplex, and strength that nothing could overwhelm, and to have paid. for all, the fearful price of his own soul. Such was the legend; and when Carara entered the cell where this extraordinary being had so oft- en trod that his spirit seemed to haunt the place. he shuddered as he saw, transcribed upon the wall above his head. the lines of Ariostoâ€" "Eccelino lâ€"Imrmzinissimo tirrano Che fia creduto figlio del demonic." But there is nothing which decays more rapidly than the imagination in prison. The first day’s solitude. the second day’s solitude. and the third day's solitude drove every phantom from his presence. The age of poetry was no more; the olank of the sentin- cl’s pike, and the rattle of the jail- er’s keys. reclaimed him from the do- minion of magic. and he began to de- scend in thought to that world, to which he was never likely to descend in reality, but on his way to the scaffold. A prison strips off the embroidery of life prodigiously; and in the course of this operation Carara discovered that he had a wife and child. That wife he had purchased at the cost of the only struggle which had marked his silken existence. Julia di Monteleone had been the most celebratâ€" ed beauty of the Court of Milan, had been sought in sonnets and serenades, in love, and even in marriage, by a hun- dred cavaliers of the highest grades. had laughed at all, scorned many, reâ€" pelled some with open contempt, and finally taken refuge from the univerâ€" sal storm of sighs in the Palazzo di Car- ara, to which she brought a large dow- er, a. noble alliance, the handsomest face in Italy, and one of the highest hearts that; ever spoke in coral lips and diamond eyes. The choice was made, like all the choices of women, by the eye. Carara was the finest figure. the best dancer, and the most brilliant; in his equipuges of any of the myriad who paid their hlcmaige at the shrine of the lady’s loveliness. The point was then decided. The prize, however, was not to be won in a nation of swordsmen and dagger- bearers without its hazard. It cost him three dluels with the in- dignant suitors, and had nearly cost him his life, by a sturdy blow of a dag- ger in his side, as he was in the act; of handing his bride elect into her char- iot at the door. of the Gra.n(l.'0pera. He fell covered with blood, languished for a. month on the verge of death. was cheered by the beautiful lady’s redoub~ led protestations of living or (lying with him, and recovered only to be the most envied husband from the Alps to the Apennines. But this was but it thunderbolt. plunged into alake; it flushed, blazed. and shook the waters from shore; it was extinguished, and the waters were as smooth as glass again, no breath disturbing their blue complacency, the quiet mirror of the quietest of all skies. Ctirliii'a had brought his noble bride to his paliizzo, showed. hm to the homage of his hundlred domestics, in new oos~l fumes of scarlet and gold, walked w-ilhl her through his spacious apartmentsfl marble floored, and glowing with theI frescoes of t‘riorgione and Sprignolct: hilfl. pointed out in her vivid glance the: il‘itians, the llaphiiels, and the 'l'ini,or~ eis: had unfolded the purple curtains which concealed. the virgin loveliness of the Mmlpnna of Correggio from ill-'5' xtrofaner eye; had given a c'mcert to h=~r on her arrival. and a ball to lb;- podmstut, and every soul that called itself noble. for ten leagues round Pa- dua; and Thenâ€"returned quietly to his tranquil career. subsided out of the world's hearing. lapsed into Elysian slumber: listened to the murmurs of his fountains, and file cooing of his doves. till they both sent him to sleep; and. wrapping his soul in mire than all th:x silks and velvcts of the land. he prepared himself to dream through the worli. The heart. stifled by the trappings of prosperity. often learns to bear only when the trappings are plucked away. (larva. the prismier in his cell. was a different being from (‘ararzn the ele- gant but weary Volupturiry in his l‘fll- ace. The vision of his wife and child came before him. and made. him often forget th~.a massive beams and iron stancliels that stood between him and those whom he lewd. lie revolved the hours which he had flung away with them: resolved. if his fortunes should turn again. to disdain the silver stream of life. and think of the surge: to show himself fit for something better than the master of French vzilets. and the companion of Spanish lap-dogs: to take the goods that rank, wraith. and nature. gave. and be, a noble, a husband, and a father. and worthy of the names. But his prison-liars Were still as strong as ever. the cell as high from the ground. the jailer as sullen, and 'he day as solitary. To bribe the vig- ilance of the turnkeys was hopeless; Ilia-ms' Pink Pills. They give a. healthy plunder him of every ducat. To ad- dress the governor’s reason was equal- ly hopeless; for the strict order of that governor was. that the prisoner should have no means of making any appeal. To summon the public to the decision of his rights and wrongs, must be de- ferred until there was a public; or un- til he oould find any Italian in exist- ence who cared. an inch of macaroni for' therights and wrongs of anything on earth. The feeling of solitude grew painful, bitter, agonising, intolerable. The far nien'te life never had such a trial, and never was more torturing. parara would have exchanged his beâ€" ing With that of any lazzarone that begged and burned in the noon of. any city _of hovels in the realm. Books. the pencil. music. all the resources of a life of idleness. of gracefulness, or of industry. were alike forbidden to him. He felt himself day by day more mer- cilessly out off from mankind. reced- Lng hourly from existence, turning inâ€" to a wild beast, degenerating into the uselessness of a stock or a stone. and- regretting only that with their use- lessness he had not. their insensibility. The sting of all this wretchcdness was envenomed by its uncertainty. If his enemies, or their instrument the gov- ernor. had declared to him that his imprisonment was to last for ayear. or fifty years, or to lay him in the grave. he, might have prepared himself for the duration; he might have braced up his mind for a calamity of which he knew the extent; he might have said to himself, "Joy and hope are shut out for ever. I shall seek and struggle for them no more. My dungeon must be looked on as final home. I must sternly conform ‘myself to ruin. I must look upon my lmprisonment only as a slower death, and be. contented as I may.” But from the tower of Padua he might be'rclensed. at a moment. or never. He might return that night to his own roof, or never lie down under its shelter. \Vliile he was speaking, the order might be at his prison-doors for restoring him to’ the arms of his wife and child, or the merciless spirit that had tozrn them- asunder might be darkly decreeing an eternal separation to them all. But it was the, doubt, the near possibility of the enjoyment, that made him still nurture his agony. He could not heroically harden himself to endure. He must tremble, for he must hope. To Be Continued. W YEARS OF SUFFERING. ~â€" Brought About. by ii Fall in Which the. Back Was Severely Injuredâ€"The Pain at Times Almost Unbearable. ' Mr. Geo. F. Everett, a highly re- spected and well known farmer of Four Falls,'Victoria. Co., N.B., makes the following statement: ~ "Some years ago while working in a barn I lost my balance and fell from a beam. badly injuring my back. For years I suffered with the injury and at the same time doing all Icould to remove it but“ in vain. I at last gave up Shapes and stopped doctoring. My back had got so bad that when Iwould stoop over it was almost impossible to get straightened up again. When Iwould mow with a scythe for some little time without stopping it would pain me so that. it seemed as if I could scarcely endure it, and I Would lean on the. handle of my scythe in order to get ease and straighten up. At other times I would be laid up entirely. Aft- er some years of suffering I was advis- ed to use Dr. \Villiams’ Pink Pills, and decided to try one box. Before Ihad finished it Isaw the pills were helping me. I bought six boxes more and the Seven boxes completely cured me. It is three years since I took them and my back ha snot trouble dme since. Dr. \Villiams‘ Pink Pills are an invalâ€" uable medicine and [highly recom- mend them lo any person suffering likewise. I consider that if I had paid $10 a box for them. they would be a cheap medicine." Rheumatism, partial paralysis, sciatica, neuralgia, locouiotor ataxia, nervous headache. nervous prostra- tion and diseases depending upon homers in the blood, such as scrofula, chronic ei‘ysipclas, etc., all disappear before a fair treatment with. Dr. \\'il~ glow to pillt‘ and sallow complexion» Sold by all dcaleis and post paid at. 50:. ii. box or six boxes for 5250‘ by ad- dressing the Dr. \Villinms' Medicine Co., Breckvillc, Ont. Do not be per- suaded to take some substitute. LUGGAGE AWHEEL. A new device for carrying» luggage awhcel consists of a kind of shelf-like arrangement. put on over {the mud- guard on the rear wheel. A rod ex- tends from the hub of this wheel back- ward and upward to a pdint a little higher than ,the mud-guard. From the end of this red wide enough to hold a moderate sized bag extends horizontally forward. just clearing the mudâ€"guard. and is: fasten- ed to the saddle post. In the case of a drop frame wheel, a bag resting upon 3 way, i this shelf is entirely out of the and does not interfere with the mount.â€" ing or riding. With a dirimond frame machine the shelf would be in the rid- er's way as be mounted or stepped off from the rear, so that. the derive seems intended chiefly for the use of women cyclists. A BIRD'S N. CST. ‘A bird's nest was found last sum- mer in the suburbs of Lille, France, that was made of white wood and strips of paper from a telegraph office sev- eral miles away. anusâ€"- DAYS OI" RAIN. It rains on an average of 208 days in the year in Ireland. about 150 in England, at Kezan about 90 days and these are made effective by a thorough in Siberia only 60 days. ' for the first act: of justice had been to y-oâ€"oâ€"oâ€"oâ€"oâ€"o-o-oâ€"oâ€"oâ€"Jo-o a wooden strip. ‘ Young Folks. O lawmaaaam EDUCATING HlMSELF. William Pengelly. on his father's aid: was descended from u long line of Con nish sailors Heredity that biological law by which living beings tend to re- peat themselves in their descendants. would have made \Villiam a seamen. had it not been frustrated by his moth- ing'. son should remain at home. - He did serve, from his twalfth to his sixteenth year. as a cabin boy. on a coasting-vessel commanded by his fath~ er; but in deference to his mother'l wish he gave up the life of a sailor after the death of his younger brother. His filial piety was rewarded. He he- came an eminent geologist, whose ex- plorations of caves established the an tiquity of man. William, while a cabin-boy, used to read aloud to the sailors when head winds gave them a ” tailoring day " for repairing their clothes; and they, in return mended for him his garments. One of the books he read to them was the “ Spectator ;" but it was not 8 fav- orite with the sailors, who, thinking it both nonsensical and untruthful, call- ed it the " Lying 1300'." A popular book was an “Arithme- tic.” from which he read questions that his shipmates tried to solve mentally. As the answers were given in the book the young reader was able to announce who had made the nearest guess. One question was. What will be the cost of shoeing a horse at. ii farthing for the first; nail, two furthings for the second, four for the third, and so on in geometrical progression for thirty- two nails! The answer. a sum little short of four and a half million pounds, was so unexpected and so enormous that the sailors called the "Arithme- tic" also a “ Lying Book." While living at home young Pengelly worked during the day for a bare maintenance, and at night studied, for many hours, in order to muster mathe- matics. He walked one day fifteen miles to a town where he could buy the books he needed for his studies. He bought twenty volumes of second- hand books. and paid for them out of money he had been along time sav- ing. Then with an empty pocket, and the bundle of books on his shoulder, he trumped back over the Cornish hills to his home. One day Dick Harper, an old general utility man of the Cornish village, said to young I’engelly, “I was working yesterday in Mr. R.’s garden, and ‘c was there reading. When ’8 went away "e left his book on the seat. and I took en up and look at enâ€"’twa.s called ' Mil- ton's Paradise Lost.‘ Did ‘e ever 'ear tell on it?” Dick was sincerely religious, and the word " ’aradise” had caught him, for he was fond of hearing religious books read. , . “Oh, yes, .l’ve heard a good deal about it,” answered the youth, "and I once saw it. 1 should like to read it, if you could borrow it." "I’ll try," answered the old man, "if so be you’ll promise to read 911 out loud to me.” " I’ve got en,” said Dick. at the close of the next day, producing the book, ltv’was arranged that as the days were long the two should meet in an or- chard at seven o'clock on Tuesday and Friday evenings. There the old man of seventy and the boy of sixteen, seated under an apple-tree steadily read, "Par- adise Lost.” through from end to end, and thoroughly enjoyed it. The mythological allusions puzzled them, but a small "Johnson's Diction- ary," which contained a chapter on god: and goddesses. helped them to under- stand the poet's thoughts. When lh‘ly reached the end of the poem the old man and the boy were so impressed by the last five lines that they committed them to memory. \Vlien occasionally they met, cach repeated to the other: "Some natural tears they dropped, lvul wiped them soon. The world was all before them, where to choose. Their place of rest, and Providence their guide, ’ They, hand in hand, with wandering steps and slow, Through I-Jdcn took their solitary way." These. lint-s appealed to the boy. Some of his young acquaintances derided the youthful reader; older persons advis- ed him to lay aside his books, and evv-n; his father and met llvl‘ firmly. but kind- ly rcmonstraied with their son for wasting his time on “ Euclid“ and lit- eraturc. . l "I have a vivid recollcclinrl." Pvn- lizclly wrote. twenty yI-urs “her, "of i tin: llllll‘ table at which I v. rough! thraâ€" ; orclical on'l practical ninthcmaiir's; the very small pile of books; the “‘i‘t-lt'liml ' lipliii, ill“ firelczss grow. the damp. rolll lstonc floor, the achingr head, oh.» swol- lcn feet. the shivering from“. and that [which enabled me to bear the whole- ithv dolcrininalion lo know Filllll‘llllllg 'of the lunnliful and astonishing uni- verse. 1 thank (iod [was (~nillllt‘(l to I [wrmevcrvam FROM A BOYS S'I‘ANDI’OlN’l‘. Here i.. a genuine boy's composition: "Girls are siuwkup and dignul‘io-d in their [banner and iclmw-your. They think more of d run-s than iinyihiiigand like to play with dolLs and rugs. 'l'hcy cry if they cecal-ow- in the. for distance and are afraid of guns. Tia-y stay at home all the lime and go to church on Sundays. They :in- always sick. They are always funny and making fun out boys" hands. and they say how dirty, They can't play mnrblws. l pity them poor things. They make fun of boys and ihenturn round and love tlwm. [don’t believe they ever kill acct or any- thing. They look out at night and say 011 out the moon lovely. Then. is one thing [have not told and that is iliey always now their lama butters w)u&l' er‘s urgent wish that her only surviv-