which he had obtained. Printed copies of the treaty were posted up in all the public places of the city. The joy of the people was excessive, and with the imprudence natural to an unthinking mob, they would have thrown aside their weapons, but this Mas' Aniello strictly prohibited, commanding every man to be in arms, as before, for the public safety.

From this day the glory of Mas' Aniello grew dim. He began to feel the intoxicating nature of his situation; his head seemed to turn giddy, and his prudence forsook him; his orders, no longer wise and decisive, were frequently countermanded; from a firm and humble democrat, he became all at once a fierce and imperious tyrant; his judgments were frequently capricious and bloody; in short, he seemed no longer the same man, and even his brother-in-law was heard to say, that Mas' Aniello had gone mad; and that, if he did not desist from so many executions and conflagrations, he would himself assassinate him. On Sunday evening Mas' Aniello appeared to be completely delirious; all his words and actions were those of a madman. Here our author says, "it was the opinion of most people that his intellects had been deranged by a drugged liquor, given him for that purpose by the viceroy." On Monday, the mad tricks he played had in them much of the comic and ridiculous, but more of the frightful and tragical. Heads were struck off in dozens at his approach; he treated the first noblemen of the land with the greatest indignity, and quarrelled with, and even beat, his coadjutors, the able

M

Arpaja and the venerable Genovino. In the evening, he complained of a dreadful pain in his head, saying a fire was burning his brain, and he threw himself, dressed as he was, into the sea; when he came out he was secured, put in irons, and conducted to his house. On the same evening, Genovino and Arpaja, despairing of his recovery, entirely abandoned him, and, retiring to the Castello Nuovo, concerted a plan with the viceroy, to deprive Mas' Aniello of his power, and to make him prisoner for life. Before they proceeded to attempt alienating the people from him, they stipulated that his life should be spared, on account of the good he had done, and that the treaty which he had made should be punctually observed.

The next morning was the festival of the Virgin of Carmine; Mas' Aniello, who had just broken loose from his irons, entered that crowded church a few minutes before the archbishop, who was, on that day, to celebrate grand mass. When the archbishop entered, Mas' Aniello approached him, crying in a tone of despair, "I see the people begin to forsake me, and wish to betray me; be it so,-I only desire, for mine and for the people's consolation, that a solemn procession, in which the viceroy, his ministers, and the authorities of the city may form a part, should be made on this day to the shrine of this most holy Virgin. Having to die, I shall in this manner die contentedly."

When the cardinal was proceeding to perform the religious ceremonies, Mas' Aniello ascended a pulpit,

and, taking a crucifix in his hand, conjured the people to remember all that he had done for them, and not to abandon him. He spoke for some time in a very sane manner, and seemed to have recovered his former eloquence and reason, but, on seeing the eyes of the people either averted, or turned on him with anger and contempt, and that even his body-guards were forsaking him, he lost all command of himself, and burst out into delirious ravings. The cardinal, who was thus interrupted in his services, dispatched some monks to make Mas' Aniello descend: he offered no resistance-indeed, he was incapable of making any, for he had exhausted himself, and large drops of sweat were rolling down his face. By the order of the archbishop, he was carried to the dormitory of the monks, and laid upon a bed.

The religious ceremonies were finished, and the archbishop retired from the church to his palace. In the meantime, Mas' Aniello, having changed his dress, which was wet with perspiration, went from the dormitory into a little saloon, that had a balcony overlooking the sea; he was leaning over this, to catch the cooling air, when some gentlemen, accompanied by a great number of armed men, entered the church, crying, "Long live the king of Spain, and let no one, under pain of death, obey Mas' Aniello any longer!" From the church they passed into the cloisters, pretending to wish to negotiate with Mas' Aniello. When he heard his name called, he came undauntedly forward to meet them, exclaiming, "Here I am, my

friends!" In that moment, four arquebuses, each loaded with ten square balls, were discharged at the fated victim, who, uttering the words, "ungrateful traitors!" rolled a corpse at the feet of his assassins. A butcher, who was passing by, was called in to cut off his head; which, having placed on a spear, the murderers entered the church, where above eight thousand people were assembled, and thence they went into the market-place, crying, "Mas' Aniello is dead; long live the king of Spain, and let no one mention the name of Mas' Aniello!"

The spectacle of the bleeding head of their leader, and the discharge of a few arms without ball, were sufficient to disperse that mob which had for ten days been absolute masters of the city; they retired without so much as striking a blow, to avenge the death of a man who had procured them such immense benefits.

The body of Mas' Aniello was thrown into one of the fosses of the city, and his brothers and sisters, wife, mother, and every relative found in Naples, were taken prisoners, and confined in the castle; to ingratiate himself with the people, the viceroy, however, very soon gave orders for their release.

On the evening of the same day in which Mas' Aniello was killed, the viceroy had the privileges of Charles the Fifth again read with much solemnity in the market-place, and again swore strictly to observe every article of them, as well as of the treaty he had made. The people were contented, and in the cries

of "Long live the king of Spain, and the duke of Arcos," and with the prospect of cheap bread, fruit and oil, forgot the ill-fated Mas' Aniello almost before his body was cold.

HOWARD THE PHILANTHROPIST.

JOHN HOWARD, the celebrated philanthropist, was born at Enfield or Hackney in 1726. His father dying while he was young, he was bound apprentice to a wholesale grocer in the metropolis; but on the approach of his majority, he purchased the remaining term of his indentures, and indulged his taste by making a tour in France and Italy. Returning home in a state of ill health, he took lodgings at Stoke Newington; and, on his recovery, he married his landlady, an elderly widow, out of gratitude for her care in nursing him. She died in 1756, about three years after the marriage, and Mr. Howard commenced a voyage to Lisbon to view the effects of the recent earthquake. The vessel in which he embarked being captured, he was consigned to a French prison. The hardships he suffered and witnessed, previously to his release, first roused his attention to the subject of his