refuge from the press-gang by entering a foreign navy; and they know tolerably well that the navy of their own country is so reformed and ameliorated, that it is, on the whole, decidedly preferable to the merchant service. Hence, they will not, in case of war, be tempted to forget their allegiance to their native land, by entering the service of Uncle Sam.

But, it may be asked, could not the United States themselves furnish a sufficient number of native seamen to man large fleets? No, they could not; for their mercantile marinewhich in all countries is the nursery of the navy-is mainly manned by aliens.

How, then, is the United States to be defended from a powerful naval foe in time of war? Not by its navy.

The coast line of the United States is so immense, that even a navy powerful as that of Great Britain would not be large enough to adequately defend it from invasion, and protect its cities from bombardment. The Americans themselves are quite sensible of this. One writer quoted in the interesting little book on the "United States" to which we have before referred, remarks that "bombardment is the peculiar liability of a marine frontier whose towns are not effectively defended by sea-coast batteries. If we suppose our coast destitute of such defences, a hostile fleet, or even a single vessel of war, might lay city after city in ashes, or exact the extreme of tribute. The shipping and shipyards of each harbour in turn might be destroyed or seized, until our whole coast and commercial marine should be utterly laid waste. Our sea-borders, wherein so large a portion of our wealth and strength is gathered, might thus be shorn of every element of vital power, by a force in itself insignificant, but

cased in an unassailable floating citadel. We must either drive an enemy from the seas, or by local defences close our harbours against his approach, or else we must patiently endure the annihilation of ports, ships, and commerce New York

is worth defending, and an insurance on our many seaport towns is certainly worth the nation's solicitude. We cannot effect this object by establishing a supremacy on the sea. Our naval force is now totally unable to cope in mass with the English or French navies." It results, therefore, that as the navy of the United States obviously cannot protect its numerous sea-board cities and ports, other means of defence must be resorted to, and this has already been done to a very considerable extent by the formation of shore batteries and forts. Already nearly sixty defences of this description-and some of them are very formidable affairs-are built to protect the approaches to ports, &c. The largest battery mounts 464 guns, and others vary from 50 to 300 guns. Our own floating batteries, built with a view to attack the Russian strongholds, have suggested to the Americans that similar mailed monsters would be useful for defence. Accordingly, we learn that an immense floating battery is now constructing for the defence of New York. It is to be 400 feet long, and 30 to 40 feet in breadth, and built solely of wrought iron plates, seven inches in thickness. We do not doubt that defences of this kind would be even superior to shore batteries, as they are moveable, and we commend the foresight and prudence of our American cousins in constructing them; but we fervently trust it may be long before their efficacy is put to a practical test.

To all the luxuriant vegetation and cultivated beauty of Massa, glowing in the "golden glories" of its orange groves-steeped in the perfume of its thousand gardens-Carrara offers the very strongest contrast. Built in a little cleft of the Appenines, it is begirt with great mountains-wild, barren, and desolate, some dark and precipitous, have no traces in their sides but those of the torrents which are formed by the melting snows; others show the white caves, as they are called, of that pure marble which has made the name of the spot famous throughout Europe. High in the mountain sides, escarped amidst rocks, and zig-zagging over many a dangerous gorge and deep abyss, are the rough roads trodden by the weary oxen-trailing along their massive loads, and straining their stout chests to drag the great white blocks of glittering stone. Far down below, crossed and re-crossed by splashing torrents, sprinkled with the spray of a hundred cataracts, stands Carrara itself,—a little marble city of art,--every house a studio, every citizen a sculptor. Hither are sent out all the marvellous conceptions of of genius-the models which mighty imaginations have begotten, to be converted into imperishable stone. Here are the grand conceptions gathered for every land and clime, treasures destined to adorn the great galleries of nations, or the splendid palaces of kings.

Some of these studios are of imposing size and vast proportions, and not devoid of a certain architectural pretension-a group, a figure, or a bas relief usually adorning the space over the door; and by its subject giving some indication of the tastes of the proprietor. Thus

Madonnas and saints are of frequent occurrence; and the majority of the artists display their faith by an image of the saint whose patronage they claim. Others exhibit some ideal conception; and a few denote their nationality by the bust of their

sovereign, or some prince of his house. One of these buildings, a short distance from the town, and so small as to be little more than a mere crypt, was distinguished by the chaste and simple elegance of its design, and the elaborate ornament with which its owner had decorated the most minute details of the building. He was a

young artist, who had arrived in Carrara friendless and unknown, but whose abilities had soon obtained for him consideration and employment. At first, the tasks entrusted to him were the humbler ones of friezes and decorative art; but at length, his skill becoming acknowledged, to his hands were confided the choicest conceptions of Danneker-the most rare creations of Canova. Little or nothing was known of him; his habits were of the strictest seclusion,-he went into no society, he formed no friendships. His solitary life, after a while, ceased to attract any notice; and men saw him pass, and come and go, without question,- almost without greeting; and save when some completed work was about to be packed off to its destination, the name of Sebastian Grippi was rarely heard in Carrara.

His strict retirement had not, however, exempted him from the jealous suspicions of the authorities; on the contrary, the seeming mystery of his life had sharpened their curiosity and aroused their zeal; and more than once was he summoned to the Prefecture to answer some frivolous questions about his passport or his means of subsistence."

It was on one of these errands that he stood one morning in the antechamber of the Podesta's court, awaiting his turn to be called and interrogated. The heat of a crowded chamber, the wearisome delay,-perhaps, too, some vexation frequency of these irritating callshad partially excited him; and when he was at length introduced, his manner was confused, his replies vague and almost wandering.

at the

modated with seats in the room, and listened with no slight interest to a course of enquiry so strange and novel to their ears.

66

"Grippi!" cried the harsh voice of the President, come forward," and a youth stood up, dressed in the blue blouse of a common workman, and wearing the coarse shoes of the very humblest labourer; but yet in the calm dignity of his mien, and the mild character of his sad but handsome features, already proclaiming that he came of a class whose instincts denote good blood.

"Grippi, you have a servant, it would seem, whose name is not in your passport; how is this?"

"He is a humble friend who shares my fortunes, sir," said the artist. They asked no passport from him when we crossed the Tuscan frontier; and he was since here some months, without any demand for one."

"Does he assist you in your work ?” "He does, sir, by advice and counsel; but he is not a sculptor. Poor fellow! he never dreamed that his presence here could have attracted any remark."

"His tongue and accent betray a foreign origin, Grippi?"

"Be it so, so do mine, perhaps. Are we the less submissive to the laws?"

"The laws can make themselves respected," said the Podesta sternly; "where is this man,-how is he called?"

"He is known as Gulielmo, sir. At this moment he is ill, he has caught the fever of the Campagna, and is confined to bed."

"We shall send to ascertain that fact," was the reply.

Then my word is doubted!" said the youth haughtily.

The Podesta started, but more in amazement than anger. There was, indeed, enough to astonish him in the haughty ejaculation of the poorly-clad boy.

"I am given to believe that you are not, as your passport would imply, --a native of Capri, nor a Neapolitan born," said the Podesta.

"If my passport be regular and my conduct blameless, what have you

or any one to do with my birthplace? Is there any charge alleged against me?"

"You are forgetting where you are, boy; but I may take measures to remind you of it," said the Podesta, whispering to a sergeant of the gend'armes at his side.

"I hope I have said nothing that could offend you," said the boy, eagerly; "I scarcely know what I have said. My wish is to submit myself in all obedience to the laws to live quietly and follow my trade. If my presence here give displeasure to the authorities, I will, however sorry, take my departure, though I cannot say whether to The last words were uttered falteringly, and in a kind of soliloquy, and only overheard by the two strangers, who now having received their papers, arose to withdraw.

"Will you call at our inn and speak with us: that's my card;" said one, as he passed out, and gave a visiting card into the youth's hand.

He took it without a word; indeed he was too deeply engaged in his own thoughts to pay much attention to the request.

"The sergeant will accompany you, my good youth, to your lodg ings, and verify what you have stated as to your companion. Tomorrow you will appear here again to answer certain questions we shall put to you as to your subsistence, and the means by which you live."

"Is it a crime to have wherewithal to subsist upon?" asked the boy.

He whose means of living are disproportionate to his evident station may well be an object of suspicion," said the other, with a sneer.

"And who is to say what is my station, or what becomes it? Will you take upon you to pronounce upon the question?" cried the boy, insolently.

Mayhap it is what I shall do very soon!" was the calm answer.

Then let me have done with this. I'll leave the place as soon as my friend be able to bear removal."

"Even that I'll not promise for."

Why, you'll not detain me here by force?" exclaimed the youth. A cold, ambiguous smile was the only reply he received to this speech. Well, let us see when this re

straint is to begin," cried the boy, passionately, as he moved towards the door; but no impediment was offered to his departure. On the contrary, the servant, at a signal from the Prefect, threw wide the two sides of the folding doors, and the youth passed out, down the stairs, and into the street.

His mind obscured by passion, his heart bursting with indignation, he threaded his way through many a narrow lane and alley, till he reached a small rustic bridge, crossing over which ascended a narrow flight of steps cut in the solid rock, and gained a little terrace on which stood a small cottage of the humblest kind.

As usual in Italy, during the summer time, the glass sashes of the windows had been removed, and the shutters closed. Opening one of these gently with his hand, he peeped in, and as suddenly a voice cried out, you come back? Oh how my heart was aching to see you here again! Come in quickly, and let me touch your hand."

"Are

The next moment the boy was seated by the bed, where lay a man greatly emaciated by sickness, and bearing in his worn features the traces of a severe tertian.

"It's going off now," said he, "but the fit was a long one. This morning it began at eight o'clock; but I'm throwing it off now, and I'll soon be better."

"My poor fellow," said the boy, caressing the cold fingers within his own hands, "it was in these midnight rambles of mine you caught the terrible malady, as it ever has been. Your fidelity is fatal to you. I told you a thousand times that I was born to hard luck, and carried more than enough to swamp all who might try to succour me."

"And don't I say, as the ould heathen philosopher did of fortune, 'Nullum numen habes, si sit prudentia'?" Is it necessary to say that the speaker was Billy Traynor, and the boy his pupil?

Prudentia," said the youth, scoffingly, "may mean anything from trickery to downright meanness ; since, by such acts as these, men

grow great in life. Prudentia is thrift and self-denial; but it is more, tooit is a compromise between a man's dignity and his worldly success-it is the compact that says, bear this, that that may happen-and so I'll none of it."

"Tell me how you fared with the Prefect," asked Billy.

"You shall hear, and judge for yourself," said the other, and related, as well as his memory would serve him, the circumstances of his late interview.

"Well! well!" said Billy, "it might be worse."

"I know you'd say so, poor fellow," said the youth, affectionately; you accept the rubs of life as cheerfully as I take them with impatience. But, after all, this is matter of temperament, too. You can forgive-I love better to resist."

"Mine is the better philosophy though," said Billy, "since it will last one's lifetime. Forgiveness must dignify old age, when your virtue of resistance be no longer possible."

"I never wish to reach the time when I may be too old for it," said the boy, passionately.

"Hush, don't say that. It's not for you to determine how long you are to live, nor in what frame of mind years are to find you." He paused, and there was a long unbroken silence between them.

"I have been at the post," said the youth at last, "and found that letter which, by the Neapolitan postmark, must have been dispatched many weeks since."

Billy Traynor took up the letter, whose seal was yet unbroken, and having examined it carefully, returned it to him, saying, "You didn't answer his last, I think ?"

"No; and I half hoped he might have felt offended, and given up the correspondence. What have we to do with ambassadors or great minis-. ters, Billy? Ours is not the grand highway in life, but the humble path on the mountain side."

"I'm content if it only lead upwards," said the sick man; and the words were uttered firmly, but with. the solemn fervour of prayer.

As young Massy-for so we like best to call him-sat with the letter in his hand, a card fell to the ground from between his fingers, and taking it up he read the name, Lord Frobischer.

"What does this mean, Billy?" asked he; "whom can it belong to? Oh, I remember now. There were some strangers at the Podesta's office, this morning when I was there; and one of them asked me to call at this inn, and speak with them."

"He has seen the Alcibiades,' exclaimed Billy, eagerly. "He has been at the studio?"

"How should he?" rejoined the youth. "I have not been there myself for two days: here is the key!"

"He has heard of it, then-of that I'm certain; since he could not be in the town here an hour, without some one telling him of it.”

Massy smiled half sadly, and shook his head.

"Go and see him at all events," said Billy; "and be sure to put on your coat and a hat, for one wouldn't know what ye were at all, in that cap and dirty blouse."

"I'll go as I am, or not at all," said the other, rising. "I am Sebastian Grippi, a young sculptor, at least," added he, bitterly. "I have about the same right to that name that I have to any other." He turned abruptly away, as he spoke and gained the open air. There for a few moments he stood seemingly irresolute, and then wiping away a heavy tear that had fallen on his cheek, he slowly descended the steps towards the bridge.

When he reached the inn, the strangers had just dined, but left word that when he called he should be introduced at once, and Massy followed the waiter into a small garden, where in a species of summer house they were seated at their wine. One of them arose courteously as the youth came forward, and placing a chair for him, and filling out a glass of wine, invited him to join them.

"Give him one of your cigars, Barnard," said the other; they are better than mine;" and Massy ac

cepted, and began smoking without a word.

"That fellow at the police-office gave you no further trouble, I hope,” said my lord, in a half-languid tone, and with that amount of difficulty that showed he was no master of Italian.

"No," replied Massy, "for the present, he has done nothing more. I'm not so certain, however, that tomorrow or next day I shall not be ordered away from this." "On what grounds ?"

'Suspicion-heaven

what."

knows of

"That's infamous, I say. Eh, Barnard ?"

"Detestable," muttered the other. “And where to can you go?"

"I scarcely know as yet, since the police are in communication throughout the whole Peninsula, and they transmit your character from state to state."

"They'd not credit this in England, Barnard !"

"No, not a word of it!" rejoined the other.

"You're a Neapolitan, I think I heard him say."

"So my passport states."

"Ah, he won't say that he is one though," interposed his lordship in English. "Do you mind that, Barnard ?"

"Yes, I remarked it," was the reply.

"And how came you here originally?" asked Frobischer, turning towards the youth.

"I came here to study and to work. There is always enough to be had to do in this place, copying the works of great masters; and at one's spare moments there is time to try something of one's own."

"And have you done anything of that kind?"

"Yes, I have begun. I have attempted two or three."

"We should like to see them, eh, Barnard ?"

"Of course, when we've finished our wine. It's not far off, is it?"

"A few minutes' walk; but not worth even that, when the place is full of things really worth seeing.