notions, habits, and manners of the camp. In a political point of view it has the mischievous effect of taking off the attention of a nation from its own internal affairs, and thus not only of impeding useful legislation, but of suffering abuses to flourish.

Yet certainly a just and necessary war-a war of self-defence, or for the defence of allies unjustly attacked, or a war of principle is in some respects favourable to the national welfare, and beneficial to the national character. It gives occasion for the emergence of choicer spirits and great minds. It throws into the shade material interests and sordid considerations, and brings honour to the front. Heroism and chivalrous enterprise, and the stern virtues of fortitude and endurance, are called forth. The sentiment of patriotism is rekindled into a flame. Traditions of national glory are revived. The bands of national union are more closely drawn. The clamour of faction subsides into a whisper, and the weapons of civil strife are laid aside. The wartrumpet rouses a people from the torpor of self-indulgence and ease. Even the non-combatant part of the population catch the infection of military virtues, and are present in spirit with their countrymen in the field, sympathising in their toils, their exigencies, partaking in their reverses and their successes. The energy and activity thus called out in a nation take, when war has ended, other channels, and are directed to the pursuits of peace.

The true object of war is the prevention or punishment of injustice. Doubtless war is too often perverted from this object, and is itself made the instrument of injustice. But this objection applies to all employment of physical force for the prevention or punishment of crime. All the coercive measures which are necessary for civil order and peace may be abused to purposes of oppression. The policeman's baton, the gaol, the lash, the axe, may be employed against the peaceable subject, as well as against the turbulent and the lawless. And though war may be waged unjustly, yet it will generally be seen to recoil on the unjust aggressor. The power that has wrongfully taken the sword has perished or suffered grievously by the sword. Imperial Rome fell under the swords of the German nations whom she had wantonly attacked. Prussia in later times wrongfully tore away Silesia from the Austrian dominions, and, in consequence, brought upon herself the enormous sufferings and sacrifices of the Seven Years' War. Alsace, wrested from Germany by Louis XIV., becomes, as late as 1870-two hundred years afterwards-the occasion of prolonging a war with Germany which inflicts the loss of thousands of Frenchmen, the misery of millions, and the deepest humiliation of the national pride. The aggressive wars of

the French republic and empire have been returned sevenfold into the bosom of France.

Thus war is the justice of Heaven-armies are Heaven's policeforce! On the other hand, if the saying be true,

Thrice armed is he who hath his quarrel just,

it follows that the right side in a war must usually succeed. And success in a just war gains sterling honour to a nation, and great influence for good. The well-earned successes of England in the French war gave her for a time great weight in the councils of Europe, and secured respect to her foreign intervention in favour of public rights and constitutional liberties.

THE ANGEL IN THE HOUSE.

BENEATH the palace roof,

The peasant's home of thatch,
Grief lifteth up the latch,
And Sorrow plies her woof:
Where no child's voice is heard,
No sound of pattering feet
The longing ear to greet,
The heart's pulse is not stirred.
All homes are silent, sad,
Without one ray of light
To cheer the aching sight,
And make the soul grow glad;
From day to day, no change
From early morn to dark,
No Dove within the Ark,
The thoughts all outward range.
But lo! at length appears
A ray of heavenly beam,
Like Jacob's ladder dream,
Which home at once endears;
Then Apathy doth rouse,

A little Child is seen,

That comes two hearts between,

THE ANGEL IN THE HOUSE!

T. J. OUSELEY

BLACKLOCK FOREST.

XXIV. (Continued.)

MORE calmly enchanting was the retrospective view of the Alpine range as the travellers passed over the flat between Susa and Turin, and welcome after all was the haven of rest to be afforded by the latter. Now they are in the tree-planted Piazza d' Emanuele Filiberto; now embraced by the Piazza d'Italia ; now galloping like mad along the Contrada, to be brought up in the Piazza del Corpus Domini; whence, turning in and out, they at last approach the portal of a mansion, in the balcony of which is to be seen an old gentleman, making the most extravagant gesticulations of welcome, and who, a minute afterwards, appears in the court below to give practical evidence of his welcome's earnestness. His eyes glance with delight over the entire four, then fix upon the one who gazes with like intensity on him.

"It is your Francesco," says his other grandson.

The old signore clutches his Francesco to his breast, holds him at arm's length, and reads every feature of his face, saving only his ears, then falls on the Mute's shoulder, and so remains weeping until, relieved by tears, he embraces Giacomo, and is introduced to his grand-daughters. There is a queenly serenity in Isabella which makes him courteously bow before he takes her into his arms, but he forgets the bow when the Mute introduces Mary to his embrace. Then, refixing his gaze on Francesco, he is moved as only he could be moved by certain similitudes that proclaim the young man to be the very son of his daughter Emilia Ridotti.

"And he cannot hear or speak!" exclaimed the old man.

"Oh yes, sir," replied Mary, "he can both hear and speak through me.

And then the venerable signore, charmed alike by the melody of her voice and the modesty of her bearing, looked on her in her beauty, as if she were indeed a gain equivalent to her husband's loss of speech and hearing.

"Carissima!" he exclaimed, " you bring to me enough. It would have been too much to have recovered him all, and to have you too! Together, you are better than the best I have hoped for. To find him at all in any state had been a blessing, but to find him with you to hear and speak for him! Ah, you bring

him that I may joy at Turin as much as I grieved at Genoa. Thank God I lived to see him. But I am too happy, and I must bear my gladness quietly as I did my sorrow resignedly. I would live a little longer yet. Ah, he is too like his mother!"

The emotion of the old gentleman was so alarming that Isabella put her arm round his neck, saying:

"Nay, but my dearest grandpapa, I shall be jealous if you quite forget that you have another pair of loving children here."

"Ah, yes, my equally beloved; but you know how we may for a moment forget all the others in the lost sheep that is found." "Then," said Isabella, "you cannot yet think of the two poor sheep who have been found without previous loss?"

"Pardon, Bellissima, the flock must come one by one, then two and two, and then altogether. But-there, you shall be my joy now. You are very beautiful, and you look very good. Yes, my boys have good taste. Only remember, they are half Italian, and as you have made them yours you become mine, and must love me very much."

"Dear signore," replied her young ladyship, "when first he loved me I thought he was all Italian, and I love him not more for being half English, though I am proud that England can claim so much of him. Remember, that I only cared to be Signora Ridotti. I cannot help being what I am besides."

This enraptured the old gentleman.

"You lose nothing by what you say in at once satisfying my national pride, and making me proud that I have such English ladies for my grand-daughters. Ah, yes, I know all; how you thought my Giacomo an orphaned youth of less means than mental and moral worth, even as I thought his English father; how, as my daughter chose the poor English gentleman, you chose the supposed Italian one; and how you would not be my Lady Blackleigh when you would have been plain Mistress Ridotti. Well, that you are my Lady Blackleigh I do not care, but how much Í rejoice that you are my Giacomo's wife! I choke myself in trying to say all I would, my Isa-bellissima. And now, where is the blessing of my other boy? Ah, Maria, you are not less a blessing to me. My children all; love one another, and contribute alike to make happy the closing days of your old grandfather."

And a truly happy household was that of the Ridotti mansion at Turin, where the most serious employment was that of studying the art of manual discourse, so that Francesco should have interpreters among the servants, who were all either English, or acquainted with the English language.

As may be supposed, the old signore was persistently curious to

know the particulars of Francesco's abduction and of the interval between then and his late recovery; but with so much as was distinctly known to Isabella and could be attested by Lovell, he was content. The child had been consigned by one shortly before his decease, many years ago, to a most kind foster-mother, and from her, by Sir R. Blackleigh's direction, to the care of Mary, who, from the day of the accident which caused him to become a deaf mute, had nursed and instructed him, winning and reciprocating his love, and who would have become his wife by Sir Richard's wish, and under his promise of full support, had it not been discovered that, instead of being a poor foundling of unknown parentage, the young man was the younger son of Edmund Blackleigh, by his lawfully espoused Emilia, daughter of Signore Ridotti, of Genoa and Turin.

"Ah, my poor Maria," said the enraptured grandsire, "you must be content with less than a baronet, but you have a baronet's son for your husband. We will soon visit Genoa, that you may see where he was lost, though I am too old to see where he was found."

Then the venerable man became almost deliriously loquacious; talked of his Anglo-Italian enthusiasm, of his being a Protestant at heart, as shown by his love for his non-Catholic son-in-law and grandsons; said that the only priest with whom he was in close intimacy was the chaplain of the British consul; and was only to be subdued by Edmund's suggestion that the open exposition of his religio-political feelings was needless, and might be mischievous.

The visit to Genoa was shortly made. There was the Villa Ridotti, with its garden and belvedere, the steps to the beach below, and all preserved as it existed twenty years ago. The temporary activity of the old gentleman was of alarming excess, as he described and enacted the movements of himself and servants on the day of the abduction. Edmund (as we have before seen) had previously some vague recollections of the locality, and memories of his lost friend Wilton now sadly participated in his thoughts. Isabella had heard from her mother of the mimic tableaux at Blackleigh Hall, and it may be conceived how the grandfather was interested in the account of them, especially in the remarks made at the time by Mrs. Goldrich on the facial peculiarity which was finally so conclusive. Then was the old signore's curiosity revived.

"Who was the thief? Was the theft by banditti, or by one of the gipsy tribe? If banditti, their purpose was frustrated; if otherwise, curiosity was baffled !"

But no useless questions were to be asked. There and then in