group. They are her discarded lovers, or rather suitors. They also carry wands, from which, however, no lilies sprout. One of them, dressed in very tight, red trousers, with a look of saucy spitefulness, is snapping his wand across his knee. The tradition is that the Virgin had many pretenders to her hand. And it had been revealed to her that she should choose him whose wand should germinate, and that of Joseph only flowered, and he was thus designated as her heaven-appointed husband.

The Brera building contains a splendid observatory, planned under the direction of the Jesuit Father Boscovich. When the holy scientific fathers erected their gigantic telescope, all the nuns in the city protested against it, alleging that they would be always spied at by the astronomers, while they were taking exercise, as they were in the habit of doing, upon the terraces of their respective convents. These black-robed sisters must have had both an uncharitable feeling towards the Jesuit fraternity, and an overweening conceit of their own charms, to imagine that their beauty would be a greater attraction than the heavenly "Virgo and Venus," and the galaxy of the sweet influence of the Pleiades, and that they could tempt the holy fathers to turn their gaze from the radiant heavens to their plain and sombre countenances.

THE AMBROSIAN LIBRARY.

Amongst the charms of Milan, for all classes of people, we must not fail to mention its celebrated Ambrosian Library, which was the earliest public library in Europe-that is to say, a valuable collection not attached to any college or cathedral, but open to all the public, for whom even writing materials were generously provided.

The speciality of this library consists in its fifteen thousand manuscripts, which were so carefully collated by its celebrated librarian, the Cardinal Maï, who was the first to deal successfully with palimpsests-i.e., ancient manuscripts written upon vellum, from which the characters of a previous manuscript had been rubbed off or partially effaced. With extraordinary skill did this learned cardinal rescue the classics from below the super-incumbent strata of popish legend and dreary homily with which the manuscripts had been defiled. Not only classical but inspired writers had been thus effaced. The visitor is shown in this library fragments of a version of the Scriptures, made A.D. 360-380, by Ulfila, Bishop of the Moesogoths. But the Gospel portion was found at Upsala; part of the Epistles at Wolfenbattle; while from these monk-defaced manuscripts the cardinal brought to light large fragments of the Acts of the Apostles and portions of the Old Testament.

But the treasure of the Ambrosian is the MSS. of Leonardo da Vinci called "Codice Atlantico," from the size of the volume. They consist of a number of loose leaves, which Leonardo covered with sketches, notes, mathematical figures, designs for all sorts of machines, caricatures, fancies, &c.-in a word, with the overflowings of that extraordinary mind that got so much the start of all contemporary intellect. Leonardo's powerful intellect partook of the genius of Bacon, of Newton, of Michael Angelo, and of Raphael, and was their percursor in their various paths of merit. He has been styled "the most extraordinary gifted man in any age and any country; an elegant poet, a divine painter, a noble sculptor, an eminent mechanician, an able mathematician, a composer, a musician, the most brilliant wit, and the finest gentleman of his day;" but the age he left so far behind him could not estimate his claims to respect. In this singular manuscript the writing (Italian) is from right to left, in Hebrew style, requiring the reflection of a mirror to read it. It is said that his object in this was to conceal his discoveries from his pupils and his age: for the communication of startling knowledge to the world at that period was attended with no small peril.

A reference to two recent additions to the splendours and attractions of this famous city will complete our sketches.

THE GALLERY OF VICTOR EMANUEL, AND THE NEW PIAZZA OF THE DUOMO.

This gallery unites the Daomo with the Scala Theatre, so that any one can go under cover from the church to the play, and the play back to the church. For grandeur, and loftiness, and spaciousness, it stands unrivalled in the world. What wretched sheds do our Lowther and Burlington Arcades appear in contrast with this magnificent passage! Its form is a Latin cross, with an octagon in the centre, over which rises a cupola 180 feet in height. Though Italian artists supplied the design, English gold executed the erection. Full-sized statues of twenty-four illustrious Italians add to the adornments, together with frescoes in the octagon, repre senting the four quarters of the globe. There is no more splendid sight in Europe than this arcade lit up with two thousand gas jets, with the beauty and fashion of Milan promenading beneath.

Whoever visited Milan in former years must have felt annoyed at the narrow lanes and dilapidated buildings in front of the Duomo, which altogether spoiled the effect of the beautiful white façade. But, now all this is swept away, and the cathedral has a piazza, which is truly a worthy adjunct, or framework, in which this flush of architecture is set. There is a massiveness and richness about the three sides of this piazza which cannot be equalled

anywhere. The columns are lofty monoliths from the white granite quarries of Baveno. The piazza is lit with abundance of sunlights, and, as it communicates with the Victor Emanuel Gallery, the range of buildings from the cathedral steps to La Scala, form a tout-ensemble which lingers in the memory like a matchless dream.

CIMITERO MONUMENTALE.

And now, in drawing our sketches to a close, we come to the last resting-place of the Milanese, which will astound every one who takes his idea of a cemetery from what England can show. In providing a home for the dead the inhabitants have excelled every other town or nation on this continent. We pass out by the Garibaldi Gate, not far from the central railway station, and an avenue leads up to an elevated Entrance Hall, a spacious Walhalla of black and white marble, at present empty, but designed for statues and other memorials of their distinguished inhabitants. It is after the style of the far-famed Taj Mahal Mausoleum at Agra. Branching right and left are covered terraces, with alcoves designed for family groups of statuary. Some of these are already in their places, and are exceedingly beautiful. One holds a prominent place in my memory. It is a representation of a sepulchre. A widow stands before it, with one child in her arms and another at her feet. She has just opened the door of the sepulchre, and is looking pensively within, about to enter, and deposit a wreath on the form of her departed joy. Underneath these terraces are extensive corridors of tombs inserted in the sides, nearly all having the profilo of the departed either carved in the marble or a photograph likeness in a small glass case. Numbers of relatives stand before such tombs counting their beads and whispering their prayers. If the monuments under cover are rich, those in the open air, which can be counted by hundreds are no less so. The immense enclosed space is white with the marble figures, of every kind and variety. The visitor will see more marble busts in an afternoon in this cemetery than at the Royal Academy Exhibitions in a lifetime, and all under the blue sky. In some cases you have a marble full-sized figure of the artist carving, the bust of the departed. There are also family mausoleums or temples, on a most extensive scale and richness of carving, each as large as a cottage, upon which many thousands of pounds must have been spent in their construction. Marble busts are deposited in these marble temples as death removes the original. Nothing impressed me more with the wealth of the inhabitants, the correctness of their taste and their reverence for the departed than this new cemetery

at Milan.

446

HANNAH FENWELL'S SECRET.

BY LUCY WARDEN BEARNE.

CHAPTER VIII.-THE SHADOW OF A COMING SORROW.

"I AM ready, Philip."

"What a wonder! Why, you have positively taken only thirty minutes to don that dainty hat of yours, Miss Lilian."

Lilian laughed as she came slowly down the wide staircase to join her friend, who was patiently awaiting her coming in the hall below. A flood of bright sunlight was stealing through the open door, and some of its golden rays fell on pretty Lilian when she came to stand at Philip's side, looking fresh and fair in her morning costume of pale, pure blue. Her innocent face was pretty enough to please the eye of the most fastidious artist, yet I am bound to confess that the eyes of Mr. Philip Sherard did not appear wholly satisfied as they rested upon it, for they were withdrawn again almost immediately to scan the stairway once more, as though their owner expected to see another bright vision appearing in Lilian's wake.

It was the first morning of Mr. Philip's stay at Larchdene, and after a rather late breakfast the two girls, at his suggestion, had gone to prepare to accompany him to the shore, where he proposed

to spend the morning in sketching some of the lovely scenery for which the neighbourhood of Beachton was famous.

But after arranging his portfolio and waiting patiently for a long half-hour, Philip was rewarded by the tardy arrival of one young lady only.

Poor little Lilian had taken some extra trouble with the arrangement of her flaxen curls this morning, and had chosen to wear her most becoming hat, entirely on Philip's account. For until to-day he had never failed to notice her pretty costumes and to express his approbation when they accorded with his own fastidious taste. So a look of childish disappointment stole into her face when, after an absent look at her, Philip's eyes were fixed expectantly upon the stairs by which she had just come; for in spite of her nineteen years, Lilian Harcourt was a very child still, in many respects.

"What are we waiting for, Philip ?" she questioned wonderingly, a few minutes later, for Philip showed no intention of leaving the hall, and Miss Lilian was not famous for her patience, "We are quite ready to start, I think."

"Yes.

But is not Miss Marian coming also ? "

"Oh, no; I forgot to tell you that Marian has promised to go with mamma this morning to pay some calls in Beachton, so she cannot accompany us."

Mr. Sherard turned to the hall-door with a gesture of extreme impatience.

"Miss Marian did not speak of any prior engagement when I invited her to join us this morning, Lilian."

"No; it was after we left you that she decided to go with mamma," said Lilian. "Mamma did not press her, because she said the shore would be so pleasant on this bright morning; but Marian said she would prefer to drive to Beachton. And I did not try to dissuade her, because I remembered what you said yesterday about a party of three, and I thought that this arrangement would please you, Philip."

"I hope you have not repeated that foolish speech of mine to your friend, Lilian?" Philip said, in a tone of annoyance.

"No, indeed! I would not make Marian uncomfortable for the world! She will never know, of course, that you were sorry to find her at Larchdene ?"

"My dear child, you must not take every word of mine so literally," exclaimed Philip, impatiently.

"Then you did not mean what you said yesterday!" Lilian said, with a face of great surprise.

"Of course not; I was only jesting. understand a joke, Lilian ? ”

When will you learn to

"You did not speak as though you were joking, Philip," said Lilian, with a flush of vexation on her childish face.

"I suppose not. In future I will try to be explicit, and will give you fair notice when I intend to indulge in a joke for your benefit."

"Don't, Philip," cried poor Lilian, imploringly.

"I suppose it will be of no use to try to persuade your friend to alter her determination once more?" said Philip, as he still stood hesitatingly in the doorway.

"No; Marian will not like to disappoint mamma, I am sure," replied Lilian.

"She is not so scrupulous about disappointing every one," said Mr. Sherard, rather crossly. "Well, come along, Lily; we must try to enjoy our walk without Miss Marian."

"Are you really disappointed that Marian is not going? Then you do like her already," observed Lilian, triumphantly, as she followed Philip through the verandah.

Bat Philip had not sufficiently recovered from his vexation to answer his companion in her own playful fashion, and he replied,