and more agreeable and charming. In his shop over which he had recently exchanged the old-fashioned sign of Barber for the more pretentious one of Parlor he was somewhat absent-minded; and it happened to him more than once to pass a dry shaving-brush over the face of a customer, or to take off the apron before he had dressed the hair. Serious matters for a tonsorial artist! At home, his abstraction was still greater; and when, as he reëntered the house, his father asked him how many shaves he had made that day, he, who was accustomed to keep a minute account of everything, delayed to answer, not really remembering whether he had shaved any one, or if so, how many.

"Has anything happened to you?" his mother inquired one day, amazed at the change in him. "You have seemed to me odd for some weeks."

"No, mamma. It is that I have in my head a sort of confusion; I don't know what it means."

"But why don't you let a doctor see you? Rather, it would be better to go to your old employer, who, as a barber, ought to know more than the doctors. Go to him."

"Really there is no need; however, I will see. But meanwhile "— "But meanwhile'? Is there something on your mind? Speak. Confide your mother." "Nothing, nothing." And Nino cut short the conversation; and, an unusual thing for him, went to bed soon after Ave Maria.

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Nino had seen hundreds of girls in his quarter of the city; and he had forgotten the number of those who on Sunday, when he went to the parish church of Santa Lucia to hear mass and took his place near the sacristy, shot certain sly glances at him that were enough to tempt a saint. Yet those girls, even the most beautiful among them, did not at all resemble Rosa; indeed, were not worth a hair of her head. No one was more simple and more majestic, more charming and modest. He did not understand that this admiration was love; and he hardly stopped to consider why the daughter of a sailor, seen only once, should be for him the object of so much contemplation. The word "love,” moreover, appeared to him vulgar and trite, for he had loved several girls in his quarter of the city, and twice had been even betrothed.

However, his impatience to see her again increased as the days went by, but brought him almost no hope of meeting her. In time, a lucky opportunity came to give him a brief comfort.

It was the Friday of Holy Week; and according to traditional rite they were to carry through the Borgo the dead Christ and the Madonna Addolorata, a procession equaled by few in Sicily, and at whose passage no eye remains dry. Rosa had been invited by the mother of Totò, who lived in a house with a balcony, not far distant. Whatever might have been Rosa's purpose to remain in retirement, she could not disregard the invitation without danger of offending Totò. The refusal of any plan, in itself suitable, made by the future mother-in-law during her son's absence is a grave offense toward his family, and still worse any pretext whatever for not going to the house; for this, as a presumable sign of little trust and no regard for the mother of the betrothed, would certainly make a break between the two families and prevent the marriage.

Rosa, therefore, accompanied by donna Maricchia, went to the house of her future mother-in-law, and, on meeting her, kissed her hand and imprinted resonant kisses upon her lips. Totò's mother received her gladly, and said the kindest things to donna Maricchia, whose schoolmate she had been when they were little girls.

The crowd began to turn from Corso Scinà into the street of the Collegio di Maria; and it constantly increased, so that when there appeared the gigantic palm-tree that surmounts the bier of the dead Christ, the street was all one moving tapestry of caps, hats, kerchiefs, shawls, and veils. The urchins went before, rejoicing, and behind them came venders of pumpkin seeds, waffles, beans, toasted carob pods, biscuits, small cakes, and the inevitable and always well-patronized anise water.

The pious procession was headed by two drummers in red robes, carrying drums muffled with a large black cloth, which impressed the public with their deep and gloomy sound, like a voice smothered in the throat. Behind came the Mysteries, borne by girls and boys: one dressed as San Giovanni Battista, another as an apostle, others as Santa Rosalia, la Maddalena, Santa Lucia, and as angels winged in all sorts of ways; each one carrying an emblem of the Passion, the cross, the ladder, the nails, the lance, the sponge. There were some who scattered flowers, and others who bore a basket with sacred images. Everybody admired an archangel Michael, very grand in silk, ribbons, tassels, gold and silver tinsel, and dazzling colors. Then followed the confraternities of the Crucified and of the Mother of Sorrows: workmen elegantly dressed, freshly shaven and combed, who held each a taper, under leadership of the most expert among them. These chiefs are called bacchette, because of a long wand crowned with a holy image in metal, which they move backward, forward, right, and left amid

the procession, straightening the ranks; officials who have their authority from the superior and his aids.

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Among these bacchette, not unnaturally, was monsù Nino, who, on account of his youth and his irreproachable toilet, attracted much attention. When the confraternity of the Crucified had gone some way in the street of the Collegio di Maria, it was obliged to halt and wait for the rest of the procession, left little way behind in the Corso Scinà. Then monsù Nino saw the necessity of readjusting the line of the brethren, which showed some irregularity in its movement. Here he drew out, there he pushed in, a comrade; elsewhere he straightened a taper, or, in an undertone, recommended precision; going back and forth with an air of importance, as if to say, "Do you see? If I were not here, who knows how things would go!" Chancing to raise his eyes to a balcony, he saw Rosa, none but her. At that sight, perhaps because it was unexpected, he remained disconcerted and confused. Recovering himself somewhat, he felt a strong beating of the heart, quickly followed by a sense of profound satisfaction and of unaccustomed joy. As he turned back, he had leisure to look again at Rosa, but furtively and for a moment only, for he could not stop, neither dared he expose himself to the danger of being observed. Red with agitation, he took out his pocket handkerchief to wipe the copious perspiration from his face, and then it was that Rosa looked at him for the first and only time, and without taking much notice. Monsù Nino, who had quite lost his compass, as is the saying, no longer refrained from casting ardent glances at her; so that when the procession began to move, he stood still. But finally, as if swept along by the stream, he went onward, needless to say with what regret on his part; for he would have liked to linger near that sweet vision, a cause of joy such as he had never felt.

There passed the confraternity of the Crucified and that of the Mother of Sorrows; there came the Augustine friars from the monastery of the Consolation, then the clergy of the parish of Santa Lucia. And the curiosity of the bystanders was aroused by the splendid stole of the priest, where against a black groundwork stood out rich and elaborate embroideries in gold, with two magnificent precious stones set near the ends. But when the funeral march from Ione was heard, and the Jews were seen to advance, in dark armor, with visors closed, at the right and the left of the monument of Jesus Christ, a shudder ran through the bones of every one, and curiosity became sacred fear.

“Oh, see those shut visors!" exclaimed Rosa, frightened.

"Look!" rejoined her future motherin-law. "Those warriors are poor fellows who for two lire will even act as Jews."

"But why do not they let themselves be seen?"

If

"That would be the last touch. they were recognized, they would be hooted at for the rest of their lives; and you know, Rosa, that the nickname of Jew is not a fine compliment in Sicily."

At the sound of a watchman's rattle the bier halted, and those upon the balcony had time to contemplate the features of the Christ, which, apart from the piety that it excited, was a marvelous work of art.

Donna Maricchia was weeping, as also the mistress of the house; Rosa wiped away her tears, and her father was somewhat pale in the face and very grave.

Another turn of the watchman's rattle, and the bier was raised, creaking, while the palm-tree shook. Not long after appeared and advanced the litter of the Madonna Addolorata: a tall, erect, majestic figure, with hands lightly clasped as if mourning a deep and immeasurable grief. The hands and face were of wax,

and waxen of color, which gave to the image a gloomy appearance. It was dressed in a robe that in front was of white linen in very minute plaits; behind trailed a black velvet mantle, imposing in its majesty. As it passed, the women fell on their knees and sobbed.

A week had elapsed since monsù Nino had seen Rosa for the third time, and although he had made efforts to see her again, he had not succeeded. Rosa's door was always closed, as if the catodio were an enchanted castle. If at first his nights had been interrupted by long hours of wakefulness, now the wakefulness was rarely lost in a brief sleep. The woman concerning whom he had not sought to know the nature of his feelings was now - he could no longer doubt it no less than the object of his most potent passion. And how could he have failed to be charmed by her beauty? What girl was tall and flexible as she, or more noble of bearing? Her hair, oh, it must be the eighth wonder of the world, if he, who had handled so much hair, had never seen any more abundant, more glossy and black! To love her, then, was necessary; not to be loved in return was a distress to which he could in no wise resign himself.

But how could he gain her love if she was inaccessible? In so much doubt, it appeared to him a happy idea to open his mind to a friend, a young shoemaker, who had been one of his best customers ever since monsù Nino had set up shop on his own account, and who, because of the intimate friendship, had ended by becoming his chosen compare di San Giovanni, his sworn ally.

"And if I don't succeed in making her love me," was the conclusion of monsù Nino's discourse, "as true as the Lord I'll kill myself!"

"But why kill yourself and kill yourself! When did a man ever kill himself for a woman?"

"Surely I will kill myself!"

When

street of the Collegio di Maria. they were arrived before the house of Rosa, they improvised an instrumental piece, melancholy and pathetic; when this was ended, another, and with it a song. At the sound, the neighbors looked out, surprised at a serenade given to

"Therefore don't take the thing with your teeth! Seek to meet her and move her feelings; try every means possible and imaginable."

"And if I do not succeed?"

“Then put her out of your mind. You know that there are so many women in the world that if a division were to be made of them, we should have three apiece!"

"That sounds like you! Jesting apart, I cannot, I will not, live without the love of Rosa. How can I gain it?"

"What a child you are! Have not you your guitar? Do you not know how to sing the most beautiful Sicilian songs? Well, take another young fellow with you, for instance, the son of gnu' Paolo, the coachman; I make three, and we can give Rosa a fine serenade. If she is not deaf, if her heart is not made of stone, to hear your voice, and," he added, smiling, "mine, her feelings must be touched."

Monsù Nino saw open before him such a brilliant horizon as he had never imagined. He, with his rare skill in playing the guitar and with his inexhaustible repertory of songs, had aided so many friends and triumphed over so many obstacles.

"You are a godsend of a fellow!" exclaimed monsù Nino, enraptured, and he printed a hearty kiss on the lips of the shoemaker.

That evening, two hours before midnight, a trio of young men, monsù Nino with the guitar, gnu' Ciccio the coachman with the triangle, and compare Vanni the shoemaker with the Jew's-harp, made their way, quiet as oil, through the

married. The comments, therefore, were not few, and had a certain tinge of malignity. All at once a voice sang: "I am come to sing here in this happy place. Sound, my guitar, and give me a good voice!"

It was gnu' Ciccio, with his silvery tones, who opened the serenade. At the end of the song he was greeted by a murmur of approbation, not only from the neighbors, but also from passers attracted by the melancholy nocturne. Monsù Nino's emotion was so great that, although it was his part to begin the serenade, he had not the power to sing, even after gnu' Ciccio. So compare Vanni, at the top of his voice, began:

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'Silence, good friends, and let the wind not blow;

Listen, for pity's sake, to hear me sing; Listen to these laments and sighs of woe

That say my life is full of suffering."

The public took a lively interest in this song, in which was heard an intonation of deep sadness rendered with artistic ability of no mean order. A general exclamation of "Good!" echoed through the silence of the night as far as the Marina.

The music ceased for a moment, and there was heard a confused talking of the people, ignorant as to the object of this unusual serenade.

"Which of the three was the lover?" "For whom was the se.enade? "Was there an understanding between the singer and the girl?"

And the questions thickened, without receiving any certain reply. Curiosity was partially appeased when gnu' Ciccio and compare Vanni began another song: "I am come to sing at lovely Rosa's door,

For in the world none is so fair as she."

As the ottava went on, the people understood something, and when the singer accentuated the name of Rosa in the final lines,

"Concerning Rosa would you know still more, In heaven there is the moon, on earth is she!" a "Goo-oo-ood!" still louder and more earnest, rewarded the song. Monsù Nino prepared to close the performance with another ditty which he had selected from his immense stock of minstrelsy. He, who had always found songs for all the girls of that quarter of the town, with their own names interwoven, he, a real celebrity in his line, could not fail to find a song suitable for the Rosa of his heart. "Oh, what a scent of roses in the air!

It lifts my heart and truly comforts me. What rose leaves, red and white, with these compare!

A rose to equal this you will not see. The place is all alight if she is there; Under her feet the earth blooms rosily. Rose of my soul, if overmuch I dare,

I now take leave, and you must pardon me!"

A delighted clapping of hands approved the song; but monsù Nino quietly withdrew from the crowd, which had now become large, and made his way through silent and deserted streets.

The next day there was great talk about the serenade; but the household to which it had been addressed knew nothing of it, and no one took upon himself to speak to them about it. Only after two days a comare of the neighborhood, chatting of things greater and less with donna Maricchia, and asking her when her daughter's wedding was to be celebrated, let slip a reference to the serenade. Donna Maricchia indignantly protested that she had heard nothing of it, begged that her husband should be kept in ignorance, and added excitedly, "Oh, if he should hear of it! A serenade at our house! Oh, are we fashionable Palermitans, that they should come to sing a nocturne to us? What a shame, O Lord, what a shame!"

"The shame is n't yours, dear donna

"The eggs! cried a man, all out of breath, before the door of donna Maricchia's house. "The eggs!" And he tossed his cap in the air in sign of joy.

A vender of household linen who was passing by heard the voice without understanding either the exclamation or the gesture; but donna Maricchia and Rosa broke forth in a long "O-oh!" of delight, and in a Thank the Lord!" which expressed their gratitude to God for Toto's safe return to Palermo. The man, in fact, who had sighted the Maria in the gulf, had run here and there to the families of the crew, in order to be the first to bring the joyful tidings.

The announcement is made by throwing the cap into the air, in token of supreme contentment, and asking for a reward for the news, which in old times was given in the form of eggs, and now may be either in eggs or in money. So that without a word of the sight of the ship, or of her entrance into the port of Pa