as were terminated by the Turkish bullets; and the lawsuits between the Government and the contractors, which lasted for years after the war, and in which prominent officers were implicated in charges of corruption, were a painful public scandal. In theory, there is a perfect system for supplying every want of a Russian army, and the minutest details are provided for by the fullest, and generally most sensible regulations; but in practice the whole fabric has hitherto always given way. General Vannovsky, the present Minister of War, has done all that is in the power of a sensible, energetic, and honest soldier to effect improvements. But the Tsar himself cannot change the national character, and it is that which is responsible in so many branches of Russian administration for putting good theory into bad practice.

The above reflections would no doubt equally apply to the question of mobilisation. The arrangements, as laid down for a rapid mobilisation, appear to leave nothing to be desired. According to the Armed Strength of Russia,' the Russian authorities hope that, notwithstanding the difficulty of enormous distances and want of communications, all infantry regiments would be completely mobilised in from seven to ten days, and that cavalry squadrons, which are always up to war-strength, would march twenty-four hours after receiving their orders. Rendezvous are appointed in each province, so that men on furlough may be able to reach one of them in two or three days at the most; and a certain number of cloaks and boots, the most essential requisites in the soldier's kit, are kept ready in store. The police are charged with all the arrangements for calling out the men and forwarding them to the head

quarters of their respective districts, noting as deserters those who fail to

appear within the specified delay. It is probable, from past experience, that all men belonging to the active army could be brought together in the time specified; but their readiness to join the army at the front would be dependent, first, on the real completeness of the stores and material, in accordance with regulations; and secondly, in all probability on the successful organisation and working of the railways. The first condition as to stores and material is hardly likely to be satisfactorily fulfilled; but it is not probable that any deficiencies would be allowed to seriously delay a movement. The second condition as to the efficient working of the railway system is almost certain to be unfulfilled. In forwarding large bodies of troops by rail, new men would have to undertake new duties, demanding great accuracy and forethought, and it is just under such circumstances that the majority of Russians conspicuously fail.

In conclusion, it may be taken for granted that where dogged courage and powers of endurance alone are required, the Russian army will not be beaten by that of any other nation. But when the Russian soldier is dependent on the care and intelligence of his superiors, either in matters of administration or of military conduct, there he is foredoomed to failure. In their own country, or against such unorganised foes as the Turks, the Russians may do well; but it is difficult to believe with Skoboleff that they would have any chance against the high organisation, discipline, and intelligence of such an army as, almost without an effort, Germany could array to oppose a Russian invasion.

IN those days the railroad did not extend beyond Terni in the direction of Aquila, and it was necessary to perform the journey of forty miles between those towns by diligence. It was late in the afternoon of the next day before the cumbrous coach rolled up to the door of the Locanda del Sole in Aquila, and Prince Sarracinesca found himself at his destination. The red evening sun gilded the snow of the Gran Sasso d'Italia, the huge domed mountain that towers above the city of Frederick. The city itself had long been in the shade, and the spring air was sharp and biting. Sarracinesca deposited his slender luggage with the portly landlord, said he would return for supper in half an hour, and inquired the way to the church of San Bernardino di Siena. There was no difficulty in finding it, at the end of the Corso -the inevitable "Corso" of every Italian town. The old gentleman walked briskly along the broad, clean street, and reached the door of the church just as the sacristan was hoisting the heavy leathern curtain, preparatory to locking up for the night.

by the sleeve. But the man shook his head, and began turning the ponderous key in the lock. Two little ragged boys were playing a game upon the church steps, piling five chestnuts in a heap and then knocking them down with a small stone. One of them having upset the heap, desisted and came near the Prince.

"That one is deaf," he said, pointing to the sacristan. Then running behind him he stood on tiptoe and screamed in his ear"Brutta bestia!"

The sacristan did not hear, but caught sight of the urchin and made a lunge at him. He missed him, however and nearly fell over.

"What education!—che educazione!" cried the old man, angrily.

Meanwhile the little boy took refuge behind Sarracinesca, and pulling his coat asked for a soldo. The sacristan calmly withdrew the key from the lock, and went away without vouchsafing a look to the Prince.

"He is deaf," screamed the little boy, who was now joined by his companion, and both in great excitement danced round the fine gentleman.

"Give me a soldo," they yelled together.

"Show me the house of the Padre Curato," answered the Prince, "then I will give you each a soldo. Lesti! Quick!"

Whereupon both the boys began turning cart-wheels on their feet and hands with marvellous dexterity. At last they subsided into a

natural position, and led the way to the curate's house, not twenty yards from the church, in a narrow alley. The Prince pulled the bell by the long chain which hung beside the open street door, and gave the boys the promised coppers. They did not leave him, however, but stood by to see what would happen. An old woman looked out of an upper window, and after surveying the Prince with care, called down to him—

"What do you want?"

"Is the Padre Curato at home?" "Of course he is at home," screamed the old woman. "At this hour!" she added, contemptuously.

"Ebbene-can I see him?" "What is the door shut? returned the hag. "No."

"Then why don't you come up without asking?" The old wo man's head disappeared, and the window was shut with a clattering noise.

"She is a woman without education," remarked one of the ragged boys, making a face towards the closed window.

The Prince entered the door and stumbled up the dark stairs, and after some further palaver obtained admittance to the curate's lodging. The curate sat in a room which appeared to serve as dining-room, living-room, and study. A small table was spread with a clean cloth, upon which were arranged a plate, a loaf of bread, a battered spoon, and a knife, and a small measure of thin-looking wine. Upon the table stood also a brass lamp with three wicks, one of which only was burning, and shed a feeble light through the poor apartment. Against the wall stood a rough. table with an inkstand and three or four mouldy books. Above this hung a little black cross bearing a

brass Christ, and above this again a coloured print of San Bernardino of Siena. The walls were whitewashed, and perfectly clean,-as indeed was everything else in the room, and there was a sweet smell of flowers from a huge pot of pinks which had been taken in for the night, and stood upon the stone sill within the closed window.

The curate was a tall old man, with a singularly gentle face and soft brown eyes. He wore a threadbare cassock, carefully brushed; and from beneath his three-cornered black cap his thin hair hung in a straight grey fringe. As the Prince entered the room, the old woman called over his shoulder to the priest an uncertain formula of introduction.

"Don Paolo, c'è uno there is one." Then she retired, grumbling audibly.

The priest removed his cap, and bowing courteously, offered one of the two chairs to his visitor. With an apology, he replaced his cap upon his head, and seated himself opposite the Prince. There was much courteous simplicity in his manner.

"In what way can I serve you, Signore?" he asked.

These papers,' "answered the Prince, drawing the famous envelope from his breast-pocket, "are copies of certain documents in your keeping, relating to the supposed marriage of one Giovanni Sarracinesca. With your very kind permission, I desire to see the originals."

The old curate bowed, as though giving his assent, and looked steadily at his visitor for a moment before he answered.

"There is nothing simpler, niy good sir. You will pardon me, however, if I venture to inquire your name, and to ask you for

The priest started uneasily. "A relation of Giovanni Sarracinesca?" he inquired. Then he added immediately, "Will you kindly excuse me for one moment?" and left the room abruptly. The Prince was considerably astonished, but he held his papers firmly in his hand, and did not move from his seat. The curate returned in a few seconds, bringing with him a little painted porcelain basket, much chipped and the worse for age, and which contained a collection of visiting-cards. There were not more than a score of them, turning brown with accumulated dust. The priest found one which was rather newer than the rest, and after carefully adjusting a pair of huge spectacles upon his nose, he went over to the lamp and examined it.

"Il Conte del Ferice,' he read slowly. "Do you happen to know that gentleman, my good sir?" he inquired, turning to the Prince, and looking keenly at him over his glasses.

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Certainly," answered Sarracinesca, beginning to understand the situation. "I know him very well."

"It was very natural. He wished you to forget his existence."

"He asked me many questions about Giovanni," said the priest, "but I could not answer him at that time."

"You could answer now?" inquired the Prince, eagerly.

"Excuse me, my good sir; what relation are you to Giovanni? You say you are from Rome?”

"Let us understand each other, padre mio," said Sarracinesca. "I see I had better explain the position. I am Leone Sarracinesca, the prince of that name, and the head of the family." The priest bowed respectfully at this intelligence. "My only son lives with me in Rome-he is now thereand his name is Giovanni Sarracinesca. He is engaged to be married. When the engagement became known, an enemy of the family attempted to prove, by means of these papers, that he was married already to a certain Felice Baldi. Now I wish to know who this Giovanni Sarracinesca is, where he is, and how he comes to have my son's name. I wish a certificate or some proof that he is not my son,—that he is alive, or that he is dead and buried."

The old priest burst into a genial laugh, and rubbed his hands together in delight.

"My dear sir-your Excellency, I mean I baptised Felice Baldi's second baby a fortnight ago! There is nothing simpler'