IN the afternoon of the 15th of March, 1735, the whole population of Marseilles had assembled on the port, to witness a ceremony as unusual as it was interesting and impressive. The Mathurin Monks, otherwise styled Fathers of the Order of Mercy,' had just returned from Algiers, Tunis, Morocco and Tripoli, with the Christian slaves, whom they had rescued from captivity with the Moors. The vessel, with the redeeming fathers and the emancipated captives on board, had the evening before entered the Roads; and its arrival had been instantly announced to the great joy of a multitude of anxious families, who hoped to recognise a parent, a child, or a friend amongst the group of beings thus restored to unexpected freedom, by the untiring zeal and sublime devotedness of the Pères de la Merci,' whose vocation consisted exclusively in the redemption of Christian captives; to raise the funds requisite for whose ransom, they traversed on foot the Catholic countries of Europe, soliciting alms, and undertaking in person an annual voyage to the Barbary states to treat with their lawless chiefs for the redemption of many hundred slaves. It not unfrequently happened that the good monks themselves would remain as hostages, either to liberate a few additional victims, or else as security for such sums of money as they might not have at immediate command.

The clergy of every parish in

* 'Pulcinella,' although the prototype of that wooden personage, whom, by corruption, we designate in English as Punch'-is, nevertheless, in Italy, a character of far greater consideration and importance. He is, in fact, the caricaturist par excellence, a species of Figaro, Charivari, and HB. combineda very sublimation and quintessence of sarcasm, pun, mischief, and ridicule. He is to Italians what our free press and caricature-shops are to England, a kind of safety-valve for the ebullition of pub

Marseilles, preceded by the various trading and commercial bodies, bearing their respective symbols and banners, the magistracy-the intendant of the province-the governor at the head of his staffthe bishop and his chapter-and the several regiments of the garrison, walked in procession to the port, where, from an early hour in the morning, immense crowds of spectators had taken up their position. The vessels stationed in the Roads had hoisted their respective national colours in token of glad sympathy; while discharges of artillery, fired off at intervals of five minutes from all the forts, mingled their thunder with the joyous peals which rang from the belfry of every church in the city.

At length, at a given signal, the ransomed captives, with their deliverers, landed on the beach. Some, still bearing on their persons the marks of the cruel treatment and barbarous tyranny of their late masters, might now be seen, prostrate, and imprinting kisses on that earth which they had never hoped again to revisit. Others had recognised amongst the crowd parents, children and relations, whose faces they had despaired of ever seeing more, and who now hastened to the glad recognition, with mutual cries and tears of joy: every eye was moistened with tears, and every bosom throbbed in unison with the affecting scene; whilst, amidst the universal joy, the venerable fathers, whose disinterested

zeal had created all this happiness, walked calm and silent through the crowd, that at every step showered down benedictions on their head. The procession then moved towards the cathedral, where a public thanksgiving was offered up for their deliverance; after which, each captive was restored to his family and friends. Those amongst them, who had neither relations nor friends, were for the present received into the houses of the principal citizens, by whom they were enabled, after the lapse of a few days of repose, and the kindest treatment, to return each to his respective family and home.

A great many foreigners had been present at the ceremony, and had all paid their tribute of admiration to the intrepid charity-the superhuman devotion of the Fathers of la Merci.' At its termination, one of these foreigners, whose accent and costume proclaimed him to be a Venetian, saluted the most aged of the monks.

"Yes, Signor."

"How many more are there remaining in Africa?"

"Alas! Signor, upwards of six hundred," replied the monk, with a sigh: "the alms that we have received, during the last few years, have not been very considerable; we have, consequently, been enabled this time to redeem only the more aged of the Christian slaves; and to effect even this, we have been compelled to leave three brethren of our order as hostages to enable us to bring away the same number of unfortunate Italian captives, whose age and infirmities were, to all appearance, hastening their passage to the grave !"

"Three Italian captives!" interrupted the stranger, with evident signs of emotion; "and from what part of Italy, may I ask?"

"They are all three, I believe, from Sicily."

And their names-their names,

reverend father?" eagerly inquired the Italian.

The Père de la Merci felt in his long grey fustian robe, and drew forth a roll of parchment.

'Here, Signor, are the three names you require to know:" he added, after rapidly casting his eye through the numerous list-" In the first place, Paolo Bancolo, aged eightysix, formerly receiver-general of the tolls and customs of Palermo, taken prisoner in the Isle of Syra in the year 1700."

"Merciful Heaven!" cried the stranger," do not your eyes deceive you, reverend father? And is it indeed the name of Paolo Bancolo that is written in that list ?"

"Read it yourself, Signor," said the monk, placing the scroll in the impatient hands of his interrogator.

"Paolo Bancolo! Yes! yes, there it is! Tell me, I beseech you, tell me, where is the venerable old man? Where is he? By all that is sacred, I implore of you to tell me!"

Paolo Bancolo," replied the monk, astonished at the sudden change which had taken place in the manner and countenance of the stranger, "Paolo Bancolo is, at this moment, with the Count de Langeron, the governor of Marseilles. The good, the intrepid, the generous Langeron, not content with displaying his courage and devotion while war and pestilence were ravaging his native land, has acted moreover as the great hospitaller of Marseilles, now that peace and prosperity have revisited our shores. Yes, Signor, Bancolo has found an asylum with the governor, in whose palace he now is, and which he will quit only for the deck of the vessel which is to convey him back in safety to his native country."

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Thanks, a thousand thanks, Padre!" said the stranger, as he kissed, with enthusiasm, the hands of the charitable monk: "but I should wish to see you again; where can I find you?"

"At my convent, which is here close by. Ask for the treasurer." "For the present, then, reverend father, farewell!"

And the stranger made, in all

haste, towards the street leading to the governor's palace. It was then only the monk perceived that a couple of lacqueys, in rich liveries, were following the Venetian at a respectful distance.

Night had already fallen, and the bell of the convent of the Mathurins had summoned the brethren to the choir for the evening service, when the porter came to announce to the father-guardian that two strangers were waiting in the parlour to see him.

He repaired thither, and recognised in one of the visitors the stranger who had spoken with him in the morning; the other was Paolo Bancolo, the aged captive. But the outward appearance of the latter had undergone a complete metamorphosis. He had laid aside the rags of destitution and slavery, to assume the rich dress of an opulent citizen. Tenderly embracing the good monk of La Merci, he reiterated once more the expressions of his deep and soulfelt gratitude.

"Paolo Bancolo," replied the good monk, "it would appear that heaven, after so long a trial of torture and calamity, has reserved you for a brilliant and happy existence. Bless, then, its decrees, Bancolo; and, above all things, forget not, in the position to which you are destined, that we have left behind us a crowd of miserable beings who daily moisten with their tears the barbarous soil to which they are chained; and sigh for a return to freedom and their native land."

"Trust me, reverend father," replied the stranger, "Paolo Bancolo will never forget the companions of his sorrow and captivity; but will endeavour, to the utmost of his ability, to alleviate their sufferings and to unrivet their chains. To do this, he now binds himself, here, in the presence of heaven and of yourself, his benefactor, as to a most solemn engagement; and it is I, his son, who here offer myself as guarantee for the fulfilment of that sacred pledge."

"You are, then, the son of Bancolo, signor?" exclaimed the monk. "Yes; and, until this day, have I

been denied the sight of the author of my existence, who was snatched from his family when I was yet in the cradle."

The monk raised his eyes towards heaven.

Eight days after my birth," continued the stranger, my father, who, as you are aware, was receivergeneral of the tolls and customs at Palermo, was requested to visit the Isle of Syra by some Greek merchants, to whom he had been enabled to render some important service. He embarked at the port of Catana; and from that time his farily never saw nor heard of him more. My mother dispatched confidential messengers to Syra. The Greek merchants declared that, not only had they never seen my father, but that the vessel in which he had embarked from Italy, had never made its appearance at that island. The ship was supposed to have been lost, and my father to have perished in the wreck. Judge, then, of my astonishment and delight on hearing the name of Paolo Bancolo pronounced by you this morning! The name, the age, the date of his captivity, all induced me to hope that the presentiments of my heart did not deceive me. I hastened to the governor's house, saw the poor captive, and soon had the happiness of clasping a father in my arms!"

"The decrees of Providence are inscrutable," exclaimed the monk; "but tell me, Paolo, how happened it that you were not able in so long a period to communicate with your family, and apprise them of your existence ?"

"The corsairs of Tunis," answered the old man, "made prize of our vessel almost on our leaving the port; and once arrived at Tunis, we were sold to the dey, by whom we were sent away above sixty leagues into the interior, to work at the fortifications of a town then newly erecting on the confines of his state. My great age, and increasing infirmities, alone, occasioned my removal back to Tunis, where you effected my ransom, by exchanging me against one of the younger brethren of your charitable order."