ue benevolence only
possible to the poor, because only they _can_ make great sacrifices,
he had so benefited as to make an entire change in his prospects for
life. Himself a poor orphan, with nothing but a tolerable education
at an orphan asylum, and a friend of his dead parents to find him
employment on leaving it, he had felt for this young man, poorer and
more uninstructed than himself, had taught him at his leisure to read
and write, had then collected from, friends, and given himself,
till he had gathered together sixty francs, procuring also for
his _protege_ a letter from monks, who were friends of his, to the
convents on the road, so that wherever there was one, the poor youth
had lodging and food gratis. Thus armed, he set forth on foot for
Rome; Piacenza, their native place, affording little hope even of
gaining bread, in the present distressed state of that dominion. The
letter was to say that he had arrived, and been so fortunate as to
find employment immediately in the studio of Benzoni, the sculptor.

The poor patron's eyes sparkled as I read the letter. "How happy he
is!" said he. "And does he not spell and write well? I was his only
master."

But the good do not inherit the earth, and, less fortunate than his
_protege_, Germano on his arrival found his uncle ill of the Roman
fever. He came to see me, much agitated. "Can it be, Signorina," says
he, "that God, who has taken my father and mother, will also take
from me the only protector I have left, and just as I arrive in this
strange place, too?" After a few days he seemed more tranquil, and
told me that, though he had felt as if it would console him and divert
his mind to go to some places of entertainment, he had forborne and
applied the money to have masses said for his uncle. "I feel," he
said, "as if God would help me." Alas! at that moment the uncle was
dying. Poor Germano came next day with a receipt for masses said for
the soul of the departed, (his simple faith in these being apparently
indestructible,) and amid his tears he said: "The Fathers were so
unkind, they were hardly willing to hear me speak a word; they were so
afraid I should be a burden to them, I shall never go there again. But
the most cruel thing was, I offered them a scudo (dollar) to say six
masses for the soul of my poor uncle; they said they would only say
five, and must have seven baiocchi (cents) more for that."

A few days after, I happened to go into their church, and f