oly proof of the waywardness of
human passions and prejudice, by refusing to share in common the scanty
pittance of earth which bigotry has allowed for their everlasting
repose! While the Protestant sleeps by the side of the Protestant in
exclusive obloquy, the children of Israel moulder apart on the same
barren heath, sedulous to preserve, even in the grave, the outward
distinctions of faith. We shall not endeavor to seek that deeply-seated
principle which renders man so callous to the most eloquent and striking
appeals to liberality, but rest satisfied with being grateful that we
have been born in a land in which the interests of religion are as
little as possible sullied by the vicious contamination of those of
life; in which Christian humility is not exhibited beneath the purple,
nor Jewish adhesion by intolerance; in which man is left to care for the
welfare of his own soul, and in which, so far as the human eye can
penetrate, God is worshipped for himself.

Don Camillo Monforte landed near the retired graves of the proscribed.
As he wished to ascend the low sand-hills, which have been thrown up by
the waves and the winds of the gulf on the outer edge of the Lido, it
was necessary that he should pass directly across the contemned spot, or
make such a circuit as would have been inconvenient. Crossing himself,
with a superstition that was interwoven with all his habits and
opinions, and loosening his rapier, in order that he might not miss the
succor of that good weapon at need, he moved across the heath tenanted
by the despised dead, taking care to avoid the mouldering heaps of earth
which lay above the bones of heretic or Jew. He had not threaded more
than half the graves, however, when a human form arose from the grass,
and seemed to walk like one who mused on the moral that the piles at
his feet would be apt to excite. Again Don Camillo touched the handle of
his rapier; then moving aside, in a manner to give himself an equal
advantage from the light of the moon, he drew near the stranger. His
footstep was heard, for the other paused, regarded the approaching
cavalier, and folding his arms, as it might be in sign of neutrality,
awaited his nearer approach.

"Thou hast chosen a melancholy hour for thy walk, Signore," said the
young Neapolitan; "and a still more melancholy scene. I hope I do not
intrude on an Israelite, or a Lutheran, who mourns for his friend?"

"Don Camillo Monforte, I am, like yourself, a Chris