yed him earnestly to give him three numbers to play in the
lottery.

"But how under heaven," says the innocent priest, "has it ever got into
your head that I can know the five numbers which are to issue in the
lottery?"

"_Eh! Padre mio!_ what will it cost you?" was the answer. "Just look at
me and my wretched family; if we do not pay our rent on Saturday, out we
go into the street. There is nothing left but the lottery, and you can
give us the three numbers that will set all right."

"Oh, there you are again! I am ready to do all I can to assist you, but
this matter of the lottery is impossible; and I must say, that your
folly, in supposing I can give you the three lucky numbers, does little
credit to your brains."

"Oh, no! no! do not say so, _Padre mio_! Give me a _terno_. It will be
like rain in May, or cheese on my maccaroni. On my word of honor, I'll
keep it secret. _Via!_ You, so good and charitable, cannot refuse me the
three numbers. Pray, content me this once."

"_Caro mio!_ I will give you a rule for always being content:--Avoid
Sin, think often on Death, and behave so as to deserve Paradise,--and
so"----

"_Basta! basta! Padre mio!_ That's enough. Thanks! thanks! God will
reward you."

And, making a profound reverence, off the _bottegaio_ rushes to his
house. There he takes down the "Libro del Sogni," calls into
consultation his wife and children, and, after a long and earnest
discussion and study, the three numbers corresponding to the terms Sin,
Death, and Paradise are settled upon, and away goes our friend to play
them in the lottery. Will you believe it? the three numbers are
drawn,--and the joy of the poor _bottegaio_ and his family may well be
imagined. But what you will not imagine is the persecution of the poor
_uomo apostolico_ which followed. The secret was all over town the next
day, and he was beset by scores of applicants for numbers. Vainly he
protested and declared that he knew nothing, and that the man's drawing
the right numbers was all chance. Every word he spoke turned into
numbers, and off ran his hearers to play them. He was like the girl in
the fairy story, who dropped pearls every time she spoke. The worst of
the imbroglio was, that in an hour the good priest had uttered words
equivalent to all the ninety numbers in the lottery, and the players
were all at loggerheads with each other. Nor did this persecution cease
for weeks, nor until those who had played the numbers correspo