no great gravity in any other than a Roman
criminal court, as a homicide in a brawl, in short,
and not as a murder. Cardinal Antonelli and
the Pope considered it a capital joke that
Locatelli's friend could believe them so simple as to
be taken in by such a story as that. When the
minister of justice announced to the Pope that
a sentence of death had been pronounced, he
ventured to observe that this was a case in
which it might be wise and expedient to
observe a little forbearance, in order to avoid all
possible chance of incurring an irremediable
error, and so to save themselves from observations
which might prove unpleasant and inconvenient
to his Holiness. His Holiness, in reply,
gave clear directions that the execution should
bejproceeded with. To hear was to obey.

Pius IX. is a learned man; but as the most
extensive learning has its limits, and as the
following case is taken neither from Greek,
Roman, Italian, nor saintly history, we presume
to offer it to his Holiness's careful consideration,
with the humble petition that he will
deign to study it attentively before signing his
next death-warrant.

The widow D'Annebique, whose first
husband's name was Monbailly, lived with her son
by him and her daughter-in-law (or rather they
lived with her), at St. Omer, where she kept a
tobacconist's shop. Whether she was always
capable of distinguishing tobacco from snuff is
doubtful, seeing that she was almost constantly
drunk, in which happy state numerous
accidents befel her, such as breaking an arm, getting
a black eye, and staving in a rib. But for the
care her children took of her, she must have
killed herself a little sooner than she did. It is
a great pity that she did not.

Drunken people are often far from sane
during the short intervals when they cease to
be completely drunk. Such was the case with
the widow D'Annebique. She detested young
Monbailly and his wife for the attention
they paid to herself and to her property,
and for the slight check they were able to
put upon her suicidal propensity. They had
no more right to get rid of a tenant (one Martin,
with his wife and daughter), who occupied for
years the cellar beneath them, without paying
rent, than they had to hide her brandy-bottle.
So she determind to get rid of them, and
ordered Maitre Marin, attorney, to serve them
with a notice to quit within twenty-four hours,
under the pretext that her son threatened
her, knife in hand. Master Marin knew the
widow's drunken ways, and paid very little
attention to her complaint. Nevertheless, in
fulfilment of his professional duty, he drew up
the notice, and put it into the hands of a
sergeant to serve.

On the 26th of July, 1770, the widow
D'Annebique returned home at five in the evening
She was so drunk that she could scarcely stand
She immediately went to bed, according to
her wont on like occasions. Whilst she was
snoring and sleeping off her drink, Monbailly
received the notice, and, in his surprise at her
unkind treatment, awoke her, and remonstrated
with her. He reminded her of the danger she
had already incurred, and explained how unsafe
it would be for her to live in the house alone,
with no one to assist her at such times as she
was incapable of assisting herself. She
apeared to be convinced by his arguments, and
eplied, "We will see about it to-morrow."
Immediately afterwards, having recovered
herself a little, she got up and went and chatted
with her daughter-in-law in a neighbouring
apartment until half-past eight, when she
returned to her own room and got drunk
again.

Monbailly, still uneasy about the notice to
quit, sent his wife, Anne Therese Josephine
Danel, to speak to her father, begging him to
urge Master Marin to use his utmost influence
n their favour with their mother. Master
Marin sent word that they might make their
minds easy. The husband and wife, therefore,
went to bed at about half-past nine, taking no
further thought about the matter.

At five o'clock the next morning Monbailly
was seen quietly smoking at the door of his
mother's house, and his wife employed in washing
her child's linen. At seven a dressmaker
called, asking to see the widow D'Annebique,
and was told that she was still in bed. Alter
waiting half an hour, the dressmaker said, " I
cannot stay here doing nothing; you must wake
your mother." Monbailly opened the door of
her room, and found her stretched across a box,
with her head hanging downwards. He started
back, exclaiming, " Ah, mon Dieu! my mother
is dead!" His wife, alarmed by his cries, called
for help from the neighbours. Several persons
entered the house, saw the body, and lent their
aid to remove it out of her children's sight.
The state of the body, the consternation of the
husband and wife, excluded all idea of a crime.
The widow D'Annebique's death was regarded
as the consequence of her intemperance. It
was taken for granted that the wretched
woman, who was enormously corpulent, had died
suddenly in consequence of her excesses.

Under these circumstances, judicial formalities
appeared unnecessary; the women who
happened to be in the house wrapped the body in a
winding-sheet and put it in a coffin. Towards
evening, one of them, as she carelessly swept out
the chamber, scattered in all directions the blood
which the deceased had lost at the nostrils.
That very morning, the widow's death had been
announced to the relations and friends of the
family. The curé had been informed of it, and
although they were then in the height of summer,
the interment was fixed for the third day
after the decease instead of the second, as usual,
so far were the Monbaillys from fearing, or even
expecting, a legal investigation.

Nevertheless, while they were preparing to
render the last duties to their mother, rumours
were spread that they had murdered her, to
avoid the consequences of the notice to quit.
The report, improbable as it was, gained credit,
and reached the magistrate's ear. On the 28th