mistake me a second time," he said.  "If she
does me the honour to value my poor name at
more than its worth, I can but place it at her
disposal."

"Are you sincere?" she said, quickly.

"Undoubtedly."

"You permit us the use of your name?"

Mr. Trefalden smiled, and bent his head.

"Thanks, in the name of the cause."

"But, signora —"

"But what?"

"You will forgive me if I desire to know in
what manner you propose to make my name
serviceable?"

"I shall enter it on our general committee list."

"Is that all?"

"All —neither more nor less."

Mr. Trefalden's face showed neither satisfaction
nor dissatisfaction.  It was perfectly placid
and indifferent, like his smile.  Mademoiselle
Colonna looked at him as if she would read him
through; but she could do nothing of the kind.

"If you repent of the permission you have
granted," she began, "or object to the publicity
of—"

"No, no," interposed the lawyer, with a little
deprecatory raising of the hand; "not at all.
It gives me much pleasure."

"If, then, on the contrary, you choose at any
time to favour us with more active aid," continued
she, " you need only write to my father,
or Lord Castletowers, or, indeed, any of the
honorary secretaries, and your co-operation will
meet with grateful and immediate acceptance.
Till then, no demand will be made upon your time
or patience."

Mr. Trefalden bowed.

"Have you many such drones in your hive,
signora?" asked he.

"Hundreds."

"But they can only be encumbrances."

"Quite the contrary.  They are of considerable
value.  Their names give weight to our
cause in the eyes of the world; and the printed
lists which contain them find their way into every
court and cabinet in Europe.  For instance, I
have here a paper—-"

She paused, glanced towards Saxon, and
dropping her voice almost to a whisper, said:

"Your guide, I suppose? Does he understand
English?"

"Perfectly," replied Mr. Trefalden, answering
the second question, and taking no notice of the
first.  "As well as you, or myself."

"Dio!  Have I said too much?  Is he safe?"

"I would answer for him with my head, if even
he had understood the purport of our conversation
— which he has not done."

"How can you be sure of that?"

"Because he is a wild mountaineer, and knows
no more of politics than you, Signora Colonna,
know of the common law of England."

The young lady took a folded paper from her
pocket, and placed it in Mr. Trefalden's hand.

"Read that," she said.  "It is from Rome.
You are aware, of course, that Sardinia —"

Her voice fell again to a whisper.  She drew
the lawyer away to her father's table, spread the
document before him, and proceeded to comment
upon its contents.  This she did with great
earnestness and animation, but in a tone of voice
audible only to her listener.   Mr. Trefalden was
all attention.  Signor Colonna, his thin hands
twisted in his hair, and his elbows resting on the
table, remained absorbed in his papers.  Saxon,
who had not presumed to lift his eyes from his
plate while the lady stood near him, ventured to
glance now and then towards the group at the
further end of the room.  Having looked once,
he looked again, and could not forbear from
looking.  It was not at all strange that he should
do so.  On the contrary, it would have been
strange if he had done otherwise; for Saxon
Trefalden was gifted with a profound, almost a
religious sense of beauty, and he had never in
his life seen anything so beautiful as Olimpia
Colonna.

                  BIRDS: A FLIGHT.

BIRDS often have governed men.  In all ages,
and in many countries, birds have enjoyed a
dominion as powers of the air, that has been
given by men to no other class of animals as
powers of the earth and water.  We wonder
at their powers of flight, and their marvellous
migrations.  Nowhere can we get away from
the birds.  We ascend a high monument, and
the birds are as much at home as upon the
ground.  We scale a cliff, and the birds glide
over the ledge of it, and return again, while we
shudder as we creep to the edge and glance
over.  Far away at sea we meet the birds careering
over the waves, and appearing to enjoy their
flight, while perhaps the frail vessel in which
we are sailing labours along with creaking
timbers and flapping sails.  We sit alone in our
most private chamber, and a little bird hops
impertinently upon the balcony or window-sill, and
peeps into the room.  Nowhere are we safe
from the birds, and hence the ancients believed
that they possessed a rare knowledge of human
affairs.  As they were continually flying about,
they were supposed to observe and pry into
men's most secret actions, and know all their
doings.  We meet in the Greek poets with
many allusions to this; for instance, in
Aristophanes' comedy of the Birds, one is made to
say, "No one knows of my treasure, except
indeed some bird;" and again, Sophocles makes
Å’dipus say, "If you have received any information
from the prophetic birds, divulge it."  The
idea, indeed, passed into a proverb among the
Greeks to the effect that when they were
engaged in any secret action, no one knew what
passed, "except indeed some bird."  A like
expression has come down to our own times.
"For," preaches Ecclesiastes, "a bird of the
air shall carry the voice, and that which had
wings shall carry the matter;" inasmuch as
we say, when we wish to affect mystery as
to the true source of our information, "A