Some minutes before nine o'clock, the priest
took his post in the street, opposite Nanina's
window. It was open; but neither she nor
her little sister appeared at it. He looked
up anxiously as the church-clocks struck the
hour; but there was no sign for a minute or
so after they were all silent. " Is she hesitating
still ? " said Father Rocco to himself.

Just as the words passed his lips, the white
mantilla was waved out of the window.

WHITTINGTON IN SERVIA.

THE fact that the Londoners have no right
to monopolise Richard Whittington was
proved long ago by Grimm's Popular Stories,
where we find the happy owner of the cat
flourishing in Germany, as the third of three
lucky brothers, and making his fortune by
precisely the same means as those that
brought wealth and civic honour to him who
discovered prophetic meaning in the sound of
Bow bells.

It certainly gives symmetry to the legend
of Whittington to make him the youngest of
three brothers. A German proverb declares
that " all good things are three," and throughout
the whole course of Teutonic legends we
find that three adventurers are usually
necessary to carry out any great purpose; and
that those are usually achieved by a third
son, who has previously been an object of
contempt to his stronger seniors. Even the
English Whittington is connected with the
mystical number. Not only was he thrice
Lord Mayor of London, but—what is not
generally known— he was thrice buried.
"This Richard Whittington," says an old
history of the city, " was three times buried;
first, by his executors, under a fine monument;
then, in the reign of Edward VI., the parson
of the Church (St. Michael, Paternoster)
thinking some great riches to be buried with
him, caused his monument to be broken, his
body to be spoiled of his leaden sheet, and
again the second time to be buried; and in
the reign of Queen Mary, the parishioners
were forced to take him up to lap him in lead
as before, to bury him a third time, and to
place his monument, or the like, over him
again; which remained, and so he rested, till
the great fire of London violated his resting-
place again."

Whittington is not only to be found in
Germany, but in Servia—a land of wild
legends— and there, though, as with us, he is
a brotherless individual, his moral aspect is
completely changed. With us the lesson
taught by the triple mayorality is that of
hopefulness under misfortune. Whittington
holds a lowly position in the social scale, and
is ill-used by the tyrannical cook; but, the
prophecy of Bow-bells, which he. heard while
he rested on his walk from London, calling
to him to turn again, still rings in his
ears, and cheers him through his troubles.
There is, of course, a sort of fatality in the
tale, but it is not of a sort that makes a
person sit with his hands before him and do
nothing. On the contrary, it brings with it
that presentiment of success which is the
stimulus to exertion, and the tone of the story
is such as to justify it for the popular myths
of an energetic and ambitious people like the
citizens of London.

The Servian Whittington has nothing
German or English in his nature, and it is
singular to observe how a story nearly
the same as that of the Lord Mayor of
London can be told with so complete a
variation of moral purpose. The Servian
Whittington bears the strongest marks of an
Eastern origin. An utter prostration before
the Supreme Will, as the fountain of all
justice, and a thorough conviction of his own
unworthiness, are his characteristics. He is
described as a poor man, who has hired
himself out as a labourer to a rich man, but
makes no compact as to wages. Here, already,
we find an indication of that same feeling
which makes the Turk look upon insurance
against fire as an act of impiety, proving a
want of trust in the discriminating justice of
Providence. The poor man makes no compact,
firmly believing that a higher power will
measure his reward by his deserts. At the
end of a year he goes to his master, and
requests him to pay what is due, without
naming an amount. The churlish employer
gives the poor fellow a penny, but so sensitive
are the feelings of gratitude in the latter, that
he will not venture to enjoy his miserable
reward, until Heaven proves by a miracle
that he has deserved it. He takes the coin
with him to the margin of a brook, and then,
after expressing his wonder that the labour of
a year has rendered him possessor of so great
a treasure as a penny, prays to Heaven to
allow the coin to float on the surface of the
brook if he be worthy to retain it. When his
prayer is finished, he flings his penny into
the brook, and— naturally enough— it sinks at
once to the bottom. He, accordingly dives
after it, fetches it up, returns it to his master
with an avowal of his own unworthiness, and
goes to work for another year on precisely
the same principle as before. At the end of
the second year he receives the same reward,
and makes the same experiment with the
same result. Indeed, it may be remarked
that, through the whole course of legendary
lore, a second trial is of no service, save as a
stepping-stone to a third. However, the end
of another year brings with it a change of
fortune. The coin which he now receives,
floats on the surface of the brook; therefore
Heaven has plainly declared that a penny
has been rightfully earned by the labour of
three years.

After a while, the master sets out, like
Lord Bateman, to see some foreign country,
and the labourer gives him the hardly-earned
penny, that he may lay it out to good
advantage in parts beyond seas. The master