Jackeymo shrugged his shoulders; and then, glancing at his master, threw his hand over his eyes.

There was a pause.  Jackeymo was the first to break it.

“But, whether here or there, beauty without money is the orange-tree without shelter.  If a lad could be got cheap, I would hire the land, and trust for the crop to the Madonna.”

“I think I know of such a lad,” said Riccabocca, recovering himself, and with his sardonic smile once more lurking about the corner of his mouth—­“a lad made for us!”

“Diavolo!”

“No, not the Diavolo!  Friend, I have this day seen a boy who-refused sixpence!”

“Cosa stupenda!”—­(Stupendous thing!) exclaimed Jackeymo, opening his eyes, and letting fall the watering-pot.

“It is true, my friend.”

“Take him, Padrone, in Heaven’s name, and the fields will grow gold.”

“I will think of it, for it must require management to catch such a boy,” said Riccabocca.  “Meanwhile, light a candle in the parlor, and bring from my bedroom—­that great folio of Machiavelli.”

* * * * *

RECENT DEATHS.

LOUIS PHILIPPE, EX-KING OF THE FRENCH.

The vicissitudes of kings form an impressive chapter in the history of Europe; and one of the most striking episodes in the narrative is the checkered life of the last king of France—­one week among the mightiest monarchs on the loftiest pinnacle of ambition, he was, the next, an exile in a foreign land—­his past supremacy almost forgotten.

Louis Philippe died on the morning of the 26th of August, at Claremont, in the presence of the Queen and several members of his family.  He had been made aware of his approaching dissolution early the previous day, and receiving with calmness the melancholy intimation, prepared for the final arrangements he wished to make.  After a conversion with the Queen, he dictated, with remarkable clearness, the concluding portion of his Memoirs, and then, having caused to be assembled his chaplain, the Abbe Gaelle, and all his children and grandchildren who were at Claremont, he received, with resignation and firmness, the last rites of the Catholic Church.  Toward seven in the evening the debility that had oppressed him appeared to pass off, and fever came on, which continued during the night with much violence, but without disturbing his composure of mind.  At eight o’clock in the morning he expired, in the presence of his wife, and of the Duchess of Orleans, the Count of Paris, the Duke de Chartres, the Duke and Duchess de Nemours, the Prince and Princess de Joinville, the Duke and Duchess d’Aureale, and the Duchess Augusta of Saxe-Coburg.  Thus ended the closing scene of the life of Louis Philippe of Orleans,—­the wise and judicious sovereign of a great people, the soldier of one revolution, the conqueror of a second, and the victim of a third.