gnificent Duomo which now covers the shrine
of this great saint was not in existence then; nevertheless, the
devotion of the people towards their apostle and patron was deep and
sincere. Perhaps in no city in Italy is there greater pomp thrown
around the patron's festival than at Milan. From morning to night
thousands gather around that venerated shrine. The prince with his
liveried servants, and the poor peasant with the snow-white handkerchief
tied on her head, kneel there side by side. From the first anniversary
of the great saint's death to the present day the musical services of
the great cathedral have been rendered by the greatest talent in Italy,
Professionals and amateurs flocked from every side to do honor to
the man who did so much honor to the city of Milan. Nowadays, since
science has shortened distance, it is one of the autumnal amusements
of the wealthy Englishman to be present at the Feast of St. Charles
at Milan. The gorgeous Duomo, hewn, as it were, out of Carrara
marble, covered with five thousand statues and pinnacles, illumined
with hundreds of thousands of lights swinging in the lofty aisles in
chandeliers of sparkling crystal; the majestic organs, accompanied
in musical harmony by hundreds of the best of human voices, rolling
in soul-stirring majesty over the heads of tens of thousands of the
kneeling children of the saint--all leave an impression never to be
forgotten. Although in modern days the city of Milan has nurtured in
her bosom some of the firebrands of Italian revolution, yet the city
honored with the names and relics of Ambrose, Augustine, and Charles
has yet thousands of pious and holy souls, who still gather with filial
devotion around the tombs of the sainted dead.

On the morning of the festival of St. Charles our heroine awoke with
a heavy heart. She knew the city was astir and repairing to the
cathedral. How strange she should have chosen the name of Charles!
How great, how holy everything connected with that name! Could the
man of God who made it so venerable to his people meet the wretch who
had assumed it to dishonor it? Could even the pious people who flocked
to the cathedral know there was amongst them a Charles whose hands were
stained with parricidal guilt? Like the wicked man who fleeth when
no man pursueth, Charles trembled lest the indignation of the people,
of the saint, and of God should crush her in punishment of her sins.

With thoughts like these she en