that
Flavio is the murderer: and I will tell you something more that will
surprise you. I know the cause of the murder--the motives that
influenced him. What do you think?--he was present at the examination of
that girl, yesterday!"

"He!" I exclaimed, with an expression of astonishment.

"It is surprising what he can do," he said: "he was disguised like a
soldier on guard; and, if you remember, two or three of them were
listening when the door was opened, when I returned after your interview
with Rachel."

The whole mystery was now explained: he had murdered the child to
revenge himself on Rachel.

"What I fear is," continued M. Narelli, "that we are three hours too
late, and the fellow has escaped; but we have sent off in all
directions, and all that can be will be done. I am now going to see the
poor girl, will you come with me?"

A strange fascination made me do so; besides, I wished to restore the
objects which she had given into my charge. When we arrived we found her
asleep: the jailer awoke her more gently and with more consideration
than before, for her sorrow had touched even his heart. When she saw me
she gave an exclamation of joy.

"And my child?" she said.

I could not answer a word, but put the packet into her hand.

She looked up with a kind of vague, incredulous smile, and passed her
hand across her forehead, as though to reflect more clearly.

"You have seen her, and you have not given it to her," she said. "What
does it mean?"

"It means," said M. Narelli, "that your child is the victim of an act of
fearful treachery, of a dreadful crime."

"My child! my child!" she shrieked aloud. "There is but one man who
could hurt a child, a sweet child like that--its own father!"

She bowed her head for a time, and raised it again only to utter the
most fearful ravings. Fit followed fit; her whole frame was convulsed,
and I withdrew in horror and anguish.

The result may be shortly stated. She went mad, and was confined in an
asylum,--one of those glorious charitable establishments of which modern
Rome can boast. Flavio escaped to the Campo Morto, where he is now
living,--an asylum for men guilty of the blackest crimes, where they
gradually fall victims to the pestilential vapors which they inhale, and
perish beneath the brightest sun while cultivating the soil so soon to
become their graves.

From the American Whig Review for January.

HENRY C. CAREY, AND HIS POLITICAL ECONOMY.

BY RU