are on board; I sail in an hour, and have come only to show my self." "If those around us did but know," said the lady, glancing at the awful Minister of Police then passing with a Neapolitan general well known for his hatred of the Liberal party, "we should both be arrested." But nobody ever did know. By daybreak the frigate was miles away from the beautiful bay, making for scorched and sun-browned Malta. The diligent police continued to scour the lanes, and prowl into garrets and over the roofs; but their prey had escaped, and their persecutors never knew how they had been outwitted. Meanwhile the fugitives received money under feigned names in Malta, until the downfall of Bourbon rule in 1860 released them and hundreds of others from exile, and many from a captivity worse than death.

During that period of espionage and tyranny at Naples, brigandage, always the curse of the country, was kept within moderate limits. Though robbery in every other form was universal, the highways were comparatively safe, at least in the immediate neighbourhood of the capital; and even in Sicily, under the iron rule of the Minister of Police, the dreaded Maniscalco, one might travel securely from one end of the island to the other. It did not suit King Ferdinand to permit brigandage on a large scale, as his predecessors had often done; but by isolating his provinces and rigidly repressing every attempt at progress or communication from without, he did much to perpetuate a condition of society eminently favourable to its existence. His moral appreciation of the vocation may be surmised from the almost incredible fact that he pensioned a well-known leader and his band, and assigned them a retreat in the island of Ischia. They had committed the error of being too daring, and violating the outward

decency which the King prided himself upon maintaining throughout his dominions. The traditional and picturesque bandit disappeared for a time from the beaten track, and the most adventurous travellers seldom caught a glimpse of him. During the least perilous period, however, of the late King's reign, a party of English ladies met with a ludicrous adventure on the dreary road which skirts the Gulf of Salerno, leading from that city to Pæstum. A few miles from the Temples the carriage was stopped by a party of horsemen, to all appearance mounted gensdarmes. Saluting the ladies respectfully, the leader informed them that they were appointed by the Government to escort all travellers to Pæstum and back at a charge of ten piastres. The unprotected ladies thought it a most considerate, though rather expensive, arrangement, and thankfully accepted the escort of the gallant band. How vividly that wild and beautiful drive comes back to memory after the lapse of long years! The broad smooth road coasting the slumbering Mediterranean; the sapphire sea flecked with graceful lateen sails. Salerno lies behind, backed by a moss-grown ruined castle. At the farthest point is seen Vietri; whence may be traced a faint white line creeping along the face of the cliffs on the opposite side of the gulf, broken here and there by slender campanile and clusters of human habitations. Amalfi, gleaming high against the towering cliffs, closes that unrivalled road, so often painted from the cave of the Capuccini Monastery, which, rising above the town, commands the whole bay. Yet higher still, perched on the loftiest mountain-summit, sits Positano; to the left Scaricatoia, even more unapproachable; at their feet lie the verdant little Syren isles, while in the distance Capri reposes upon the azure waters like a lion couchant guarding the Bay of Naples. To the tourist's left rises a range of mountains bound

ing the malaria - stricken plain, along which the swift little horses, harnessed three abreast, jingling with bells and decked with nodding plumes, canter merrily. Under the shade of the mountains are seen villages-Battipaglia and Eboli-the latter an ominous name. There, thirty years ago, a young English bride and bridegroom were murdered by seven brigands. Murray tells the story, and their countrymen look with a shuddering interest towards the scene of the tragedy. How thankfully the ladies at this point saw themselves surrounded by their military guard may be imagined! The soi-disant officials punctually performed their part of the agreement; and it was not until the ladies had returned to Naples and told the story, that they had the least idea that they had been the heroines of an adventure with real brigands, who had hit upon this polite and novel mode of pursuing their calling. Brigandage then wore its mildest aspect. It is in times of political excite ment that external, agencies excite mere highwaymen into the commission of the most atrocious cruelties. In thinly inhabited districts, where roads and large towns are few and hiding-places plenty, banditti are the natural product of the soil; and, even in families of a superior class, a little excess of severity on the part of a father towards a son sent the latter to enlist with the brigands as commonly as impatience of restraint in former days drove the wild English boy to sea. Even now brigandage is by no means entirely confined to the Neapolitan provinces. At the present moment a daring robber infests the country round Lake Thrasymene. His name is Cinicchia, and he began his career of crime by stabbing his own brother in the presence of a number of persons who cared not to interfere in the family quarrel. He fled from justice and took to the road, or it perhaps should rather

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be said to the woods, and for years he has lived by levying blackmail upon all who have aught to give, excepting only one or two powerful families, whose intercession in his behalf he hopes to secure by this forbearance. He is a celebrity in his way, and the district he haunts abounds in tales of his audacious exploits. Not long ago the steward of a rich absentee landlord was making up accounts with an agent, and came upon an entry of twenty crowns set down as paid to Cinicchia." "What next?" cried the steward; "this can never pass.' "What can I do?" piteously inquired the agent; when Cinicchia demands money, Cinicchia will have it." The bailiff still demurred. Suddenly he was startled by a knock at the house door, and a loud voice called his name and summoned him to descend and open. The bailiff turned pale and stood irresolute. "You had better come," said the voice, "and bring two hundred crowns with you. I know you have the money in the house. I am Cinicchia." The frightened bailiff hesitated no longer, but went down with the two hundred crowns, which he charged to his employer's account with the agent's twenty. All attempts to catch this robber have hitherto been in vain. He never sleeps under a roof, continually changes his lurking-places, and his loaded revolver is ever in his hand. Notwithstanding his impunity and success-for he is known to have amassed large sums-he is weary of an outlaw's existence, and lately made overtures to the authorities, through one of the families he had never molested. He declared his wish to retire from business, and asked to be allowed to settle three thousand crowns upon his family and embark for America, where he proposed reverting to his original trade of a mason. The Government was willing to consent, but imposed the condition that he should give up his asso

ciates. With the proverbial honour of his class, he refused to be guilty of a tradimento; and as, upon the other hand, none will betray so loyal a robber, he will probably die in his bed, although he never sleeps in one. Cinicchia is not habitually cruel, and doubtless he burns candles to the Madonna, gives alms to the poor, and is looked upon by his countrymen as a hero driven from society, through having had the "misfortune" to kill a man. The scene of his exploits is amongst the most interesting in Italy, being the rich and picturesque country surrounding Perugia, a city of Etruscan origin, beautifully situated on a height, and famous as the birthplace of Raphael's master, Perugino. About twenty years ago the ancient tomb of the Volumni family was accidentally discovered in the neighbourhood; and memories of more recent, though still of classic, date are evoked by Lake Thrasymene. Forests of oak flourish in its vicinity, and grand mountains encircle it. For a short distance the road from Perugia passes along the swampy margin of its waters, and near the battle-field where Hannibal vanquished Flaminius and the Roman legions, when the contending armies fought so furiously that they were not conscious of a great earthquake which levelled many Italian cities, changed the course of rivers, lowered the tops of mountains, and even drove back the sea. The lake itself periodically retreats from its shores, and leaves a strip of land uncovered for some years, the waters returning as they receded, slowly and imperceptibly. There is an interesting historical incident connected with that strip of land. When Pope Pius V. was a simple monk, he lived on the border of the lake, and had a neighbour named Fiorenzi. In process of time the monk was offered a cardinal's hat, but he was so poor that he could not raise the necessary money without the help

of his well-to-do neighbour, who lent him twelve hundred crowns to take him to Rome and pay the fees. When the cardinal reached the dignity of the tiara, he sent for his friend Fiorenzi, made him a gentleman of the chamber and a marquis, but never repaid the money he had borrowed. Perhaps the Papal treasury was low; at any rate his Holiness hit upon a novel expedient. He granted his quondam neighbour the strip of land round the lake from which the waters recede, and though an uncertain source of income, as may be supposed, it still yields some eight or nine hundred crowns ayear to the family-that is, when not under water; and Pius V. cannot be said to have repudiated his debt.

These desultory reminiscences have led us far away from Turin, which claims a few parting words. Already abandoned by royalty, before these lines appear in print the expiring capital will have been stripped of all the pomp and circumstance of government. The other Italian cities cannot be said to have shown themselves duly grateful to Turin and its brave inhabitants. Six years ago they looked hither hopefully and entreatingly for succour; their desire has been accomplished, their liberation wrought, and now they rejoice at the downfall of the ladder that enabled them to rise. What would Italy at this moment be but for Piedmont Still split into petty states, she would lie prostrate and powerless at the feet of her Austrian and Bourbon rulers. The ancient provinces, as they now are called, are the sinews of Italy. The great statesman, the scene of whose birth and death are marked, by the pious care of the municipality, on the corner house of the Via Cavour, in Turin, achieved that which, to Europe, seemed the dream of a visionary. Out of what had long been termed a mere geographical expression, he

constructed a living Italy. It ill becomes the provinces that owe their emancipation to his foresight and sagacity, and to the sacrifice of the oldest jewel of the Sardinian crown, to rejoice in the hour of Turin's desolation. Little sympathy has been shown for the suffering city. The maladroit Ministers, who might have soothed the wounded and satisfied all parties, doggedly refused the slight concession asked of them. The previous Cabinet, whose negligence and incapacity led to the tragedy of September, sat silent, all the session through, in the Chamber of Deputies. They may have felt it impossible to justify themselves, and may have been unwilling to admit culpability; but it would have cost them nothing to utter a few words of regret, a single expression of sorrow, for the bloodshed which, in Turin, will always be considered to lie at their door. To have done so, although it could not altogether cancel the past, would have insured tranquillity and resignation for the present and for the future. As it was, and as might be expected, angry passions, which had smouldered for a time whilst justice was hoped for, became again aroused. Emissaries from without, the party of action and the party of the Pope, combined with malcontent Turinese to make useless and irritating demonstrations. In their exasperation some talked of annexation to France, whilst others declared themselves eager to join Switzerland. Are these Italians? Are these countrymen of the patriot statesman who was consoled, upon

his dying bed, by the conviction that the unity of Italy was secured? Would they suffer a movement of paltry local jealousy to endanger the edifice, still incomplete, whose fall would overwhelm them and give a shock to the cause of freedom throughout the world? It would be unfair to blame the whole of Turin for the disturbances which resulted in driving the King prematurely to Florence. But it cannot be forgotten that the municipal council not only declined royal hospitality, but refused, for several days, to express, in the name of the town, regret for a most insulting demonstration made at the very gates of the palace. Victor Emmanuel has been accused of want of feeling in giving a ball at all, considering the mournful events of September, and the gloomy prospects of the ancient capital of his dynasty. Perhaps it would have been politic to give to public charities the sum proposed to be spent in festivity, but that course also would have provoked complaint, and, indeed, it was one of those cases in which it was impossible to please everybody. Whatever the failings and faults of the King, to himself personally the change of capital is a greater sacrifice than to any one of his subjects. Turin's best friends must regret that at the eleventh hour she should have proved forgetful of that loyalty and self-respect which, if maintained to the last, would have secured to her the reverence ever accorded to those who suffer and sacrifice much for a noble and patriotic cause.

TURIN, April 1865.

THE arrival of Mr Archdeacon Beverley in Carlingford was, for many reasons, an event of importance to the town, and especially to society, which was concerned in anything that drew new and pleasant people to Grange Lane. For one thing, it occurred just at the time when that first proposal of elevating Carlingford into a bishopric, in order to relieve the present bishop of the district of a part of his immense diocese, had just been mooted; and supposing this conception to be ever carried out, nobody could have been more eligible as first bishop than the Archdeacon, who was in the prime of life, and a very successful clergyman. And then, not to speak of anything so important, his presence was a great attraction to the country clergy, especially as he had come to hold a visitation. Besides that, there were private reasons why some of the families in Grange Lane should be moved by the arrival of the Archdeacon. Not withstanding all this, it is impossible to deny that Mrs Chiley, his hostess, and even Miss Marjoribanks herself, regarded the manner of his first appearance with a certain displeasure. If he had only had the good sense to stay at home, and not come to seek his entertainers! To be sure it is awkward to arrive at a house and find that everybody is out; but still, as Mrs Chiley justly observed, the Archdeacon was not a baby, and he might have known better. "Coming to you the very first night, and almost in his travelling things, to take the cream off everything," the old lady said, with tears of vexation in her eyes; "and after that, what have we to show him in Carlingford, Lucilla?" As for Miss Marjoribanks, she was annoyed, but she knew the wealth of her own reVOL. XCVII.-NO. DXCVI.

sources, and she was not in despair, like her old friend. "They never know any better," she said, sympathetically. "Dear Mrs Chiley, there was nothing else to be expected; but, at the same time, I don't think things are so very bad," said Lucilla; for she had naturally a confidence in herself of which even Mrs Chiley's admiring faith fell short. The Archdeacon himself took it quite cheerfully, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "I have no doubt it was a very pleasant party, if one could have got the key-note," he said, in his BroadChurch way, as if there was nothing more to be said on the subject, and Lucilla's Thursday was the merest ordinary assembly. For there could be no doubt that he was Broad-Church, even though his antecedents had not proclaimed the fact. He had a way of talking on many subjects which alarmed his hostess. It was not that there was anything objectionable in what he said-for, to be sure, a clergyman and an archdeacon may say a great many things that ordinary people would not like to venture on,-but still it was impossible to tell what it might lead to; for it is not everybody who knows when to stop, as Mr Beverley in his position might be expected to do. It was the custom of good society in Carlingford to give a respectful assent, for example, to Mr Bury's extreme Low-Churchism as if it were profane, as it certainly was not respectable, to differ from the Rector-and to give him as wide a field as possible for his missionary operations by keeping out of the way. But Mr Beverley had not the least regard for respectability, nor for that respect for religion which consists in keeping as clear of it as possible; and the way 2 Ꮓ