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SATURDAY, JUNE 7, 1873.
YOUNG ME. NIGHTINGALE.
• X THB AVTHOB OF "BOBSOM'S CUOICI," ftC.
•
CHAPTER VIII. MR. BTGRAVE.
PuREiNGTON Opinion was unfavourable to
the plan that had been adopted for my
education. I t was viewed as absurd and
even somewhat presumptuous. I t was certainly nnprecedented. " What be neighbour Orme thinking about ?" Mr. Jobling,
of the Home Farm, had been heard to
inquire. " Is he going to make a passon
of his nevvy ? Where be tho good of
hiring Passon Bygrave to stuff" his head
gilt Jut
wi* lAtton and Greek and such like ? He'll
ruin the boy. Bettor by half teke and
ailBs send un out to scare the craws or learn to do
snmmut useful. No good won't come on't.
I'd learned to plough a straight furrow, and
Tii)lit>> to handle a prong like e'er a man on my
&rm, long avore I was his age. Besides,
• o n ' * lirho wants a passon coming in and out of
a farm-house day arter day, like an old
woman ? It's quito ridic'lous. I'm surprised at neighbour Orme. But, there, 'tis
no use telking aboot it, I suppose. He
seems main bent on it. But I'm none so
terrible fond of passons myself; except on
Sundays of course."
Sentiments of this kind were so generally
if pan?
expressed that I could not help hearing
them. And I, too, Avas inclined to think
that the education Mr. Bygrave Avas engaged to impart was in the nature of a
vain and valueless thing. Why should I
be teught so much moro than my neighof,!
\ \ bours? It seemed to me rather foolish,
lore
and, what was even worse, feminine, to be
instructed in accomplishmente they had
never felt the lack of. It was like learning
to sew or to hem; useful arts in their Avay,
no doubt, but uuAA'orthy of a male creaturo's
VOU X.
acquiring. Happily, Mr. Bygrave did his
duty, so far as he could, as my instructor.
To the young child education is much as
medicine; even if he believe in the draught's
power to benefit him, yet he knows that ite
teste is disagreeable. Or if he begius to
quaff" it eagerly, his appetite soon fails. He
does not yet appreciato the pleasures of
duty; wisdom is weariness, and ignorance
still blissful to him. He finds it hard to
love the preceptor, who plucks him from
idle delighte, tethers him to school-books,
and expects him to enjoy the change,
I fear I did not do Mr, By grave justice.
Decidedly I did not love him. There Avas,
indeed, a certein lack of sympathy between
us. He was not, I think, intentionally unkind or Impatient, but he was unable to
teke account of my childishness. He seemed
to fancy that my small weak legs could keep
pace with his long strides, as we trod together the highways of wisdom. He knew
so much himself that he could not credit
the Ignorance of others. He often texed
me with trying to be stupid, AvhIch certainly Avould have been a supererogatory
effort on my part. And my boyish inability
to value duly the treasures of classical literature, ho estimated as somethiug amazing
in ite grossness and inanity.
If the authors of the remote past Avere
to me but unappetising food, they Avere as
meat and drink to Mr. Bygrave. The very
thought of them always seemed to bring
him new support and enjoyment. Ho
lingered fondly over long quotations from
them, smacking his lips after his utterances,
as though the flavour of fiue old wine bad
rejoiced his palate. He could deliver prodigious speeches from Greek plays, as easily
as I could pour out beer. He Avas, indeed.
In love Avith the dead, and especially with
the dead languages, and appeared to havo
^30
\
N>.
122
(JuneT. iBTD.]
ALL THE YEAR ROUND.
no heart or hope for the living Avorld of
lo-day. I remember the jilmust painful
a-stonishnunl it occaaioned ine w h e n l o n c e ,
by mere chance, discovered tliat he—so wise
a ni.ui—had neA-er reiid the Vicar of Wakefield, and was entirely nninfiirnied as to the
Avorks of Smollett. H e ])Iainly intimated
thathedes])i.'-ed such ^iroductions. I t often
c'»c<'ni!('d to Die, after thi.<, that Mr. Bygravi- had been b o m some two thousand
years too lale. How ho would have enjoyed, I thought, the .society of the ancient
]»oets and hist^riiins ! As to the opinion
they would haA'e entertained of hira I could
neA'cr quite make up my mind. I decided,
however, that he Avould not have looked
Avell in a toga.
H e Avas a tall, gaunt, long-necked,
j.:;no\v-cliested man, AAiih round shoulders,
: nd thin, unstable legs. H e had a habit
( f yawning frequently, stretching his limbs
until his muscles cracked noisily like dry
1 ranches in a gale of wind, and opening
Avide his large mouth to close it again Avitli
." crash. H e Avore always a hungry look,
iMS(miuch that my mother Avas wont to insist
that he suflx'rcd from insufficiency of food,
."ud invariably provided hiiU witb substential refreshment on bis A'isits to the Down
Farm Hou.se. His health did not appear
to be infirm, although his complexion Avas
jiallid and his frame attenuated ; he had a
loud harsh voice and a barking method of
s]>eech. I often likened myself to one of
Reube's lambs driven Into classical folds or
]iastures by the barking of my tutor—acting as a sheep-dog for the occasion.
Mr. Bygrave Avas respected at Purrington. because, time out of mind, it had been
t he Avay at Purrington to respect the clergy.
It Avas true that he only filled our pulpit
and reading-desk in consequence of the
extreme incapacity of our rector, old Mr.
Gascoigne; and that he did not reside at
the parsonage, but occupied apartments
f'A'cr the wheelwright's, " up-street," Purrington—it being, by the way, a firm conviction of my mother's that the wheelwright's
ju'emises Avere quite nuAvorthy of Mr. By*: i-ave's tenancy, and that Mrs. Munday, the
"^vheelAvright's Avife, in the way of providing
and cooking for a gentleman, and generally
iu looking after his comfort, was but " a
poor creature." Still, by reason of his
ofliciating in ^Ir. Gascoigne's place, and of
his biing in his own right a clergyman,
3fr. Byurave was generally viewed with
def'ror.ce and regard throughout the parish;
it being always understood, however, that
he was not to be likened to the rector,
P^
[CoadwHil^
but was .•ilto^rether a priest of inferior laoh;
if not, indeed, of a distinct species. l a h b
y(7«ngerd»ys M r . Ga.scoignc hadbeeanolid
fbr his skill in field-sports, and I n u d ai a
huntsman and a shot. Ho farmed kisomi
glebe, and bis boAA'ling waa a tiling qf!
Avhich elderly ciicketers of t h e Purriaglaji
Club—an institution he had originiSed^f
and for some time mainly supported—fH
spoke Avith enthusiasm. Mr. Bygrave
wholly without gifts of this k i n d ; he '
nothing of farming; he could neither ride
nor shoot; and although ho had upon nquest kept the score during the aanmL
cricket mateh between Purrington amb'
Bulborough, be bad not been intmstedi
with tbat office a second t i m e ; his in-,
efficiency was too glaring. That he
competent, howeA^er, to perform
pensable clerical duties in the way
marrying, christening, and burying
parishioners, could not be disputed; nor]
Avas much fault found with the sermons hel
Avas accustomed to deliver on Sunday afte^
noons thi'oughout the year.
Purrington
did not criticise sermons ; viewing them as
Avliolesome performances which were rather
to be endured, like surgical operations,
than enjoyed, or indeed understood. It
was thought, hoAvcA'er, that they did good
upon t h e whole; although this estimation'
of them regarded them somewhat in the
light of the incantetions of a wizard of
good character. I t m u s t be said that Mr.
Bygrave's discourses were not perhaps veiy
well calcolated for a rural congregatioB.
One special effort of his, however, in the
course of which he ventured upon certain
Hebrew quotations of considerable length,
won particular favour from his andittaf.'
I t was freely observed in the churchyai^
after service t h a t Mr. Battersby, the vicar
of Bulborough, the adjoining parish, conld
never have come u p to t h a t achievement
And that Mr. Bygrave, although a much
younger man, possessed " a zight more
learning."
Mr. Bygrave's position was not perhi
a very happy one. H i s means were
limited, and he was wholly without aiqi*'
thing like congenial companionship. Insnfl^i
society as P u r r i n g t o n could furnish, he
certainly not seen to advantege. Not thl^
he was shy or apparently ill at ease; buth#
was without power of speech upon mattaf
that did not Interest him, and was unabll
to sympathise, or to affect sympathy withthf
subjects that formed thesteple of PurringtflU
converse. W h a t were to him the conditiai
of the crops, the prices of barley, of sheep, or
H I HCbaries Dickens.]
YOUNG MR. NIGHTINGALE.
of wool ? Even the state of the weather was
as nothing to him. H e never seemed to
know if the sun were shining or not, the
wind blowing, or t h e rain falling. I had
seen him on most bitter days, leisurely
crossing the down, studying as he went
the pocket Horace he always carried with
him. Yet he was not perhaps to be pitied.
H e was happy after his own way.
His
studies were veiy dear to him, if they
Iwought little tangible profit to him or to
any one else. And he performed his duty
&.irly to the parishioners ; although he was
chaiged with reading from the Greek Testament, in lieu of the authorised version, to
old Betty Heck, the shepherd's mother,
during her long confinement to her bed
with rheumatism, asthma, and other complainte. Still Betty had alleged that Mr.
Bygrave's reading had done her " a power
of good," although as a matter of choice
she admitted her preference for the visits
of old Mr. Gascoigne.
To Mr. Bygrave I feel that I owe much,
and that acknowledgment of my obllgarions
has been too long delayed.
H e compelled
my acquaintance with a course of literature, concerning which I should have remained without Information b u t for bis
labour and painstaking. I t was no fault
of his that I was but an idle and indifferent pupil, even though something might
be said regarding his defects as a preceptor of extreme youth. But I am sure
tliat he did bis best; I wish I could think
^ e same of my own endeavours.
Our lessons concluded, I often walked
back with Mr. Bygrave part of the way to
the village.
Not that my society was any
boon to him. But I was charged to carry
eertain little gifts of farm produce bestowed upon him by my mother—strong
in her faith that the cui*ate incurred the
perils of starvation from the reckless incapacity and improvidence of his landlady,
ihe wheelwright's Avife. She had been in
times long past, it appeared, a servant at
the DoAvn Farm, and had undergone summaiy dismissal for outrageous neglect of
duty.
There Avas not usually much conversation between Mr. Bygrave and myself
during these walks of ours. H i s notion of
a pleasant topic would have related to the
eonjugation of some Greek verb of a distressingly Irregular pattern, existing only
for the confusion and torture of youthful
students. But I held that such matters
were quito unsuited to discussion out of
school houre. Eor some time I Avalked
[June-. l>:i:
123
silent beside him, carrying a basket of eggs
with rather a boyish longing to upset them,
or to ascertain hoAv far the basket could be
tilted without danfjer to its contents. Proscntly I addressed him upon a subject t h a t
still much occupied me.
" jMr. Bygrave," I said, " did you ever
see Lord Overbury ?"
I t was some time before he seemed to
understond me. H e had to descend, as it
were, from lofty regions of thought to m y
lowly level.
" Overbury, Overbury," he m u r m n r e d ;
" I seem to have heard the name."
Of course he had heard the name. Why,
nearly the whole of Purrington parish belonged to Lord Overbury, Surely everybody had heard the name,
" Overbury, Overbury ? Ah, I remember. No, I never saw him. I t was before
my time, some years. But I heard of It at
the university. I t was a disgraceful affair,
I believe. But I never knew the particulars, nor Avished to know them. H e only
avoided expulsion by teking his name otf
the books. So ended his academical career
—unhappy m a n ! "
W h a t was I to make of this ? Of what
was he talking ?
" I mean Lord Overbury," I explained.
" / mean Lord Overbury," he said.
" No, I never saw him. Nor should I care
to see him."
" He's gone to the great house — the
hall."
" H a s ho ? I don't know that his movements need concern you or me."
And be faA'^oured me with a Latin quotation, which 1 did not quite follow.
Thereupon we parted, for we had arrived
near the wheelwright's. I handed over tho
eggs, none of them broken, and turned
towards home again.
Then I bethought me that I wa.s no
great di.stance from the Dark Tower. W h a t
if I were to steal up the gloomy avenue
once more, and look about m e ?
Surely
no great harm would be done.
I had no plan in view. I was only
moved by a vague and idle curiosity. I
did not look for another adventure, nor to
see tho satyr again. I rather hoped not
to see him ; or 1 should not so much have
minded seeing him provided he did not
see mo. I could not count upon his mood
being so favourable as when wo had met
before. And be might reasonably object
to my Aisiting him again so soon. I t b »rc
a prying look, as I felt.
1 crept furtively up the avenue, stertling
A
124-
[.luno 7, 1873.]
ALL T H E YEAR ROUND.
a cluster of i-abbits tbat I came upon suddenly ; but hardly stertling them more
than they startled me. All Avas wonderfully still otherAvise.
Soon I was close to the great house. I
left the path and bid myself in the shrubbery, peering through a tangle of branches.
The Dark ToAver was dead again. The
windoAV of the room I bad previously
entered Avas UOAV like all the other wlndoAvs ; the shutters were fast closed. It was
as though my adventure had never been.
The house had resumed ite old aspect of
emptiness, neglect, dreariness, death.
I turned to depart, for there was nothing
to induce me to stay, when I heard a footstep close beside me on the moss-coated
gravel walk. Old Thacker confronted me.
I knew old Thacker of course, and rather
feared him. He was rough of speech and
manner, and his temper was sometimes
violent, I had learned to estimate his condition of mind by the colour of his nose,
AvhIch hoisted, as it were, storm signals
Avhen there was peril in approaching him,
A crimson hue proclaimed some cheerfulness of disposition ; but when his nose was
of a deep purple, then he was certainly to
be dreaded ; at such times he was capable
of anything. At least that was my conviction. In the present instence his most
prominent feature wore a rosy glow that
bespoke the dawn of intoxication. It was,
so to speak, in the sunset of ebriety that
tlie deeper tones lowered upon his face and
manifested his descent into wrathful gloom.
He might safely be addressed, therefore,
" I hope you're well, Mr, Thacker," I
said In my politest way.
" Thankee, I be terblish middlin'," he
answered ; meaning me to understand that
bis health was in a tolerable steto. As he
spoke he rattled the contents of a flowerpot he carried under his arm, and furnished
a sort of Castanet accompaniment to his
speech. The flower-pot was full of snails.
I had never before seen any evidence of
his industry as a gardener. " Where bist
ga-ing?" he demanded.
" His lordship said I might fish in the
lake."
" Fish ? There's narra fish there, but
an old jack as big as me a'most. He's eat
up all the rest. He'd eat you if you was
to fall In. He'd eat hisself I do think if
a' could only catch hold of a's tail. Tain't
no mor.sel of use fishing there, lad. So
you caught sight of 's lordship, eh ?"
" Y e s , " I said, " I saw him."
" Well, he be gone agen, now."
" Gone r"
ST
iCondaci«4|y
" Ees ; what a' como vor, there, I danna*,
nor Avhy a's gone, nor Avhcre. 'Tis no »«"
asking, nor thinking. Tain't no bisnesgi
mine, I suppose. Nor no one's else's, moit
like. A' comes and a' goes just when aV]
a mind to."
" You've known him a many years, }b,
Thacker ?"
" Ever since a' was a clytenish (pale)
chit of a child. And I knew a's vather
avore un. Times was diflferent then. But
'tis no use telking. If Farmer Orme's got
a few taters he could spare me, there, I'd bi
grateful.
Mine be uncommon pooriA,
somehows, to bo sure. We be all in ^i
caddie. The old ooman's bad with a coii|^ ^
She took a chill and it pitched, I'm thinking. I be getting these snails for her."
" Snails ?"
" Ees; bile *em in barley water, drink
'em up hot, and they'll cure most u j l
mortel thing."
With this I left old Thacker. I had'
rarely found him in so amiable and communicative a mood.
CHAPTER IX. A STRANGER.
I T seemed clear that I had seen thai
of Lord Overbury, and that my adventum
at the Dark Tower had come to a some*
what tome and prosaic conclusion. Iti
disappointing, certeinly.
As, returned home, I entered the kit*
chen, I was surprised by the spectacle of a
strange figure seated comfortably beside
the fire. Faces one had not seen maaj
times before were rare at Purrington,
rarer still at the Down Farm, and in sndi
wise to be considered with fixed attentioB,
even with a measure of awe. And the fiw
and figure before me were not only new
to me, but presented characteristics that
verged on eccentricity.
I turned to Kem for an explanation. IJ
did not speak, but I was conscious that nf J
open eyes and mouth and startled attitude
had all the effect of intense interrogation.
" An accident," said Kem. "The—-"
she hesitated, I know, as to how she should J
describe the stranger; " gentleman" seemed
not wholly appropriate; she hit upon
pleasant compromise: " The good man"
hurt himself."
" That sounds suicidal," he interpose!
" Rather I have been hurt by a plot
share, I am told, left upon the down^
had missed my way. Night had *
Your roads here are somewhat indistine
Sheep tracks they might almost be called.!
Not being a sheep I was unfamiliar wilh
them, and their nature. I have heard »l
Charles Dickens.]
YOUNG MR, NIGHTINGALE.
^
[June 7. 1S73.]
125
phrase as to the cutting of sticks applied whiskers; his hair, dark, curly, and profuse,
to the movements of man's lower limbs, I was piled u p high above his head, falling
s did not think how literally it might refer upon his brow like a plume. A s I noted
to my own l e g s ; let me be correct—to this he made a circular movement with his
one of them, I was cut on the shin—a arm and passed his fingers through his
tender part as you may be aware—by what, locks, carelessly lifting them to a greater
I am given to understend, was a plough- elevation. H e smiled at me as he did this,
share."
and, I think intentionally, displayed a ring
" I t was t h a t gawney Josh Hedges as he wore upon his little finger. If the stone
IWii
left un there, I'll w a m d ( w a r r a n t ) , " said set in the ring was genuine, I judged that
it must have been, from its exceeding size,
Kem.
" Anyhow it wounded m y s h i n ; not of enormous v a l u e ; but I knew little of
severely, perhaps, b u t sufficiently," con- jewellery; such opinions as I entertained
tinued the stranger. " I fell. I think I upon the subject were derived mainly
&inted. I remained upon the doAvn through- from the histories of Aladdin and SInbad.
out the night. I n point of fact my lodging
I fear that I stared at the stranger with
QjU-jj! was upon the cold g r o u n d ; I will add, and rude persistency; his aspect somehow fasdamp. I have known snugger and less ' cinated m e ; lI louna
found a difficulty in avertpU^, draughty abodes. The bosom of Mother ing m y eyes from him. Not that this
J , Earth is a trifle deficient in natural warmth. seemed in the least to annoy or offend
" I was found by some labouring folks—tiUers him.
I decided, indeed, that he was
mv of the soil ? happy peasantry ? j u s t so. rather gratified than not by my gaze. H e
• u They brought me here, I have received expanded his chest, and leant back majeskindly attontion and succour. Such Is my tically in his chair with an air of exhibitbrief story. You will, I am sure, under all ing his proportions to the utmost advanguuai the peculiar circumstances of the case, ex- tege, and justifying my admiration of him,
or at least my curiosity concerning him.
cuse my rising,"
1
I then perceived that his left foot was Suddenly it struck me that he resembled
tbt IT
* bare, resting upon t h e kitchen fender. H e portraits I had seen somcAvhere—probably
1 ^^!- had been bathing his wound, which looked on market-days in Steepleborough shopw i n d o w s — of King George the Fourth,
WMlK^tliej. an ugly one.
attired
in the clothes of private life.
I- . " Y o u r m o t h e r , " he said, half inquiringly,
1 oteK"i,Qt }jg jjjjj QQ^ wait for an a n s w e r ; " j u s t
H e was scarcely so large in the girth,
lytkespgQ^ I had judged as much—has kindly gone however, as his majesty—judging from his
comloKin search of some further medicaments— effigies—although he was of full habit,
bid not %hat is called * poor man's plaster,' I under- and even corpulent; nor was his costume
are at Pmand. A very appropriate remedy. F o r comparable in point of quality aud fashion
1 FiTii^C hate disguise; I a m not rich, far from it. to the dress of the king. His fluffy Avhito
(fitlfciThus aided, I don't doubt that I shall do beaver hat, bent and battered about tho
ifa«. irery well." H e bowed to me as he lifted rim, and disfigured by many weather stains
vereE- o his lips a tumbler of hot brandy-and- and creases, stood beside him upon the
i\0X^a,ter.
kitchen-teblo. H e wore a blue dress-coat
^ There was a certain oddncss about his of SAvallow-tail pattern, rather Avhite about
)TjnOi^^*°d speech that struck me much. H e the seams, and buttoning with some diffi.jj jQHSCfJvas perfectly grave, and yet there was a culty, OAving to its being a trifle too small
jjijitfinsplclon of comicality underlying all he for h i m ; some of its bright buttons had
jgnstiiik^dand did. Upon my entrance he seemed evidently yielded to the severe tension
J gem '•** ^*^® discerned in me a sympathetic they had been subjected to, and altogether
jjtobo***^'****"* and had addressed to me all his disappeared ; here and there, especially
iigeDtla*^'^**^°°^» ^^^ ^^pt his eyes fixed upon high up on his chest, their places had been
, . jiiefci®'He had a deep fruity kind of voice, and supplied by pins. A rusty black silk ker„ ije frfpoke with a deliberation that was almost chief Avas wound round his neck. H i s lesrs
iboured, as though ho prided himself upon were cased In nankeen pantaloons, tight at
,. 1.) lie '^^ distinctness of his articulation. And as the ankle, but bulging freely, from long use,
hiirt ^ '* *P**^® ^® moved his eyebrows actively, at the knees. A soiled green ribbon Avith
ntii*^?^ waved his hand to and fro in the air. a copper seal and Avatch-key—at least, I
%v!it !>'* '.®®™®<i to gather from my looks replies AA'as convinced that they wero not gold—
his inquiries, nodding his head ap- depended from his fob. Dingy stockings
somf'
,ost^'°^°?'7» ^^^ at intorvals permitting a and very thin shoes—that had not recently
^'^' ki^^^^
Bmlle to flit across his lips. H o undergone blacking, and certeinly needed
repair—completed his altire. Beneath his
a large. round, fleshy face Avithout
\ ^
12C
[JutiP 7. 1873.J
ALL THE YEAR ROUND.
chair there rested a small bundle tied up
in a fadetl cotton handkerchief knotted at
the coniers, and attaidied to a rough Avalking-stiek. Avhich looked as though it had
been drawn from a hurdle.
I felt that 1 bad been staring at the
stranger quite long enough ; still I could
not depart from his presence.
1 had noA'er
before seen such a man, or such a method
of dress. But 1 now changed my position,
and for awhile studied the movements of
Kem and the condition of the kitchen fire.
Every now and then, hoAvever, 1 Indulged
in a furtive glance at the .stranger. When
1 did so, I found him still looking at me.
Our eyes met. I t Avas certeinly awkward.
And then my curiosity Avas newly stimulated. H e had produced from bis pocket
a pair of scissors and a scrap of paper.
And, Avhilc still looking at me, he was
snipping at this paper, holding it up to the
light, then snipping it again, after further
gjizo at mc. H e Avas a most extraordinary
man. H e had already been too much for
Kem. She was stricken dumb, and, as she
Avildly pared potetoes, her face wore almost
an In.sane expression.
" I call t h a t a fair portrait," said tho
stranger, and he held up a black shade of
myself, placed against a Avliite card for ite
better exhibition.
H e had been cutting
out my silhouetto. K e m was roused from
apathy, and as .soon as her amazement
permitteil her speech, she pronounced the
portrait perfect, said she .should have known
it anywhere, and evidently formed forthAvith a more faA'ourable opinion of our
visitor than .she bad previously entertained.
1 felt that the black shade resembled me,
though I was but indifferently acquainted
Avitli the conformation of my OAVU profile.
Still it exhibited a boy Avith a blunt nose,
a sharp chin, a mass of thick untidy hair,
and a patch of white to represent my collar.
I t Avas clearly my likeness.
" Y o u ' r e an artist, sir," I said, diffidently.
" I may call myself an artist," he anSAvered, Avith a grand yet not unkindly air.
" I really think I may. Not that this
trifliiifj is really to be called art. You like
the trifle r—keep it, my young friend. Keep
it, my friend. In memory of me. A touch
of gum or paste will make it adhere to the
card.
Slick it up over your mantelshelf.
Tell yonr friends, should they inquire, that
it is the work and the gift of F a n e Mauleverer. A trifle, yet of worth In its Avay.
I've known worse portraits executed by
artists of greater pretence.
But I am in
the habit of speaking modestly—if at all—
of my OAvn merits."
V
-/"
[Conducted by
I was deeply gratified; I tendered hiia
warm If incoherent thanks, which he r».
ceived with bland and sinlling deprecatioaj
I Avas even emboldened, boy-like, to ii
trude further upon his generosity,
begged further demonstration of his ai
endowments.
" Now do K e m ' s likeness; please, do^"
I pleaded. H i s kindness had banished my
timidity.
" I'm ashamed of you. Master Dnka^f
said Kem, the natural crimson of her face
deepening greatly.
She objected to
portrayed.
She had even some a
stitious apprehension, I think, that enl
would come of it. She covered her fiw
with her apron.
B u t the stranger—Mr. F a n e Maulevewr
as he h a d announced bis name—with ia
amused expression, snipped a fresh acof
of paper, and not in the least deterred \^
her movemente and objection, achieved a
silhouette of Kem. I t h o u g h t it wondatf
fully like—much better t h a n my own, in^'
deed, of Avhich, perhaps, I was not so gooi
a j u d g e . H e r cap strings and frills w a i j
beyond praise.
" By special desire," said Mr. Manleverer,
exhibiting his work, " of tho young gentlaman Avhose name I gather to be Duke, i!
portrait of the exemplary lady whom t
have heard designated K e m — a curiona
appellation; b u t no matter. Here is F a »
Manleverer's tribute to the personal advwft^
tages of Mistross K e m . "
My mother entered the kitchen. She
was much distressed at the mischance that,
had befallen Mr. Manleverer. She wa»
about to apply her healing arts to BI
wound; the matrons of her time
practised in domestic medicine, and an
had long been consulted upon all accidenil,
happening upon the farm.
B u t Mr. '
leverer, Avitli exceeding politeness, decli
her aid. H e could not permit, he i
that she should attend upon him. Andl
called her " My dear m a d a m . " His
ner struck me as quite courtly.
" No, no," he said, " I a m not the
valier B a y a r d . " I t occurred to me that|
did not resemble greatly m y idea of
chivalric personage. " A n d my woi
but slight, and not received in
but ignobly, by Avandering from my
and tumbling over a useful, if _
agricultural appliance. A strip or tWfl
p l a s t e r — s o " — as be spoke ho wanned i
plaster at the fire, and then appHed it]
his h u r t — " and then, I am myself ag
may limp for a day or two. But wl
matter ? I can yet proceed upon my
A
Chariea Dickens.]
FAMOUS BRITISH REGIMENTS.
^.
" You were going to" To Lockport. I had left Dripford in
^ the morning. My trunks, I may mention,"
4 here Mr. Manleverer looked very grave and
ws- cleared his throat, " have been sent on beih fbre me. I was told that Lockport was a
walk of some twelve miles."
j'*
" Across the down."
lluiiL' " True. Across the down. But a stranger
to these parte—I was never before, indeed,
ke; in this delightfully open country—I missed
ionoii HiJ road. I t was not surprising, perhaps.
pk: Nor could I obtain directions. One meete
a m but few people hereabouts; habltetions are
Hint ^ scarce, and sign-poste are not frequent
jyaiis when once the highAvay has been quitted.
Bnt now, rested and refreshed—thanks to
^jBSJI^ yonr kind hospitality—and my trifling injjjf^ jury seen to, I think I may safely proceed.
jjljjj He rose, and took his fluffy white hat
l^^^firom the teble.
^^,^ " I t were best for you to remain," said
jjj.jj;j,my mother. " A night's rest, Mr.
"
^^^,8he paused.
I "j "Manleverer — F a n e Manleverer," he
igsaid, bowing over his hat Avhich he pressed
> against his chest.
,,[ jr " We have a room at your serArice, Mr.
'. Manleverer. All shall be done for your comfort. I t is not right t h a t you should set
'^ ..forth so soon—night will soon come on—
^ • and your hurt is too serious for you to think
•^'^of walking so great a distence."
tw "•' " Madam, you overpower me. But—let
iMpffi^me disclo.se myself. You may entertein
. mistaken notions in regard to me. I am
the 0!*ui actor, madam. Nothing more. A poor
the ci^layer on my Avay to Lockport, having an
nlere^ ingagement there during the race-week.
lealicz '^i have trod the boards of Covent Garden.
ot' li^ -But I am now, at your service, a strollmeditf'ng player—that Is the world's description
inpcD^tf me. I am content to accept it as suffi^ B<iiently accurate."
lOt
FAMOUS B R I T I S H
iltJ
-j^jjj iBB FIFTH FOOT ( " T H E
REGBfENTS.
FIGHTING
FIFTH.")
^k
THERE is an old militery tradition that
^j^i'he Fifth won from the French the fea^[oJhers which they UOAV wear, and that
I ji,f>bey dyed their tops red by dipping them
* y ' j j l the blood of their enemies. The true
•^jjiborv, however, is this. The " O l d Bold
^ ^ ^ ^ h " had tho distinction of wearing a
^ -J ji.fhite plume in the cap, when the similar
^ ^l^xnament in the other regiments of the
^ j^fiOrrice was a rod and white tuft. This
•P^ 2i;|Dnonrablo distinction Avas given to them
i ^^ J;ir their conduct at Morne Fortune, in the
I ^ ' iland of St. Lucia, whero they took from
[June 7,1S7:3.]
127
the French grenadiers Avhite feathers in
sufficient numbers to equip every man in the
regiment. This distinction was subsequently
confirmed by authority, and continued as
a distinctive decoration until 1829, when
a general order caused the white feather
to be worn by the whole army.
By a
letter from Sir H . Taylor, adjutant-general, dated July, 1829, the commanderin-chief, referring to the newly - issued
order, by which the special distinction was
lost to the regiment, states that, " As an
equivalent, the Fifth shall in future wear
a feather half red and half white, tho red
uppermost, instead of t h e plain white
feather worn by the rest of the army, as a
peculiar mark of honour."
The Fifth Regiment of Foot (or Northumberland Fusiliers) originated in a body
of disbanded Irish soldiers, who, on the
peace Avith Holland, in 1674, were allowed
to enter the Dutoli service. It had been
Intended to raise ten thousand men, and
place them under the chief command of
the Prince of Orange. Sir Walter Vane
was to haA'e been their leader, but he
being killed at the battle of Seneffe, the
command was handed over to Sir William Ballandyne, who Avas shot the same
year at the siege of Grave, in North Brabant. Colonel John Fenwick then took
up the dead man's SAA'ord, and led on
the " I r i s h " regiment to many Dutch
victories.
At tho great but unsuccessful siege of Maestricht, which Avas defended by Monsieur Calvo, a braA'c Catalonian, and eight thousand men, the
English brigade distinguished themselves
by repelling several hot .sallies, and capturing, after two bloody assaults, the
Dauphin Bastion, for Avhich the Prince of
Orange complimented the Irish corps, and
rewarded the men Avitli a special present
of a fat ox and six sheep to each regiment.
In this siege, raised at last by Marshal
Schomberg and a French army, the English brl2;ade had nearly half ite officers and
men killed or Avounded.
A t the defeat of the Prince of Orange
at Mont-Cassel iu 1677, the Irish bricrado behaved Avith its usual indomitable
spirit. In 1678, under the command ot
the Earl of Ossory, the regiment fought
in the Netheilands, and is particularly
mentioned on one occjision as encamping near Waterloo ; Avhile at the battio of
St, Denis, the British brigade Avas chosen
to lead the atteck on the French. The
regiment lost on this occasion about a dozen
ofliccrs, eighty men killed, and one hundred Avouuded. Tho peace of Nimegueu
=5*
I
^
i5=
128
[June 7. 1873.)
ALL T H E YEAR ROUND.
soon followed, and for a time tho brave
brigade hung up their ponderous mu.skete.
On the accession of James the Second,
the rebellions in Scotland and England
compelled the return of the English and
Irish regiments. They arrived too late to
be useful at Sedgemoor, and sailed back at
once to Holland, from Avhence, in 1687, they
refused again to return at the king's command. The prince then bestoAved the
colonelcy of the .subsequent Fifth on Lieutenant-Colonel Thomas Tollemache. Capteln Bernardi, of this regiment, was afterAvards Implicated in a plot to assassinate
King William; and, though never tried,
Avas cruelly detained in prison by that
usnally just king for thirty years.
When the Prince of Orange sterted for
the English throne in 1688, Tollemache's
regiment was the flower of the five thousand five hundred men Avho left Holland,
and It at once obtained rank as Fifth Regiment of Foot in the British line. They
Avere soon busy in Ireland, fought at the
Boyne and the siege oi Athlone, and cut
to pieces many troublesome packs of Rapparees. At Athlone the grenadier company
of the Fifth, under Major-General Mackay,
Avaded breast high through the Shannon,
the reserve following by planks laid over
the broken arches of a stone bridge. The
regiment afterwards joined actively in the
siege of Limerick, and the conquest of that
place terminated the war in Ireland.
It is a noteworthy fact that in 1694, during
William's wars in Flanders, the Fifth Averc
again encamped near Waterloo, and they
also helped to protect Ghent and Bruges,
in 1696, from tho French. In Queen
Anne's Avars they also had hard work cut
out for them. In the war of the Spanish
succession they fought a good deal in
Portugal; and at Campo Mayor, when the
Portuguese cavalry fled, and three of our
regiments, advancing too far unsupported,
Avero surrounded and taken prisoners, the
Filth and two other regiments made a
stubborn stand, killing nearly a thousand
Spaniards and effecting a brave and glorious retreat Avith a loss of only one hundred
and fifty men killed and wounded. After
this Portuguese campaign, the Fifth (five
hundred strong) went to garrison Gibraltar, and remained there fifteen years.
In 1726, they helped vigorously to defend
the tough old rock against the Spaniards.
In 1728, the Fifth proceeded to Ireland,
where it remained, with but a short interval,
for more than tAventy years. In 1755 it left
Ireland, and in 1758 Avas sent to effect a
landing on the coast of Franc.', Avbjn it
[CondoelMby
helped to burn the shipping and magazines
at St. Malo. In August of the same year it
helped to destroy the fort of Cherbourg, and
to capture and destroy one hundred and
eighty-five cannon, and, the month after, it
was sent to land in Brittany and destm
batteries.
In 1760, the Fifth fought under the Dnki
of Brunswick in Hesse Casscl. In 1761,
as part of the Marquis of Granby's corp^
the Fifth defended tho heights of Kirct
Denkern, and helped to take prisoners tbe
whole Rouge regiment, with its cannon
and colours. When Prince Frederick smw
prised the French camp at Groebenstei^p
the Fifth attacked Sterville, who had
throAvn his division into the woods ol
Wllhelmsthal, to cover the French !••
treat. Tho Fifth wormed through tint
Avoods, firing from tree to tree, while the
Marquis of Granby attecked the Frenok
rear to prevent tho retreat. The Fifth
took more than twice ite own number
prisoners, and finally helped to capton
the whole French diArision, except two
battelions. An officer of the Fifth, who hk
went up to take the French colours (tan
the standard-bearer, was shot dead by a
French sergeant, who stood near; but the
man was instently killed, and the colours
quickly seized. The Fifth earned so modi
credit for this dashing exploit, that tbe men
were allowed for the future to wear French
fusilier caps, instead of the hat then nsed
by tho regiments of the line; and in 1836^
William the Fourth allowed the regiment
to bear the word " Wilhclmsthal" on their
colours and appointments.
From 1764 to 1774 the regiment »•
mained in Ireland, where, from the cleafr
ness and trimness of the men, the soldien
of the Fighting Fifth became known as "flie
Shiners." Early in 1767, orders of merit
were instituted in this regiment with great -ui
success, as they served to insure good noncommissioned officers, and to rouse the
ambition of the privates. The first (seven
years' good conduct) earned a gilt mi *'
bearing on one side the badge of the
ment, " Saint George and the Dragon,"
with the regimentel motto, " Quo Fata vocant," and on the reverse, "¥'•» Foot,
merit;" the second medal (fourteen yean
merit) was of silver; the third, also silvff
(tAventy-one years), bore the name of thi
wearer. Those who gained the twenty-one *»;
years' medal had an oval badge of the
colour of the facings (green) on the rigW
breast, surrounded with gold and silv*
wreaths, and inscribed in the centre wiA 3;tiT
the Avord " merit," in gold letters.
•'^'h
^
Jh
"^
Chi
Chariea DIekens.]
FAMOUS BRITISH REGIMENTS.
ThePifiEh, in 1771 and 1772, served in
Ireland against the wild bands of Whiteboys, Hearte of Steel, and Hearte of Oak,
and in 1774 went to p u t down the so-called
rebellion in America. They fired the first
shot of the unfortunate war at Lexington,
where they came on some armed American
militiamen,
and were nearly surrounded at
i\
Concord, where they had destroyed some
ok' militery stores collected there by the socalled rebels. I n the attack on Bunker's
Hill, near Boston, the Fifth had hot Avork
for a June day. W i t h three days' provision
on their back, cartouch-box, &c., weighing one hrmdred and twenty-five pound.s,
ilkii
they tolled through grass reaching to their
jTr" knees, between walls and fences, in the face
I j ^ of a hot fire, and eventually got possession of the enemy's works on the hill near
tntr,
Charlestown, The Fifth also joined in the
reduction of Long Island, tho battle of
eat. Il
White Plains, the capture of Fort Washrj'J' ington, the reduction of NCAV Jersey, and
'P" a fight at German town, where they rescued
f"; ^ the Fortieth regiment from an American
[June 7, 187.3.]
129
on a place of no less importance than the
market-square, but Avhich, by the assiduity
of the enemy, had been transformed into a
species of citedel. Our gallant and highspirited officers fully coincided with the
major's views. W e had a sergeant with
us, George GoUand, who, I verily believe,
would have sabred the first man shoAving
symptoms of what he never felt—fear.
Such was our enthusiastic confidence in
our leader, that when, sword in hand, he
exclaimed, ' Now, my brave fellows, death
or victory,' onward we went, and on turning the first angle to the left, found ourselves in the street leading to the marketplace. Here we were exposed to a galling
tire, which, though It thinned the numbers
of our little band, did not impede our progress nor damp our ardour till AVC came to
the square at the end of the street. H e r e
a close, compact, and well-connected fire,
Avounding several of our officers and men,
whom was our noble major, comamong
pelled us to r e t r e a t ; and it Avas fortunate
that we Avere able to effect it
We,
however, managed to bring our wounded to
''^^
In the expedition against the French a church, converted into a hospital, Avhere
sl«"West Indian Islands in 1778, the Fifth they Avere put under the care of medical
wita took part. I t was at St, Lucia, as Ave have officers, protected by a sergeant's guard,
.''"'^already seen, that the regiment won its of whom, by turn of duty, I made one.
II OTBi ^hite plumes, helping to repulse three de- Sergeant Prior, of Captain Clarke's comploitta: termined rushes of seven thousand French pany, and Corporal Byron, were the nonSoon after the
BBKgent to save the island. The French lost commissioned officers.
theksfour hundred killed, and eleven hundred regiment was gone, some of the twelve
line; J:; wounded, while the English lost only men left on guard went into a wine store
ijtei lis'eighteen men, and one hundred and thirty close by, and tAvo of them, from want of
idas^ wounded—a disparity t h a t seems almost food and excitement, soon became intoxicated, and on attempting to cross the street
3. incredible.
tkRP In 1787, the regiment embarked for to return to us Avere shot dead. To pref^gti:-Canada, and in 1796 was employed against vent a similar disaster the sergeant directed
5 nenithe insurgent Canadians at Point Levi, and a sentry to be placed at the door of the
^^it^ctoaaed the St. Lawrence on the ice. In wine house; and he, too, soon shared the
;; (pjsl797, the officers aud sergeants returned to fate of his comrades from the fire of a con^^dBngland, and re-formed the regiment by cealed enemy. T h e sergeant then took his
Jiiistisirecruitlng in Lincolnshire. A kindly feel- sta,tion there ; in a few seconds he also was
ij to ing was from that time esteblished between a corpse. Night approaching, Byi'on and
, <^':^he Fifth and Lincolnshire people, that stilltiie rest of us began to think that our post
^jpjjOrings many recruite annually to the regi- was not tenable. W e shuddered at the
idea of leaving the wounded, and came to
yjfjaient from that county.
the
resolution that one of us should en' 1 ,i|,; After serving in the Duke of York's re(.(jjiiarkablo campaign in Holland in 1799, deavour to find the regiment and procure
' ihe Fifth went for two years to Gibraltar, assistence. I t was a dangerous adventure ;
' . ii^/etuming at the peace of Amiens, I n 1806, Ave cast lots ; and the chance fell upon me.
f^liii'^® l a m e n t had its share of the mortifying W i t h piece loaded and bayonet fixed I
1'^, jjiefeat at Buenos Ayres—a defeat Avhich ventured down the street, cleared it, and
Avith but one interruption succeeded in
r«j°^j^e Fifth did its best to prevent. After
making my way until ' W h o comes there'
iD^ l^^,utering tho treacherous toAvn our soldiers
announced that immediate danger Avas
of^ rt^'und themselves in a hive of riflemen.
over. I found Colonel Davie, Avith Avhom
?i^,', ^ "However, cheered by hope," writes ono
Avere Majors King and Watt, and most of
t h f / t h o Fifth, " w o assembled In a yard, the officers, and explained to them my
ill"' 'here our brave major proposed an attack
J* J-brigade.
I
v^
\ i
l "
130
[Junp7. 1H7.T]
ALL THE YEAR ROUND.
mission. The colonel replied, ' I t is too
late; the guard is disposed of; join your
comp:iny.' I did so, and to my utter a.stonishnient leai'ued (he issue of the dav's
adventure, namely, that the light brigade,
Avith Colonel Crawford, Averc prisoners;
this included onr light, or Captain G. B.
AV'ay's company; Captain Hamilton had
lost a leg."
The uniform of the regiment In 1804,
Avas a long-tailed coat, Avhite pantaloons,
and Ilesfiian boots; with hair tied and
powdered, and a cocked hat. This was the
dress of the officers, to which that of the
stafl-sergeants bore an affinity in the hat and
silver-laecd coats. The dress of tho men
when on fatigue was perfectly AvhIte, except
their stocks, queues, and shoes; but when
they were dressed for parade, their coats
Avere frog-laced, with facings of gosling
green, white breeches with gaiters, the hair
being tied, and well AA-bltened with flour !
In the summer of 1808, the first battalion,
under the comm.and of Lieutenant-Colonel
John ilackenzie, sailed for Portugal to join
the ai-my of Lieutenant-General Wellesley.
I t climbed the rocks of Rolela, gallantly
fought at Vimiera, and shared in the disastrous retreat of Corunna. A sergeant of
the Fifth, Avho was present at Roleia, has
left a pleasant picture of the gallant clamber
u p to the French. " O u r .staff officers," he
.says, " soon discovered certain chasms or
openings made, it should seem, by the rains,
n p Avhich AVC were led. As soon as we
began the ascent. Colonel Mackenzie, who
was riding on a noble grey, dismounted,
turned the animal adrift, and, sword in
hand, conducted us onwards until we
gained the .summit of the first hlU, the
enemy playing upon us all the time.
H a v i n g gained the crest, we rushed on
them in a c h a r g e ; whoever opposed us fell
by the ball or bayonet. W e then proceeded towards another hill, where the
enemy had formed again ; but as our route
lay through vineyards, we were annoyed
by a destructive fire."
A t Vimiera a curious artifice was resorted to by the Fifth to get into the battle.
" O u r situation," says one of t h e Fifth,
" was on the slope of an eminence; we saw
our people promptly advance against the
enemy's masses, which Avere formed in
column, and with which they boldly attempted to break the British lines. The
attempt was vain, although they were ably
assisted by their ordnance and howitzers,
from the latter of which we saw the balls
rise high in the air, and after describing
•2^
tCondndtety
many segments of a circle, generally JJJ
between our people Avho were adAraneioff
and ourselves. Dense smoke soon afiv
enveloped the belligerents.
I t was thai
Ave found our situation Irk.some, many of
our oflicens too high-spirited to be thru
shut out of tho glowing scene, actually left
us, and ran into the battle. Those who
remained contrived a scheme for the chanoa
offolloAAing them. W e heard our bngfci
sound the charge ; we heard, or fancied m
heard, tho enemy's fire growing strong^^
when from the right of us idlers arose flii'
cry, " The colonel is shot I" His ladyhefr
ing this rushed through every restraial
doAvn the bill, which was an excuse for monr
of our men to follow in protection. A l ^
pieces pointed at them from our picke|ii^
frustrated this ruse de guerre, for happOyB
was only a ruse to get Into the melee, the
colonel not being even wounded. Towwdl
the end of the day, t h e scene of aelaoa
having receded, we were directed to a (
vance, Avhen, coming u p with the regiment;
we had the pleasure of seeing the eneor
in full and unequivocal retreat."
A n eye-witness of the bravery of tba mw
Fifth at Salamanca says, " The light »
gade—the light infantry companies of eael
division—were soon entering into a deili
in our front, at about a mile dial
M:
These were followed by some
liiinoi
F i r i n g soon commenced. The troops
k:
to their a r r a s ; they advanced; we were 'btl
soon within range, when each parti
regiment, as its flank became un©
Hat?, lit
deployed into line, and advanced to tiiil
attack. A few minutes before this, Sergeants Taylor, Stock, Benson, Bernard,
Green, Watson, and myself, were ordered "litrai
to the centre, where we found ~
J a m e s B. Hamilton and another, who
the colours. The shock of the onset had
passed over, the men expeditiously firing,
and gradually gaining ground. We wir»
going u p an ascent on whose crest massK
of t h e enemy were stetioned; their firt
seemed capable of sweeping everything
before i t ; still we advanced; the fire ll>
came stronger—there was a panw-"*
hesitation.
H e r e I bltish; but I should
blush more if I were guilty of a felsehood.
T r u t h compels me to say, therefore, that««
retired before this overwhelming fire, Inrf
slowly, in good order, not far ; not a hundred
paces. Sergeants Stock and Taylor were
already killed, when General PakenhaB
a])proached, and very good-naturedly«
'Re-form,' and in about a m o m e n t "
vance,' adding, ' T h e r e they are, my
'A=
Chariea DUAtaK
REMEMBERED.
[June 7,1S73.]
131
just let them feel the temper of your bayo- Grant. For conspicuous devotion at Alumnete,' W e advanced, every one making up bagh, on the 2 k h of September, 1857, in
his mind for mischief.
Proceeding rather proceeding under a heavy and galling fire
slowly at first, the regiment of dragoons, to save the life of PriA'ate E. DeA'eney,
which had retired with us, again accom- whose leg had been shot away, and evenpanying us, at last we brought our pieces tually carrying him safe into camp with the
to the trail, the fire still as brisk as before, assistance of the late Lieutenant Browne
when the bugles along the line sounded the and
some comrades. — PriA'ate Peter
charge, Foi^'ard we rushed ; the scene was M'Manus. A party, on the 26th of Sepsoon closed, and aAvful Avas the retribution tember, 1857, Avas shut up and besieged
we exacted for our former repulse. . . J u s t in a house in the city of Lucknow by the
after. Ensign Hamilton was wounded ; we rebel Sepoys. Private M'Manus kept outhad lost Sergeant Watson and a n o t h e r ; side the house till he himself Avas wounded,
80 to prevent the colours falling, the officers and, under cover of a pillar, kept firing at
being wounded at nearly the same instant, the Sepoys, and prevented their rushing on
Sergeant Green and myself had the honour the house. H e also, in conjunction Avith
of bearing both colours for upwards of an Private John Ryan, rushed into the street
hour, a circumstance which served as a and took Captain Arnold, of the First
pretext for throwing away my pike, a useless Madras Fusilier.s, out of a dhooly, and
piece of militery furniture. W e continued brought him into the house in spite of a
to gain ground on the enemy until we heavy fire, in which that officer was again
arrived at the crest of a hill crowned by Avoundcd.—Private Patrick M'Hale. For
our own artillery, which Avas acting against con.spicuous bravery at Lucknow on the
that of the enemy on an opposite ridge, a 2nd of October, 1857, when he was the first
valley being between them. On arriving man at the capture of one of the guns at
with the artillery we paused for breath, ; the Cawnpore battery; and again, on the
when we were commanded to clear the hill 22nd of December, 1857, when, by a bold
on which the enemy's guns were planted. rush, he was the first to teke possession of
This required celerity of movement; we one of the enemy's guns, which had scut
ran down our hill exposed to the enemy's several rounds through his company,
fire, as well as for part of the distance to which was skirmishing up to it. On every
that of our own. Complete success crowned occasion of attack. Private M'Hale Avas the
our efforts; the enemy, routed, left their first to meet the foe, amongst whom he
guns, when the line, an extensive one, com- caused such consternation by the boldness
posed of several regimente, halted. Night of his rush, as to leave little work for those
r ^ j advancing, little more than a desultory tire Avho followed in his support. By his hawas mainteined, and soon after, it being bitual coolness and daring, and susteined
known that some of the commissariat had bravery iu action, his name became a
arrived close in the rear, I Avas ordered to household Avord for gallantry among his
take a sergeant of the company, and draw comrades."
•pirite for the regiment,
I Avent, the adMost true English soldiers are ready to
jntent accompanying me, when, having go Avhere the trumpet calls, " Quo Fate
.Jtaved in the head, I was so completely v o c a n t ; " but the Fates, as we have pretty
{^•''
^. overpowered with thirst, tliat I drank very clearly shown, have called few regimente
if^jiUearly a pint of rum without feeling its to hotter places than the Fifth, and few
ffgrtOt-^ itrength. Returning to my station in the
regiments have obeyed the call with more
n ''"*.'. centre, I learnt the result of this Avell- joyous alacrity.
5t»ti*J^ fought battle."
gwefp^'i' In the Indian campaign, the Fifth fully
jyjBce^:'.earned ^ ^ blazon of " LucknoAv" that still
re **•' adorns their flag. I n tbe full head of an
blisli'j Indian summer they faced the matchlock
.(foiitT'' fire of the Avhite-capped Sepoys, and the
ggy^tli^' sabres of the rebel so Avars; aud many a
^jjffktb^ blood-stelned " budmash " fell by their
ji(,(fir:'J fierce bayonets, Tho records of the Vic.^^tiC' toria Cross contain the names of several
(jgiifi* heroes of tho Fifth, as the following ex^•t«* tracte prove:
^^^itlf " F i f t h Regiment. — Sergeant Robert
-^
'
'
,
'
I
EEMEMBEKED.
OsLT a great green meadow, with an old oak-tree in the
hedge,
Wbc't' tliR bram1)l<'.s were first to ripen, the sparrow
was tirst to lledge ;
Oulj a bmad brown nvor that swept between willow
ranks,
Where the tansy tingled the bindweed fair that graced
tbe sandy bauks.
Just the meadow, and the river, and a Une that joined
thetwi>,
And ll marsh where marigold glistened, b j forget-i
nots' virgin blue,
y
^
A
132
(June 7,1S73.]
ALL T H E YEAR ROUND.
[Condnettdby
4
With the purple bills fcr a background, and a lark that j g o o d p l a i n way.
as tho old-fashioned
always sang.
cookery-books say—wc start from the
Till the bright keen air around it with the melody Roman rallAvay station close by the huge
trilled and rang.
pile of ruins knoAvn as the Baths of Diocle.
It is thirty weary years ago. Through many a lovely
tian, at half-past seven o'clock on a dascene,
Through many a fair and storied haunt my tired stepa licious spring morning.
httvo been,
Our felloAv-travellers arc not very nQ>
Yet, wlunever from life and its lessons I turn, a supmerous.
The hour is too early for
pliant guest,
To tbe land where memory shrines for us beauty and the majority of citizen holiday-makers.
joy and rest.
There are several parties of sportsmen
I know the scent of the tansy, crushed 'neath an eager armed AvIth guns for the slaughter of small
tread,
I know the note of the skylork as it soared from its birds, and attended by a dog in a leaah,
usually of a currish aspect. There are five
lowly bed,
I see the oak-tree's mighty boughs, I hear the willows or six shop-boys In a chattering groups
shiver,
I see the blue forget-me-nots that grew by the northern dressed like the wax figures in a cheap
clothier's AvindoAv, aud assuming great ain
river.
There are a few
Fancies have failed nrd hopes have fled, and the prize of fashion and dandyism.
but mocks the strife.
officers in uniform, a priest or two, and
Death aud .Sorrow with busy hands have altered the
some peasant Avomen Avitb empty baskets.
course of life,
Dut as fair and fresh as whendo^n its path the fearless These latter have, doubtless, been selling
foot^tep sprung,
garden produce In the capital, and are re.
Is the meadow beside the broad brown stream I loved
t u r n i n g to their homes to pass the festal
when all was young.
MODERN ROMAN MOSAICS,
A ROMAN HAMPSTEAD.
donkeys, plenty to eat and drink,
and a whole Sunday to enjoy them in !
Here be materials for a cockney holiday,
or I have never been within sound of Bow
bells!
But—there are hills and hills,
donkeys and donkeys, food and food ; one
must discriminate.
Dear old Hampstead, I am not going to
say a word against thee. Let those AVIIO
have no eyes to see, and no soul to enjoy
the Avonderful view from Hampstead Hill
Avhen the summer sun Is setting; and who
have no fibre of sympathy witb the holidaymaking toilers and moilers who trudge out,
men, Avomen, and children, to gratify their
intensely English longing for a glimpse of
rurallty—let such fine folks, I say, turn u p
their honourable noses at the humble enjoyments of the Londoner's familiar 'Amstead
'Eath, and search in their foreign guidebooks for leave to admire " by authority."
Not of such am I, nor would I be. F a r
be It from me to disparage thee, oh, thou
donkey-traversed Arabia Felix of my childhood 1 B u t still, as I began by observing,
there are hills and hills, and one must discriminate.
The holiday resort which we are to visit
on this bright Sunday at the end of March,
is a bttle townlet on a spur of the Alban
Mountains, and the great city Avhich it looks
at from its terraces and Avindows, is called
Rome
To begin a t the beginning—which is a
HILLS,
Cff
day.
I n Rome most things have a character
of their OAVU. W e live and move on a mere
crust of nineteenth centuiy, but immediately beneath it lies the solid foundation
of some two thousand and odd years aga
And one has but to scratch the soil a veiy
little, to scrape away every vestige of "t».
day," and come to the abiding traces of the
ancient Latins. Nay, in many places their
works still toAver by tbe head aud shonlden
above t h e soil ; although Time toils ceaselessly to heap the earth over them, and
bury them Avliere they stand. The steans
horse puffs and clatters along through I
breach In the city wall, past the ruins oft
great temple, said to have been dedicated
to Minerva Medica (or as a modern Bomn
might style the diArinity, Madonna delk
Salute, Our L a d y of Healing), pastths
tall arches of hoary aqueducte, past monndl
of immemorial antiquity, and crumbling
tombs, AvhIch have survived for so many
centuries the memory of their builders and
occupants.
The grass is brightly green
with the fresh life of the early y«ff'
W h i t e daisies cluster, by thousands and
j hundreds of thousands, over the meadowsrf
the Campagna. Siieep are grazing peace- i(l
fully, and do not t u r n their gentie, sIDy
heads as the train whirls noisily past them.
Some great huge-horned oxen lie resting
Avith their dove-coloured sides half buried
in the herbage, and their jaws moving
AvIth slow and regular motion as they cbe*
the cud and stare a t us contomplativeljBirds are tAvittering and piping cheerfoUji
restless aud swift of wing. Out yonder J»
OP
Charles Dickens.]
MODERN ROMAN MOSAICS.
the distance rise the shadowy blue mountoins, whither we arc speeding along the
iron way,
A journey of little over half an hour
brings us to the station of FrascatI,
which is about a mile from the town, and
three or four hundred feet below it. All
around us are dusky olives, and young
vines, and peach-trees in full bloom. H o w
exquisitely the vivid delicate colour of the
peach-blossom contrasts with the chocolatebrown of the ploughed earth, the purplish
tint of the still leafless branches, and the
green-grey of the olives ! B u t there is no
time now to stop and contemplate t h e
beauties of nature, A crowd of men and
boys driving a great variety of vehicles,
and saddled donkeys, make competing offers
for the honour of conveying us to FrascatI.
We j u m p into a high gig drawn by a short,
fat, black pony; the driver perches himself
partly on our knees, and partly on the
outer edge of the little vehicle, and off" we
jingle up the paved road among the olive
plantetions.
FrascatI has a large open piazza, and an
iigly big cathedral—built at the beginning
of the eighteenth century, and a good
specimen of the tastelessness of the period
—an inn, a fountain, some tolerable private
houses, and a labyrinth of evil-smelling
back slums. And of course there is the indispensable cafe with tebles and benches In
front of the door, and spindly oleanders in
tubs. The piazza is full. Men stand, and
lounge, and smoke, and chat, or remain Avith
their hands in their pockets, simply enjoying
in its literal significance the dolcefar niente.
The church is full, chiefly of women and
children; the trattoria (eating-house) is
full; Avorst of all, the inn is full.
" Beds ? Nossignore ! not a bed vacant
in the h o u s e ! B u t we will find you
quarters in a private dwelling, and you
can eat in the hotel. Non dubiti, don't be
a&aid, you'll do very well."
W e do find an apartment in the house
of the hairdresser ( I apologise to the other
capillary artists, if there be any other in
FrascatI, but truly I believe our host was
the hairdresser), where wo deposit our
travelling-bags, and then proceed to bargain for donkeys and a guide to convoy us
to tho sights In the immediate neighbourhood. Villas there are to be seen, and a
gfreat Jesuit monastery and school, and
above all, Tusculum! Tu.sculum the ancient,
mined, fortress-city, and tho villa, so-called,
of Cicero, scene of the Tusctdan disputations.
^^
[June 7,1373.]
V-i.)
This is a cockney excursion, and we aro
not going to be learned, and instructive,
and guide-bookish. B u t let us be never so
humdrum, and of the city citified, the fact
remains that we are treading on classic
ground, and cannot make a step without
arousing some echoes of the wonderful and
mighty past.
Nevertheless, our Roman Hampstead has
its banalites and vulgarities. You are
told to visit this villa, and that villa, and to
admire their painted ceilings, and waterworks, and marbles, and views. These
latter are, in truth, superb; being unspoilable by any combination of money and bad
taste. B u t of the rest, the less said the
better. The Aldobrandini Yilla, the most
celebrated of these, is finely situated, and
has some noble trees in its grounds, and an
abundance of clear delicious Avater."" The
beauty of the water is, however, greatly
marred by the hideous artificial cascade
down which it is made to pour, in the
centre of Avhat the guide-books call " a fine
hemicycle with two wings." The " liemicycle" is a crescent-shaped stone arcade, of
about as much architectural beauty as the
arcade yclept of Lowther in the Strand.
Once upon a time the Avater Avas made to
t u r n an organ, and perform other fantestic
t r i c k s ; but fortunately the works have
fallen out of repair, and AVO are spared
having to waste our time on that spectacle.
This it is, though, and such as this, that
our guide chiefly insists on our admiring ;
after the manner of guides everywhere,
indeed.
B u t I beg you particularly not to run
aAvay with the idea suggested by that last
phrase, that our guide was an ordinary
guide. I n some respects, no doubt, he
shared the usual characteristics of his
tribe; but his grand speciality and charm
consisted in an amount of jealous and
defiant self-sufficiency which I have never
seen equalled.
There are several categories of persons who are popularly supposed to be specially autocratic, and whoso
ipse dixit assumes an air of infallible authority ; of such are French cooks, Scotch
gardeners, and schoolmasters generally.
B u t compared with our Frascatlan cicerone—pooh, pooh, these all dAvindle Into
modest insignificance. Our man's conceit
reaches the border-land of sanity.
" Ou la vanitc va-t-elle so n i c h e r ? "
Look at the poor old fellow. H e is miserably
clad, not too abundantly fed, ignorant Avitli
the dense and stolid Iirnorance of a Roman
peasant born Avithin view of St. Peter's
iP
^^
t^-.
lot
[June 7. l!)7.l.]
ALL T H E Y E A R R O U N D .
^Conducted bi^
more than half a century ago. And yet his " Inglese, francese, italiano—tutte le lin.
faith in his own Avisdoni and acquirements gue !t "
" A h ! " exclaimed one of our party, of
is evidently all-suffieing to him. H e has got
himself uj) for Sunday in a .singular manner. a sceptical t u r n of mind, addressing him
H e has treated himself as if he Avere a frag- In Italian, " n o t much English I fancy,
ment of ancient statuary, and consisted eh ?"
cntiivl}' of torso, his head and extremities
" I speak English, yes ; but"—with a
being ignored altogether. His face Avould cunning twinkle in his eyes as he rapidly
bo almost the dirtiest object I have ever " took stock" of us to assure himself of our
seen, Avere It not that his hat is dirtier. nationality, lest he should tumble into the
But around his throat is a Avhitc shirt- pitfall of vaunting his knoAvledge of French
collar, a glimpse of clean linen is affi)rded to French people—" but—French I speak
by his wid( ly open Avaistcoat, and his coat excellently — excellently ! Gia, tutte le
has been brushed on the shoulders, and lin gue !"
down to a little below the waist. Beyond
NotAvithstanding our friend's unlimited
these points no effort at embellishment has lingual acquirements, we find It most conbeen made, either in an upAvard or down- venient to carry on our communications
ward direction. His boots look as if they with him in Italian : which language, he
were constructed of sun-dried mud, like an informs us condescendingly, he will talk
Irish cabin ; and his bands appear to have with us since we speak it well. The
been recently used as spades in the cultiva- inference, of course, being that had onr
tion of some rich soil.
Italian been a shade or two more barbarous,
Early in the proceedings his wrathful i he would have declined to allow us to consuspicions are excited by tbe production verse in it, but would have made use of
from the pocket of one of our party of the one or other of " all the other languages"
Avell-knoAvn red guide-book so familiar in which he knows.
On we go at a gentle pace, mounting
the hands of travellinor Entjlislimen. Our
cicerone eyes it askance.
H e evidently the hill, between sweet-smelling hedges of
considers Murray as his natural enemy. thickly-blossomed laurel, cyclamen, and
" H ' m , " he grunts out, with his bright " M a y " j u s t bur.sting into leaf. Wild
black eyes fixed scornfully on the red flowers of many kinds cluster in the grass
volume, " Ah, ecco !
The guide-book. beneath the hedge-rows, and the violets
Well, I have told you what there is to see embalm the air with their delicious odour.
here, haven't I ? H a ! The book. Y e s ; Owing to the number of evergreens—
oh yes. To be sure. I know it." Then laurel, bay, olive, ilex, and stone-pine—^the
with a sudden change of manner, raising landscape is not leafless, although the
bis voice to a tragic pitch, " I knoAV more deciduous trees are only budding as yet
than the book 1 I know more than the Presently we pass the iron gate leading
travellers ! ! I know more than anybody ! ! ! to a convent of Franciscan friars, and we
W h a t , I have been cicerone here for forty meet a Capuchin in his broAvn serge garb
years—more than forty years—and I don't coming down the hill. H e is a handsome,
know better than the book ? Che ! There middle-aged man, with a black beard and
is the Campagna, there is Rome, there is a blight eye. H e gives us pleasant greetthe Villa Ruffinella, Mondragone, Camal- ing, but observes smilingly on seeing that
doli, Mont' Oreste, the railway, Tivoli, one of our number is on foot, " A h a !
Monte Porzio," rattling out the names in You want yet another little donkey. Yes;
a breathless jumble, and turning round there is a somarello too few 1" I explain
as on a pivot, Avith outstretched arm, and t h a t our friend walks well, a n d prefers to
pointing finger, " don't I know them ? walk. " Aha !" cries the friar again, this
Are they in the book ?
Well, didn't time with a puzzled, incredulous look.
I tell you beforehand ? Che ! I know " He prefers to Avalk, does he ?" And
better than the book. I know better than goes on his way doAvn toward FrascatI,
anybody !"
doubtless adding one more eccentric and
incomprehensible
Englishman to the list of
Throughout the excursion we have to be
on the watch lest his susceptibilities should those whom h e has seen pass his convent
teke alarm at our appearing to know any- gates on their way to Tusctdum. To walk
thing before he tells it to us. On his first when one might ride I The t h i n g is not
introduction to us by his master, the oAvner conceivable by an Italian mind of that
of the donkeys, he slapped bis breast, a n d class.
announced that he spoke " a l l languages."
Our guide avails himself of this oppor-
^
A=
^
Chariea Di::ken8.]
MODERN ROMAN MOSAICS.
tunity to display his knowledge. " U n
cappuccino," says he in an explanatory
manner looking after the friar's retreating
figure. " A monk. They are Franciscans
in that convent. Oh, I know the monks !
I know everything. H a ! There were
pictures there
"
" Yes, a sketch by Guido," p u t s in the
sceptic, imprudently interrupting.
The guide pours out the rest of his sentence in a rush, and gives a defiant snort
at the end of It.
" U n Guide, un Giulio Romano, un
Paolo Brilli" (Paul Brill) ; " they've all
been carried away, away to Rome. Nothing
to seo there now. I know better than the
book. H ' m p h ! "
Prince Lucien Buonaparte at one time
occupied the Villa Ruffinella, which lies on
our way, and has left there a cockney reminiscence of his taste, the mention of
which ought not to be omitted from this
sketoh of a cockney holiday. There is in
the grounds of the villa a gentle slope
which the prince christened Parnassus, and
on which—to show that it was Parnassus—
he planted in box the names of various celebrated authors, ancient and modern. Our
old man stops the donkeys at this point,
throws himself into an attitude, and exdaims in a sonorous voice, " Ecco il Pernaso!" Which delicious paraphrase of
" il P a m a s s o " would have been somcAvhat
mystifying to us, had we not gleaned some
information about It beforehand from the
pages of tbe despised Murray.
A little
beyond " Il P e m a s o " stands by tbe wayside a weather-beaten, black-nosed, plaster
east on a cracked pedestal.
To this
work of art tbe cicerone calls our attention in passing, with tho announcement,
"Apollo Belvedere!" And adds after an
instant, with a sort of careless candour,
" Copia !" (a copy).
Lest AVC should
be misled into thinking that Ave saw before us the veriteble world-renowned antique :
the lord of the unerring bow,
The god of life, and poesy, and light.
Now we emerge on to a high, open down,
covered with fragrant turf.
There is a
flock of sheep on one hand, and on the other
—where the ground breaks away rather
precipitously—some goats are scrambling
among fragments of rock, and grazing on
the young sboote of the bushes. A little
ftirtiier and we come upon massive substructures, huge ruined Avails of brickwork,
and A'aulted chambers half buried in the
earth. This is the so-called Villa of Cicero.
4=
[June7,1S7.X]
135
Let us not vex our souls with debating
learned pros and cons as to the date and
history of these venerable foundations.
It
Is enough to know t h a t the great Roman
once dwelt upon this spot, and that his
eyes looked out upon the self-same scene
which lies beneath our own. And what a
scene to contemplate from the study windows of " learned leisure !"
I t is even better seen, however, from the
superior height of the citadel of Tusculum
above it. The Campagna, stretching away
with purple shadows and pale green lights,
until it is bounded yonder by the silver
line of sea flashing beneath the sunshine;
Rome In the midst, Avitli the great dome of
St. Peter's looming black and shadow-like
above her roofs and streets.
On either
hand the delicately undulating line of hills,
every peak of which has an historic name,
and in whose dimpled valleys nestle towns,
that had had centuries of fame in song and
story whilst yet the mighty Anglo-Saxon
race Avas not. At our feet FrascatI among
her velvet-tufted pine groves. Nearer at
hand the remains of a classic theatre, with
its rows of semicircular seats for the spectators still perfect, and a green carpet, not
of baize, but of grass, upon its stage.
Above all a pile of massive hewn stones,
sole remnants of the once strong fortress of
Tusculum, surmounted bv a cross of iron
that looks across the vast plain towaixls its
brother on St. Peter's dome, and dominates
the heathen ruins as that dominates Rome
living and dead. A t the base of the pile a
colony of trijdy odorous violets flourishes
amidst the .spring herbage. So that the
violets be but sheltered from the fierceness
of the sun, the shape of the shadoAv that
falls ou them mattere nothing.
I t is a
wondrous scene, and AA'C gaze and gaze
in a dream of delight, and aAvake almost
Avith a stert to turn away reluctently and
pursue a downward course towards the
plain.
B u t before AVO quit Tusculum, let us record the culminating point, the highest
height of absurdity—or sublimity, there is
but a step, you know, from the one to the
other — which our cicerone that day
achieved.
There was a lady iu our party. She had
hitherto been basking in the favour of tho
Erudite one, partly becau.se she understood
Itali:m AVCU, and partly becau.se, with tho
Aviliness of her .sex, she feigned an abject
ignorance Avhich his Avords .alone bail power
to dissij>ate. But she Avas doomed to experience a check. The great creature Avho
V
.5==:
13G
(Juno7,1P73.]
ALL THE YEAR ROUND.
acted as our guide kncAv no paltering
Aveakness, and spared neither sex nor age
in his Avrath. Said the lady, looking
pleasantly upon the patient and .sagacious
beast that had carried her so Avell, and
had stopped with curious accuracy at all
the regulation points of view—said the
lady, " How well the donkey knows his
Avay
I"
" Non I'avesso mal detto !" as the Italian
hath it. Would that she bad never uttered
those Imprudent Avords. For, with a stern,
nay, almost ferocious countenance, the
P^i-uditc turned upon her, and exclaimed in
a tone of bitter derision, " H e knoAV his
way ? No, I—'tis I Avho knoAV the Avay
I knoAV better than he does. H e knows
nothing. I know better than the book,
better than the donkey, better than anybody !"
If the reader be Incredulous of the literal
accuracy of the above, let him go to
FrascatI some fiue Sunday, take the Erudite
one as his guide, aud praise the donkey.
H e will see.
On returning to the Httle town, we
found a t h r o n g of holiday-makers in full
force. A later train from Rome had brought
out a number of the townsfolk and their
families. There were foreigners, too, of the
non-fine classes; artists dwelling within
the territory of Bohemia, tradespeople,
humble tourists. There were many Germans who ate and drank vrith surprising
energy, and talked at the full pitch of their
not very dulcet voices vrith an energy
more surprising still, filling the Inn and
the cafe AvIth what a disdainful old Roman
near me called " U n a batteria di j a ! " A
battery of j a ' s !
W o enjoyed our black coffee and cigars
after dinner in company with two native
gentlemen Avho were engrossed in a game
of draughts. They played on the board
belonging to the cafe, which was so dirty
and worn as to render it literally very
difficult to discern the white checkers from
the black. B u t the players Avere Intent
on their game, and were surrounded by a
group of Interested spectators.
As I
watched them bending over t h e board,
their handsome, classic faces — not too
clean, but that did not affect the outline—
and their heads shaped hke hundreds of
those of the antique Etoman busts, falling
aAvay at the back, that is, and making an
almost straight line from the nape to the
crown, I could not help thinking t h a t the
substitution of a little drapery for their
stiff" m o d e m coats Avould convert the Avhole
• ^
[Condoetedlif
group Into ono AvhIch might figure on a
bas-relief of the best classic period Avithout
any apparent anachronism.
And the adjuncts of tbe scene were not
exclusively nineteenth century. By this
time the bulk of visitors Avhom one might
denominate generically (pace Cowper) as
il Signer Giovanni Gilplno c famiglia, had
returned cityAvards.
T h e sters were
twinkling overhead. The same mounteins
Avhich Virgil and Augustus looked at
Avere keeping solemn watch and Avard upon
the horizon. The cafe Avith its open un.
glazed AvIndoAvs, and marble tebles and
rude benches, and its pots of the Orientallooking oleander by the door, presented
nothing out of harmony with the bygone
Latin world.
Nothing, a t least, which
was visible by t h e soft, dim sterlight mixed
with pale rays fVom an oil-lamp, which
alone illumined the space of paved piazza
Avhere we sat. I t was yet early when we
went to bed, having to rise betimes the
next morning. B u t the night was far advanced before Ave slept. Every Itellan city
of any note has a distinctive epithet attached
to it. There is Geneva la Superba, Ve-'
nezia la Bella, Firenze la Gentile, Padova
la Dotta, and so forth. If a stranger and
a barbarian from beyond t h e Alps might
presume to offer a special affix to the name
of the Roman Hampstead, he Avould suggest that It be henceforth knoAvn as Frascati
the Flea-bitten !
EPISTOLARY COURTESIES.
T H E courtesies of letter-writing in the
various countries of Europe differ almost
as much as their languages. Buffbn it was
Avho first said that the style is tho man. He
might have added t h a t t h e style proclaimed
the nation. P e r h a p s of all the nations of
Europe the English aro the stiffest and
most formal In their correspondence, more
especially with those to Avhom they are
personally unknown, and who are their
Inferiors in rank or social position. If a
gentleman or lady, when absent from home,
has occasion to write a letter of instructions
to a male or female servant, t h e style is
studiously dry and laconic as a telegram;
and contains no word of compliment or
courtesy. W h e n Jones writes to Brovni,
whom he has never seen, he addresses him
Sir," and subscribes him.self "Your
as
obedient bumble servant ; " though he
is neither obedient nor humble, and would
be offended if you really considered him
9
Cbarles Dickens.J
EPISTOLARY COURTESIES.
to be so. W h e n Brown writes to Robinson, with whom h e is on more or
less friendly terms, t h e word " S i r " is
too stiff" for intimacy, and he addres.ses
him as " D e a r sir," or " M y dear sir,"
or " Dear Robinson," or " My dear Robinson ;" and subscribes himself " Yours v e r y
truly," or " Yours very sincerely," or
** Yours faithfully," or " Yours very faithfully." W h e n love-letters are in question
the style warms, and the " dears," and the
"darlings," and the " devotedlies," and the
"afiTectionatelles," come into play. W i t h
these I shall not presume to meddle. They
are of the tender follies of the best period
of human life, and not to be turned Into
ridicule either by the hard head or the hard
heart, unless in a law court in a case of
breach of promise. I t is with the ordinary
style of address only that I presume to
treat, than which nothing more formal and
unmeaning can well be imagined.
Take
for instence the title of esquire, which
means a shield-bearer. There are no shields
in our days except in the theatres, consequently, there are no shield-bearers. The
title, even when it was a reality, and signified a true thing, meant no moro than a
neophyte in the profession of arms, and
a servant to a superior, who was called a
chevalier, a knight, a rider, or a horseman.
Everybody with a decent coat upon his
back among the Anglo-Saxon, or more
properly the Celto-Saxon races in Great
Britein and America, considers himself
entitled to bo called a shield-bearer, and
should the highly respectable J o h n Brown
(esquire) be addressed as Mr. John BroAvn,
he comes to tho conclusion before he opens
the peccant epistle that it was either despatched by somebody who meant to Insult
him, or by a plaguy attorney dunning him
for a debt.
In this respect the French are more
sensible. They have no esquires at all,
and Monsieur is as high a title as they
usually bestow. The eldest son of the old
kings of the Bourbon lino was Monsieur
par excellence—the Monsieur Avho took
precedence over all other Messieurs Avhatsoever. They have, hoAvever, a far greater
variety of epistolary phraseology than the
English, and subscribe their letters after
a fashion, which to an Englishman seems
remarkably roundabout, cumbrous, and
afficctcd. If they begin with the " D e a r
s i r " — " C h e r monsieur" — they end with
tho lumbering phrase, " Recevez, monsieur,
I'assurance de la haute consideration avec
laquello j ' a i I'honncur d'etre votro ties
[Jane 7, 1S73.]
humble et tres obeissant serviteur." " Receive, sir, the assurance of the high
consideration with which I have the
honour to be, your very obedient humble
servant."
The term of human life
ought to extend to at least a hundred
and fifty years, if people who write many
letters are to append such perorations as
this, or others equally wire-drawn, which
the French dehght to employ.
The
Germans are even more punctilious, and it
requires long study of their language and
long acquaintance with t h e people to be
able to decide whether a man Is simply to
be called " Mein H e r r " (sir) or " Hoch-geboren er H e r r " (high-born sir), or " Hoch
und wohl geboren er H e r r " (high and Avellborn sir), or "Edel-geboren er H e r r " (noblyborn sir), or " Hoch wohl und Edel-geboren er H e r r " (or high, well, and noblyborn sir), or, worse or best of all, " D u r c h
lauchtigste!" (most serene). And as In
English parlance the strictly grammatical
and poetical " thou," the proper pronoun
to be employed when addressing a single
individual, has been superseded by the
plural " y o u , " which means several individuals, so in German the " t h o u " and
the " you" have both been superseded, and
a single person is designated " they," as
In the phrase " WIe befinden sie sich ?
" How do they find themselves ?" instead
of " H o w do you d o ? "
The courteous
Italians designate every equal and superior
as " Y o u r g r a c e " or " Y o u r excellency,"
and speak to every one as " s h e " or
" I will visit you," Is rendered " her."
will
visit her," the feminine pronoun" I doing
duty for the feminine nouns, Grace and Excellency, Avhich arc always understood,
though not ahvays expressed.
In business letters the Italians never use
the words Caro signore, or Dear sir, as the
English do, but address their correspondent
as " Pregiatlsslmo signore," or " Stimatlsslmo signore," Most esteemed sir, varying
the style of address by such epithets as " Honourable," " Illustrious," " Most gentle,"
" Most noble."
If you addressed your
tailor or bootmaker by letter, neither would
be surprised, or off'ended, or suspicious
of a joke, if you Avrote on the envelope
" Illustrissimo signore," Most Illustrious
sir, and signed yourself " Vostro devotissimo," Your most devoted. These arc
the usual forms employed by the bulk of
the people, by tradesmen, artisans, clerks,
milliners, servants, and others, and a servant-girl Avould not think Avell of any lover
Avho did not address her as " Illustrisslma
^
\ ^
A
138
fJniif 7. 1873.]
signora." The following letter, translated
verlKitiiii, Ava.s addressed, after a tjuarrel
at a drinking bout, by ono angry disputent to anotlicr, whom he challenged to a
duel :
MOST ESTI^EMED S I R , — P e r m i t
me to In-
form you tbat you are a pig. Yes, my
beloAcd one. I t Is ray intention in a .short
time to spoil your beauty, either by SAvord
or pistol. T h e choice shall be left to you,
as both weapons are to me quite indifferent.
Hoping soon to haA'e the pleasure of a
cherished answer, I declare myself to be,
honoui'able sir.
Yours most devotedly,
CARLAVERO.
The stately Spaniards, in addressing a letter
of business to a commercial firm, instead of
the " S i r " or " Gentlemen" of the Engbsh,
or the " M o n s i e u r " or " Messieurs" of t h e
French, write " Muy senor m i o " or " M u y
senores nuestros," or " M y very sir," or
" O u r very sirs," and subscribe themselves
" Y o u r very attentive," or " Y o u r very
obedient servants."
I t seems to me that in this busy ago t h e
letter-writers of all the world would do
well to amend their style of address, and
revert to the simple phraseology employed
by the ancient Romans. H o w truly courteous was tbe Roman method. If Lucius
Verus Avished to write to Sclpio Africanus,
he did not begin " My dear Scipio," and end
Avith " V o u r s very truly," but went straight
to tho point, and said, " Lucius Verus to
Sclpio Africanus, g r e e t i n g ; " after Avhich,
Avitbout further palaver, be would proceed
to business. Would it not bo a saving of
time if AVO Avere to imitate this excellent
old fashion ? - A n d why should not Smith
minimise trouble by addressing Brown after
the classical m e t h o d : " Smith to Brown,
greeting. Send me ten tons of your best
coals—lowest p r i c e ; " or " J o n e s to Robinson, greeting.
Will you dine with me
next Thursday at the Megatherium at six
precisely?"
T h e one Avord " g r e e t i n g "
includes all that is necessary in the Avay
either of friendship or politeness, and would
answer every purpose in the ordinary intercourse of life. B u t it would never do for
love-letters. These always did, a n d always
will, stand apart as a literature by themselves, governed by their OAATI laws, by
their own impulses. H a d a Roman lover
simply sent a " greeting" to his Lesbia or
his Aspasia, Lesbia or Aspasia, if able to
read, which in all probability she was
•«=
(Conducted by
ALL T H E YEAR ROUND.
^
i,„t, would have bad fair cause to com.
plain of his coldness. So I except the loveletters.
A SICILIAN
Ix
STORY.
Six CHAPTERS.
CHAPTER III. FAREWELL !
MASO was inconsolable.
H e blamed
himself for his violence a t one moment, at
another he cursed Tonino,
T h e priestj
the doctor, the wise AVomen who camein
to help at all the births and deaths of the
village, hastened to off(Br their assistence
to tiie bereaved family, b u t they all were
agreed t b a t tbe poor girl h a d always been
too delicate to live. T h e woman a t whose
house she Avorked, t h e girls who worked
Avith her, all testified to t h e same extreme
fragility of health. S h e b a d once or twice
fainted over her AVork, b u t every one had
hoped she would be better when the summer was over. T h e doctor declared that
in his opinion t h e heart was diseased from
her birth. Maso would listen to nothing,
Lucia was alive yesterday ! She was dead
to-day ! H e could take In no other idea.
Lucia was borne to h e r grave by six of
her young companions. T h e bier was a
bed of flowers. T h e fairest though frailest
blossom was the still pure face of the dead
girl.
I n a week all went on apparently as
usual in t h e old house of Torre Mela, but
In reality there was a dreary change. Rosa
mourned over her living husband as much
as over her dead child.
Maso had been industrious, h e was now
Idle; he had been sweet-tempered, he was
noAV feverishly irritable. Before, he had
been taciturn, now he was morose. He
rarely Avent to the village, a n d never spoke
at home.
Weeks, months, two years
passed—Maso was incurable.
Diomlra
was tall, and g r o w i n g t h e very image of
Lucia.
Rosa would t r y to draw her husband's attention to the girl, hoping she
might, in time, replace t h e lost one. It
was in v a i n ; he would caress her, take her
head between his hands, a n d gaze fixedly
at her, and then, after p u t t i n g her lips to
his forehead, would t u r n away with a groan,
and m u r m u r " Lucia !"
The fortunes of t h e family suff"ered firom
this change in Maso. While they possessed
Torre Mela, they could n o t absolutely
starve, b u t money, t h a t is coin, became
rarer a n d rarer. T h e death of Lucia
seemed to have opened t h e w a y t o a whole
M
\ .
Giarlefl Diekena]
y
A SICILIAN STORY.
s m e s of misfortunes.
The vine disease
became more and moro virulent. An earthquake caused a landslip, and what had
been once their most productive field, became a confused mass of stones, and sand,
slanting earth-mounds, and uprooted trees.
Maso was imperturbable through all.
No deeper shade Avas on his brow than
that which settled there the morning he
had found his favourite child a corpse, but
that shadow had never passed away. Don
Luigl, the priest, advised change of air and
totel change of scene as the one remaining
chance to cure him of the helpless stupor
into which he had fallen.
Fortunately, at this juncture, an uncle
of Rosa's, who lived at Leonforte, a village sixty miles north-west of Torre Mela,
wroto to his niece, complaining t h a t she
had never made him acquainted with her
husband or her children, t h a t he was old
and infirm, and alone, and needed some
of his relatives to come to him. W h y did
not his niece or her husband, or some
of the children, visit their old uncle, who
was going to leave them all he had in the
world?
" You should go, Maso," said the priest,
who had read tho letter to the family;
" you can be spared now the Avinter is
coming on ; it Is right for you to go."
Some of the restlessness which belongs
to great unhappiness Induced Maso to consent to this proposition.
The evening before he left, he and Rosa
sat on the low wall of the yard of tbe house
which looked seawards over their ruined
fields, and, after a long and profound silence,
he began to speak of his departure.
" I have been helpless, like a man In a
bad dream, these two years, Rosa ; but after
this journey I shall be bettor; If I return,
I shall work as before."
" Why do you say if, Maso; why should
you not r e t u r n ? "
" Life is so uncertain, Rosa mia ; do Ave
not know It too Avell ? And then in this
Ain^tched country there are brigands, Avho
are more active than ever this year."
" Brigands do not seek poor men."
" True, but they might seize me, knowing your uncle is rich, though poor old Meo
would not pay ransom for me, I think."
" I would, t h o u g h ; I would sell everything, my vezzo (necklace), our house, our
fields. They might tako every barrel of
oil, every sack of flour. If they would givo
yon back to m e . "
Rosa clasped her hands Avith the energy
with which she spoke.
E) =
:Stl
[June 7,1873.J
139
" Do you remember Checco ?" said Maso,
gloomily.
" H e whose family had refused the sum
for his ransom, and they hrought him
under the very windows of his home, and
obliged him, with the knife at his throat,
to call on his wife to open the door."
" H e called, she opened to him, they
rushed into the house, murdered every one
in It, and stripped it."
" And poor Checco cut his throat when
he saw what he had done."
Rosa shuddered as she spoke.
" Checco was a coward," Avent on Maso.
" They might have tortured me to death,
before they got a word from me. AYItb
my living lips I would never call on you.
If you were ever to hear a voice at such
a moment, believe it is my spirit and
not L"
" Do not frighten me, Maso, with such
chances.
I feel Ave shall not be any more
' tribolati;' return soon, whatever happens ;
but I am sure brighter days will begin,
now you are more hke yourself."
A n d Rosa, Avho was not the least imaginative, and Avho was pleased to hear Maso
speaking a little more like himself, shook
all fears from her mind, and held her littlo
boy up to be kissed by his fiither. I t was
the old yet ever UOAV Homeric scene. Tho
father took off' his beav^^, slouching ca]),
and, bareheaded, clasped bis child in his
arms, and invoked blessings ou him and on
his mother.
The two little girls joined them. They
had been cutting the p^ass for the cattle.
They carried the bundles on their beads.
Their slender girlish figures were almost
hidden beneath tho fragrant loads, while
through the curling tendrils and sprays,
the poppies and corn-floAvers, the black eye.s
and gloAving cheeks of Menica, and the
fairer paler face of Dioinira (who had sweet
soft eyes like Lucia's), peeped out as tin;
faces of wood-nymphs might have peeped
out in pagan times fix)m their Avoods and
sylvan retreats.
" The children have been quick," said
R o s a ; " UOAV let us go to supper. Is not
Diomlra like
"
" H u s h ! " .said Maso, putting his hand
on her m o u t i .
" Do not say anything
Avhich will make me mad again,"
They Avent in and had supper. Maso Ava.s
calmer and more composed than he hud
been since Lucia's death.
H e was to leave the next morning, and
his simple preparations Avero soon made.
They retired to rest.
^
^
dt
I-10
[Juno 7. 18;a.]
Rosa, tired Avith tho day's labour, and
the einolions of tho impending parting,
Ava.s st)oii asleep; Maso, on the contrary,
Avas exciteil. H e could not close his eyes.
ToAvards morning he raised himself on his
elboAv, and bending over, looked at his wife
long and intently. H e seemed to explore
her countenance as If he would Imprint
every feature indelibly on his heart.
I t Avas a placid, beautiful face, with the
dome-like forehead, the oval cheek, the
straight well-cut nose, which are peculiar
to handsome Itelians. The full eyelids and
long lashes gave great softness to It, and
round the mouth Avas tbe slight mournfulncss Avliich all adult faces wear in sleep.
Speechless blessings rose to the poor man's
d u m b lips as he looked on the faithful,
tender, true companion of his life, " the
heart of his heart," as he sometimes called
her. H e was dimly conscious t h a t he had
added to her late grief by the violence of
his OAvn, and he felt how good, and brave,
and uncomplaining she had been.
H e gazed and gazed, and then without
Avaking her, rose, dressed himself, and
Avent out of the room. H e paused for a
moment at the threshold of the room
(Lucia's formerly), where the tAvo girls
noAv slept. H e sighed heavily. H e had
never passed through the entrance of tbat
room since that fatel morning Lucia had
been borne from it, and he shuddered as ho
tunied away. And then, stick In hand and
bundle on shoulder, he passed out.
As be strode up the village street In the
faint morning light, he met the priest
coming doAvn to see some sick person.
Tbe good man was often sent for as a
healer of bodies as well as of souls. H e
stopped for a moment to speak to Maso.
H e Avas unfeignedly plea.sed that Maso had
made up his mind to leave Torre Mela for
UAvhile.
" W h e n do you return, Maso ?"
" Perhaps in three m o n t h s ; but your
reverence knows t h a t one may be delayed
on such a journey."
They stood talking j u s t opposite the
house Avhich belonged to the elder Voghera.
The same thought arose in the minds of
the tAvo, but Maso only frowned and bit
his lip.
" H e has never been seen here since
that day," said the priest. " H e is in the
mountains, I believe. There is a band
making the most daring depredations, and
committing acts of the most atrocious
cruelty under a chief called Satanello, in
the direction of Leonforte, and some of us
•?=
[Condacted hf
ALL THE YEAR ROUND,
think it Is Tonino. I shall pray, my son,
that you do not meet h i m . "
" if I did," said Maso, fiercely, " I wonld
string him up like a dog."
" ^^fv son, forgive, as you would be foN
given."
Alaso stared at him as if he did not understand him.
" I do not ask to be forgiven if that is
tbe price of forgiveness," he murmured,
and Avent on his way.
CHAPTER IV.
GONE.
four, five months passed away, and
nothing was heard of Maso. Direct communication between Leonforte and Torre
]\Iela was impossible. T h e post came, vii
Messina, at Irregular intervals, and Rosa
had never expected Maso to write. Bnt
she longed for t h e time of the vintage to
come, when unemployed peasants at Torre
Mela would go to Leonforte to assist in the
vintage, and return late in the autumn.
Meanwhile she had little time for indulging speculative fears. She drudged all
day, and worked her fingers to the bone to
support her family. H e r daughters helped
her, but Diomlra resembled Lucia in delicacy of constitution, as well as iu personal beauty, and could do little.
The vintage time came, and had all but
passed away, and no tidings of Maso had
yet been brought to Torre Mela. Rosa
would stand of an evening, by the low wall
which bounded her possessions, and watch
the labourers as they returned in groups
of twos and threes from their labours. For
many weeks It was in vain; at last one
evening she observed some stragglers advancing directly towards her house, instead
of turning off" at t h e angle which led to the
village. She clasped her hands, and her
breath came short. They h a d news for
her, she Avas sure. She hastened down, as
fast as her agitation Avould permit her, to
meet them.
The first approached her, and said:
" The priest of Leonforte sends you this
letter. Your uncle Is dead, and has left
you everything.
House, orchards, and
gold in the bank, and money in the house.
You are a rich woman, Siora Rosa."
Rosa uttered b u t one word in reply to
this h a r a n g u e — " M a s o ? " They shook their
heads in silence. She looked wildly from
one to the other, " H a v e von not seen
him?"
" Sangue della Madonna, he has never
been to Leonforte; here is your letter."
She could not read it, but she held it
THREE,
•Sk>
Charles Dickens.]
A SICILIAN STORY.
tight, and flew to t h e priest with it. H e
was smoking outside his door.
" W h a t is it, Rosa m i a ? "
" Read," she said, as she held bim u p the
letter.
H e opened it, and there found, expressed
vrith aU the circumlocution, t h e four-syllabled words, t h e cumbrous courtosies of
an Itelian professional scribe's letter, the
news.
I t was t r u e ; t h e whole property, t h e
farm, cattle, and podere, were all hers, and
a sum of money besides. I t distinctly
steted, however, that t h e old man had died
without having seen one of his relatives.
Rosa clasped her hands tight over her
head and burst into tears. T h e one reality
to her, in these tidings, was t h e fact that
Maso had never reached Leonforte. T h e
rest was shadowy and intenglble.
She
rocked herself to a n d fro, she shivered as
she thought of t h e weary months of absence
which she had passed, and of the long
barren years which she would have to pass,
alone and bereaved. Maso was dead, or
he would have returned to her, or p r o ceeded to her uncle. There was no doubt
of it. H e r children were fatherless. She
was a widow.
The priest touched her arm, and made
her look at him. H e tried to rouse her by
speaking on the subject of her inheritance,
but it was too early. She listened vaguely.
Her brain refused to take in a thought
which, for t h e present, had no meaning for
her. A t last he accompanied her home.
He thought the sight of her children would
rouse her.
As they passed down the street there
was a little crowd gathered outside. Some
wished to congratulate, some wished to
condole, but all were curious to see her,
and hands were held out to her, and words
of condolence and congratulation were
murmured, b u t she shook her head and
passed on. Some of the ill-natured ones
declared her good fortune had made her
proud. But the fact was, t h e shyness which
often accompanies a shock of fate benumbed her. She felt that a great gulf
of bereavement divided her UOAV from all
her old familiar gossips and acquaintances.
" Y o u havo no father now, my darUngs,"
said the poor mother, sitting on her hearth
with her littlo flock around her, and then
her own words stabbed her Avith the conviction that no possible doubt remained
now she had uttered tho dreadful fact herself, and then she sobbed afresh.
All night, after the children had gone to
[June 7,1873.]
141
bed, she sat up, trying to realise what had
happened. H o w ? when ? where ? His
last gloomy forebodings returned to her.
H a d he been taken by the brigands, or had
there been some private vendetta ? If so,
Tonino Avas t h e assassin. Oh God, what
a fate ! A n d then, with an effort at selfcontrol, she thought of the other event,
the wealth she h a d inherited, which, Avhile
it added to her anxieties and responsibilities on the one hand, diminished, on the
other, many of h e r most painful fears.
T h e children would now be saved from the
privation and the toil which for the last two
years had been their portion. And she
must not cloud over their young lives with
the sadness which, with her, would increase
vrith every t u r n of the road she had UOAV to
tread,
A month later Rosa arrived at Leonforte.
Leonforte is a small town encircled by
hills. These hills slope upwards, and join
that chain of mountains AvhIch runs from
Messina right across Sicily. The largest
house in Leonforte was old Meo's (Rosa's
uncle). I t was called Torre del Campanello,
or Belfry Tower, from a machicolatcd
(fourteenth century) turret crowning it. In
which was a huge bell. This bell communicated with a room below in the turret,
where the old man had slept, and his bed
was so placed that he could easily pull the
rope attached to this large bell, and ring
an alarum, which Avould rouse tho whole
village, if he needed assistance. The house
was like a miniature fortress. I t stood on
higher ground than Leonforte, and a steep
road led from t h e front door to the village.
At the back of the house was a small semicircular platform, thickly studded Avith
bushes; beyond the platform Avas what
seemed a sheer precipice. The rocky ravine
below AA'as called by the pea.santry the
Valle Nera, and was bounded by a bare
wall of stone called Rocca Nera, Avhich
rose abruptly on the other side, and barred
all access to the valley, except by a narroAV
footpath which skirted it, and, by many a
wind and zigzag, sloped Into it at the other
end.
Leonforte had of late acquired a most
guilty notoriety, from some unusually
bloody outrages committed by brigands
in its neighbourhood during the last fcAV
months.
Continual communication was going on
on this subject between Catania and Messina and Leonforte, and as there Avas much
political reaction mixed up with the desire
\^
\ I'J,
L-'uD" ", 1»73.]
ALL T H E YKAR ROUND.
for unhiAvful greed, a high price Avas set on
the bead .of Satanello, the man Avho Avas
known to be the chief of the brigands in
t h a t district, and Avho was also su.spected
to be In the pay ot the Bourbon.
The
most urgent orders for his arrest Avere sent
to the syndic, but hitherto Satanello had
escaped.
Like most villagers who make their
home on the slopes of Vesuvius, the inhabitants of Leonforte had been so hardened
by a constent menace of peril that they
had ceased to fear it.
Meo had been, however, an exception.
To be sure bis house was more isolated
than any other, and he was the wealthiest
man in Leonforte.
Tbe neighbours magnified bis wealth in
proportion to his anxieties and suspicions.
I t Avas said that in stray corners and cupboards little hoards of money Avere dejxjsited, and besides the money in the l)ank
and In the " cassa di risparmio" (savings
bank), it was commonly reported in tho
A illage tbat If certain bricks were raised
in the kitchen or in the old man's bedroom,
bags of piastres would have been disco A'ered.
" It Avould never have surprised me If I
bad heard that Satanello bad tried to sack
the place," said one of her neighbours to
Rcsii the night of her arrival in Leonforte
(they had all assembled to greet h e r ) . " I
believe the house, as it stands, is worth
more than twenty thousand lire."
" The old fellow must have been very
rich to make such a fortification of his
house ; look at that door, there is more iron
than Avood in i t ; it is clamped all over with
nails not an inch a p a r t ; and look at the bars
and the ' inferiate' outside."
" I am glad," said Rosa, dejectedly, " for
I am all alone. My boys are young, and
my girls
"
" HoAv old Is that pretty fair one holding her brother's hand ?"
" Diomlra ? She is nearly sixteen."
" HoAv delicate she looks !"
" Yes." Rosa sighed. Diomlra did
indeed look fragile, as fi"agile as Lucia.
" Shall you occupy your uncle's room ?"
" Yes, Diomira and I, and Menica and
the boys in the next."
" I f anything should occur call u s ; there
is the canipanellone; only touch that and
the Avhole of the ' borco' Avill be roused.
Do you hear, pretty one r " said one of the
women to Diomira. " If you are frightened
j u s t pull that thick r j p e , and we will come
to you iu a mezzo minuto."
[Con (Inch
Dioniim nodded. Ro.sa felt sai
now they Avero not quite unprotected,
Avas less anxious than at first at the sig]
of the manifold evidences of wealth aronnd
her. The handles of the knives and tl|t
forks and spoons wero all of solid SIITV;
so Avere the lucerne (the Italian honsekold
lamp), and the lattice work of the asglazed cupboards Avas silver-gilt.
Rosa did not Intend to remain in tin
Belfry Tower, She resolved to let the
bouse and lands till her eldest son waa old
enough to take the management of it hio^
self. I t was necessary, therefore, to seliel
and pack, and make liste of all the home
contained.
The ordinary course of business is alAraji
sloAv in Itely, and especially so in Sicily,
and the months were passing on and
stretching themselves into a year, and still
Rosa was not at t h e end of her labours.
I t was now nearly two years since Maso
had left her, four years and a half sioee
Lucia's death. Rosa was changed. The
tAvo years might have been twenty fixrai
their effect on her, bodily and mentally
H e r beauty was almost gone, and her
placid sweetness had become a nervous,
reticent, and anxious sadness. She had
confided her sorrows to no one. Nothing
Avas known of her b u t t h a t she was a
widow.
The gossips little knew how her blood
ran cold at the tales they used to recooit
to her of t b e violence and cruelty of tbe
brigands. The demoniacal outrages, tbe
barbarous mutilations, t h e cold-blooded
murders she heard of froze the blood ia
her veins, and haunted her slumbers wil
a sad prophetic significance.
None of these tales, however, were
recent date, until one evening, about a
after her arrival, as she sat sewing in
court-yard in front of the house, first oi
then another, and finally several of
neighbours rushed u p to her in the
agitation.
" H a v e you heai'd t h e news, Si«»
Rosa ?"
\
" No."
" Pasquale has been t a k e n . "
" P a s q u a l e , the sacristan's brother?" . ,
" Yes ; he Is a tailor, you know, and bi j
went to Priola to take home some Avofl^ i
and to be paid for it. T h a t was four d^i
ago.
To-day, tho day he ought to hMP
returned, his brother has received a pacW |
Avith a letter from" (he lowered his yoi»
and looked round) " Satenello!"
" M a d o n n a mia."
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Qiar^es Dickens.]
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A SICILIAN STORY.
" Yes, left it in the most mysterious way,
bnt addressed to him. I n it was a finger,"
" A finger!"
"Yes, a finger; Pasquale's,"
"Diobuono!"
* " The letter was written as clearly and
as straight as if our own village scribe had
written it, and said t h a t if one thou.sand
lire were not paid in a fortnight from today the hand should be cut off", and if
•&lv. fifteen hundred were not paid at the end of
another fortnight the other hand, and so
" Good God, look at the poor woman !"
" She has fainted,"
" She looks like one dead—oh I what a
good heart she h a s , "
Poor R o s a ! it had, indeed, been too terrible a tale for her to listen to calmly. She
had a sudden, awful intuition t h a t such
iliaii might have been, nay, t h a t such had been,
Maso's fate. Maso, Avho would die a thousand deaths rather than let his captors
know from whence he came, that there
isii
beatis might be no negotiations for a ransom
ilyki powible.
The neighbours, seeing she was too agiSt
leCOKi: tated to listen to them any more, left her,
3.i£f» ; bnt, as may be supposed, her violent emoI10(K Ltion did not pass uncommeuted on by
I tkal ' them.
" W h a t could it b e ? " they whispered
levbcTt among themselves ; " had her husband met
;yn.«i' his end in the same way ?—had there been
no possibility of his paying ransom ?—or
anil cnfl;
was it" (and her melancholy was more
acaloiw
than natural, who had ever seen so rich a
tk «*•
widow so inconsolable ?) " that poor Siora
Boea's husband, had, or was
" And
here significant gestures of liaAnng gone to
mthe mounteins Avero made, and Avords and
lw«K'
hints were dropped, until, with the rapidly
euiiig.'''* accumulating force of village gossip, it was
finally universally believed that Rosa's dead
he ton*''' husband must have been a brigand himJly sfT*
•elf.
Verysoon these m u r m u r s and Innuendoes
reached tho cars of the syndic himself, Don
Vincenzo Madema.
Maderna was a fiery, pig-headed, little
Neapoliten, with an exaggerated sense of
his own responsibility, and two ambitions,
which equally consumed him, and wore the
flesh off" his bones. One was to gain a
, lioue'^ temo and be a winner to a largo amount
Jlut*^'' in the lottery. Winning a t e m o Is when
jjjOD?' three of the five numbers one chooses is
3i«eeiv'^,'.drawn out. The other ambition Avas to
^ ]0i^J capture Satanello.
\^.
Tho despatches on this last matter, Avhich
[June 7,1-73.]
1-43
he constantly received from the prefect at
Messina, considerably aggrieved him.
" T h a t fine gentleman," he would say,
" Httle knows the stete of things about
here, or he would Avrite AAith more ' r e guardi' to a man who has become grey in
the public service. Half the people here
are the ' manutengoli' (agents) of the
brigands; the other half pay them black
mail, I knoAV, and if one of the contributions required was my head, I do not think
they would hesitate long enough to let me
say a paternoster. H e Is an ass, is the
prefect."
This capture of Pasquale was a blow to
the syndic. H e was the friend of both
brothers. The sacristan and the tailor
were two excellent men. He wished to
ransom Pasquale, but where Avas the money
to come from ? If he could secure Satanello,
he Avould get the money which had been
set on his head, and so pay himself if he
advanced I t ; but the question was, bow
could he advance it ? and, besides, how
was he to capture Satenello ?
H e bit his finger.s, walked u p and doAvn
his office, opened his money-drawer with a
jerk, and shut it Avith a slam, but no violence of gesture or motion could bring the
required sum Into that receptacle.
Days passed, and only three remained
of the fortnight's grace, when, as the .syndic
was sitting alone, " blaspheming," as he
afterward.^ shameles.sly confes.sed, iu his
office-room, he was told a " s p o s a " Avanted
to see him.
" P a s s ! , passi," said the little man,
courteously.
The woman entered ; it Avas Rosa.
" W h a t can I do for you, Siora Rosa ?"
said tbe bellicose little syndic in his softest
voice ; and he wondered If there could be
any truth in the gossip about her.
She looked so sad and so agitated. She
carried a casket in her hand.
" I have come. Signer Sindaco
" she
said, eagerly, and then stopped.
" Cara sci," said the syndic ( I must add
he was an unmarried man), "Avbat is the
matter ? Do you find the cares of your
inheritance too much for you ; Avomen, I
know, can spend money, but always iind
taking care of it irksome ; Avliat is it ?"
" I wanted to ask you to take these
thousand lire."
" Dio la benedica."
" And send them as ransom for Pasquale."
" Impossible ! HOAV do you expect Pasquale Avill ever p ly you ; he will Avant two
\ i
A
14t
ALL THE YEAR ROUND.
3g
[Jane 7, li
lives, not one, to do so. It is horrible to some woman like you, do you think ?'* The
think of, but no one can saA-e him; the syndic Avondered Avhether Rosa wished to
government cannot. Think Avhat a fine warn her husband, for ho now felt coa.
game it Avould be for the brigands if the vinced that he Avas connected with tl
state ransomed their victims, and who else brigands, Avas perhaps, indeed, the chief
himself. " Good Heaven !" he muttircd,
can help him ?"
and
the little parched pea of a man was
" I wiU."
nearly
crossing himself at the idea as he
" What will your children say when they
are old enough to know what you have looked at Rosa's pale sad face, " what utter
done; this Is half the sum in the savings fools women are."
" Here is your receipt," he said ont
bank. I know old Meo's aff'airs Avell."
loud;
" but I take the money on the condi" He must be saved."
" What Avould your poor husband say if tion that you will not carry out y
intention."
he were alive ?"
Rosa hung her head.
Rosa started, as if he had touched her
" Let no one know you have advanced
with a hot iron; but she controlled herthe
money, or we shall have half the village
self. " Think of Pasquale's wife and
carried off". They will work on your s ^
children!"
She looked so imploring, that the syndic heart as people dig in a mine."
" If I could but learn
" began
was overcome at last, and took the money
but she checked herself, her sorrows bad
and gave her a receipt for it.
made her so reticent,
" How do you send?"
" Pst, pst, you must find out all yon
" Oh, it is all arranged in his infernal
want
from Pasquale."
letter. The man I send with the money is
When he was alone Don Vincenzo drew
to go to the Osteria del PelHcano, two miles
on the Villa d'Oro road. He Avill find there bis heavy black eyebrows together, and!
a man who will show him a receipt. They thought and thought, and smoked sevenl^
will leave the osteria together, and at a cigars, and finally made up his plans.
With the aptitude we all have of thinkii^
certain distance, my man will give the
ill
rather than well of our fellow-creatur
money and Pasquale will be given to
the syndic firmly believed that SateneB
him,"
" Could I go with the man you send ?" himself was tbe husband of the handsome]
asked Rosa, timidly. All her reflections melancholy widoAV of the Belfry Tower.
He called up a gendarme, gave him tbi
after she had heard of Pasquale's fato had
ransom,
told him where to go, and
coiiAinced her that Satenello was Tonino,
and that he, and he alone, kncAv the secret him, on his life, open his eyes and ears,
of Maso's disappearance. She thought It as to obtein on the road every possible
probable he would fetch the money himself, information which might eventually be of
and she, if she were permitted to accompany use. He then wroto in cipher to Messioij
the syndic's messenger, Avould Implore him, and informed the prefect he had found al
for the sake of his fonner love for her dead clue by which he believed he shoidd trace
child, to tell her Avhat he had done with and finally capture Satenello himself He
asked for more soldiers, but as he did not
Maso.
The syndic, on hearing her proposal, wish to excite suspicion, they must drop in
by twos and threes dressed as ordinarfj
started up like a jack-in-the-box.
peasants. He Avas convinced that he shonlai
"You?"
" I Avant to ask one single question of win the distinction he had so long thirsted
for, and if he did, would not the hour i
the man Avho takes the money."
" Bah !" he stifled the oath that rose to the number of the day of the week, audi
his lips; " you must cross-examine Pasquale the day of the month, be lucky numl
himself, if you want news of the brigands;" for the lottery ! The Belfry Tower shon
he spoke Avith a rougher accent than he be watched night and day, and as sooni
had used hitherto; " if the devils saAv you, a sufficient number of men had arri^
there Avould be an end of the business ; they they should be placed so as to surround'
Avould murder the man I send and Pas- house and guard it. The fair widow shot
quale too, and cany you off"; Avhat sort of not warn her husband, if it Avere in
a ransom Avould they ask for a rich hand- power to prevent it.
Tie BigU of Translating Articles from
ALL THE YEAR ROUXD
PulLshca at the o^ce, I'C, Wcin^-tun St., Straca. Pnniei by C.
VVHIIL^G,
is reserved ly ihe Authors.
lieauiort iloase, Duke St., Liucoln's innl
^K