I have no fancy for those same Picciotti, '
said the other; " they are not like the Cacciatori
degli Alpi of the first campaign. Oh, if we
only had them now!"

"Ay, and with them, while you are wishing,
Turr, Cosenz, Bixio, and Medici."

"These, or their equals, will never be wanting
so long as the good blood of Italy runs hot and
strong. Leaders are sure to arrive. What we
need is some loud trumpet-blast to awaken our
young men of rank and station-— fellows who
are now lounging ingloriously in dreary old
villas, or drearier village cafes, and who, if they
but knew that a nation's fate was in the balance,
and that a few days must decide whether we
were to be a free people or a French province,
would come flocking in thousands to our
standard. Ay, Angelo, and I say it advisedly,
I'd rather see one man of birth and blood
with the red shirt on than a whole legion of
those ragged creatures who fire when they are
startled, and fly when there is an enemy before
them."

"Decidedly the Picciotti are not in favour
with your eccellenza," said the other, half
bitterly. " They possess one merit, however,
which your men of gentle blood have not."

"And what may that be?"

"They have come boldly forward and thrown
themselves heart and soul, body and bones, into
this movement. They have neither asked what
the Emperor thought of it or the King. Whether
France was opposed or England favoured. They
never stopped to inquire whether Ratazzi was
in a secret league with Garibaldi, or conspiring
to crush him. They merely heard the General
declare he was going to Rome, and they cried
we will go with you."

"Yes, that is all true; you are right there,
Angelo. This is fine of them."

"There is some one in the bushes there,
listening to us all this while," cried the youngest,
springing to his feet.

It was too late to retreat, and I came
forward boldly, told who I was, and owned
that I had overheard their conversation. I
added, that I regretted I could not offer them
the hospitality of the villa, and explained why;
but assured them that if they would accept the
shelter of the fattore's house for the night, I
would take care they should be properly treated,
and they might rely upon his discretion if not
upon his actual sympathy.

"We would far rather have yours," said Don
Cesare, giving me his hand.

I cannot tell what came over me, what
process, not of reason, but of impulsion, seized me,
but, as I saw myself there in front of a young
fellow, my counterpart in years, station, title
and fortune, and beheld him ready to risk all,
and life besides, in this great enterprise, and then
bethought me that while he would be daring all
the perils and hardships of a soldier's life, I
should be listlessly strolling down to my grassy
bench under a fig-tree,—- all these, I say, passing
hurriedly through my brain, with I know not
what besides of shame and self-reproach, I
shook his hand with a vigorous grasp, and said,
"Done! I am with you."

It was thus I became a Garibaldian.

II. THE NIGHT AT THE FATTORIA.

HAVING taken care that my guests should be
hospitably treated at the fattore's for the night,
and despatched thither some bottles of my
father's very choicest San Benito, I set about
my own especial preparations. I possessed
some shirts sufficiently red to be Garibaldian.
I had got them for a rowing-club some young
Englishmen had established at Palermo. They
were very gaudy and bright-coloured, as was
the cap that matched them. I had, besides, a
good Liège rifle and a revolver, with an
abundance of ammunition. I had no sword, but in
lieu of one I took a stiletto of great beauty
and fine workmanship, which lay on my father's
table, the handle of which was incrusted with
garnets and turquoise; the belt had been once
crimson and gold, and had still sufficient traces
left of its former magnificence.

My hardest task of all was yet to come — to
break my intention to my family, and tell them
whither I had gone. If I wrote one, I wrote
a dozen letters; some to my father, some to my
mother, to each of my sisters in turn, and, at
last, to the family collectively, or rather not
addressed at all, but a sort of a general
declaration to all whom it might concern. I cannot
remember, nor do I want to remember, the
words, but the sense of it was this:

"Garibaldi is either right or wrong. If right,
every man of honour should be with him: if
wrong, against him. I have been neither, and I
am very much ashamed of myself in
consequence. It is extremely hard to ascertain
which is the true state of the case; reading the
newspapers will not show it, nor will
frequenting the cafes. So that, to solve all doubt, I
have resolved to go and see—- that is, I have
made up my mind to join Garibaldi, and make a
campaign with him. By the time it is over, I
shall either know more, or care less for it all."

I am free to own that a certain choking
in the throat at the thought of leaving my
mother and sisters, and my old home, rather led
me to throw into this note a sort of bullying
indifference which my heart belied most
completely; but, as I had pledged my word to
go, I would not draw back. I believe if,
on arriving at the fattore's, I had heard that
my three friends had stolen a march and
gone off without me — I believe, I say, I would
have given them a heartier blessing than I am
in the habit of bestowing in the ordinary course
of my daily life. There they were, however,
as I entered, at table, the fattore sitting in
the room outside, to prevent intrusion, and, if
possible, to enforce a slight degree of caution
in the matter of cheers and choruses, which,
the old San Benito had rather promoted than
otherwise.

They had a small, ragged, and very dirty map
on the table; it was partly spread over a dish of