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Italy; afterwards, being joined by the most reckless and hopeless of the insurgents, and a large portion of that scum which, having nothing to lose has everything to gain-a bloody, cruel, and vindictive ganghe formed an army, which he managed, by his military knowledge, admirably to discipline. Like the medieval companies of old-the free German bands or the Jacquerie-they marched, a band of locusts, over the open country, from city to city, levying contributions for their sustenance, or, if not treated with sufficient consideration, politely threatening to plant their cannon against the walls and massacre the inhabitants.

Still Garibaldi did not grow rich by his marauding: he engaged in these expeditions from a real love of military employment, and as a means of paying his troops and sustaining the sinews of war, not for his pecuniary advantage. When they robbed the churches of plate it was immediately coined into money for the troops. No one has ever accused Garibaldi of selfish motives. He was undoubtedly a great rascal, yet withal an excellent soldier, desperately brave, and naturally of a generous disposition, overflowing with family affection; a good son, husband, and father. G- witnessed his entrance into Rome, and says it was the richest sight he ever beheld. They came through the Porta del Popolo, the cavalry leading the way-a body of fine young fellows, wellmounted and well-dressed. Garibaldi rode in the centre, in splendid uniform, and armed like a Greek, with quantities of splendid daggers and pistols stuck into his belt: near him rode his faithful negro, who never left him; and at his side his wife, dressed in man's clothes, riding en cavalier, from whom, also, he never was separated. So far all was grand and romantic-quite chivalrous in fact-but then came the body of the army, the foot-such a crew as never eyes beheld; copper-coloured wretches, almost naked, wild, dishevelled hair hanging over their repulsive faces; no shoes, no stockings; armed with scythes, pitchforks, old knives, daggers, and every grotesque and antique weapon they had stolen from antiquarian collections, museums, the shambles, or the guardhouse. On they came, a wild and ferocious multitude, their bodies swathed in the sheets and blankets they had stolen on the road en passant, driving before them troops of lean oxen, horses, donkeys, mules, fowls, sheep, geese, goats, and ducks,-all plunder caught up on the route. G says he nearly killed himself by suppressed laughter, for, in his wildest imagination, he never could have conceived such a demoniac and unearthly crew.

The French, after having seized the Janiculum heights, completely commanded Rome-stretching below like a vast map-but not before the magnificent villas Doria and Borghese had been mined by order of the government; seeking thus malevolently to injure the princely proprietors in their property, their versons being safe abroad, out of reach. The Janiculum once gained, Rome becomes an easy prey:

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For, since Janiculum is lost,
Nought else can save the town.

As, in the classic days of Roman fable, the city was besieged by the
Etruscan forces,
right glorious to behold," commanded by Lars
Porsenna, when, but for the inspired valour of Horatius and his two

companions in keeping the bridge, Rome must have fallen, so might the French now have riddled the venerable walls in a few hours, and turned classical ruin into total annihilation. But the Emperor had given particular directions to the general to spare the buildings, and to proceed with the utmost caution. The plan therefore adopted was to harass the citizens, dropping here and there a bomb-shell, contriving often that they should burst in the air or strike against the unbuilt side of the wooded Pincian. Still many persons were killed; and the Trasteverines immediately under the Janiculum were entirely driven out of their quarter, to the opposite and more opulent bank of the Tiber-the rich and wealthy quarters-where the houseless families were received into the noble palaces, and billeted in various places.

In the mean time, Garibaldi commanded in the city. Those loudvoiced enthusiasts, who had screamed so lustily in the Piazza degli Apostoli for war and liberty, now became mute and meek as lambs. The Italians are the greatest swaggerers and most arrant cowards, I do believe, on earth; one stout Frenchman or Englishman would send a dozen of them flying, like a drove of cackling poultry, right and left any day. Garibaldi was utterly disgusted, and depended principally on foreign mercenaries and his own unclothed ragamuffins. Every one in the city was called on to take up arms and join in the defence; the artists specially were worried by messages, threats, and summonses to attend the drills and to mount guard. Some made one excuse, some another; but a sergeant and four carabinieri, going to the studio of a certain well-known artist, found him absent, but his wife, a Roman, at home, who gave them so warm a reception, and screamed so energetically at the sergeant, threatening all the while to scratch out his eyes, that this valiant functionary forthwith retreated, and returning to his officer, declared he would never more return to -'s studio without a double guard of soldiers!

As the siege proceeded the streets were barricaded in all directions, and immense quantities of sand laid down. Mr. W told me he could not even walk from the Piazza di Spagna to the Piazza del Popolo (less than a quarter of a mile), but that all at the further end of the town was quiet and orderly, the only persons molested being the cardinals, who were torn out of their carriages and insulted whenever they were found, and the carriages burnt. Horrible murders of the poor priests occurred-savage, atrocious deeds, in cowardice and cruelty worthy of the lowest grade of animal ferocity. People passing in the streets witnessed these horrors, and beheld the infuriate Romans engaged in mutilating their victims, but beyond the crowd and the immediate excitement nothing further occurred. Prince Borghese, who, up to a certain point had been a thorough-going republican, and served in the national guards, fled away soon after the Pope, terrified at the excesses of his party, which caused them to bear him an especial grudge. Still Garibaldi permitted no pillage; and, although the gorgeous Vatican and Quirinal, the glorious palaces of the Doria, the Borghese, the Colonna, and the Torlonia, filled with fabled riches, the accumulation of centuries of power and wealth, were open and undefended, not a statue was touched—not a lock broken. The bombarding of the city took place generally in the night, when there was no safety but in the cellars and

under the portones, as the shots were discharged all over the city. Mr. W, quite unmoved in the horrid strife, described himself as quietly watching the fusees and shells burst in the Piazza di Spagna, and admiring the brilliant effect of the explosion in the darkness. The French engineers showed incomparable skill in avoiding all injury to the buildings, and yet covering, enveloping the entire city in their fire. The republican government was extremely anxious to retain all the English as hostages; post-horses were taken away, and every impediment thrown in the way of departure. Some English people paid high sums as a bribe, when, Lord Napier expostulating at keeping the English like prisoners, many contrived to escape, passing through the French linesespecially a party of ladies I knew, who, having foolishly waited until the last moment, just filling a diligence, valorously set off alone, and reached Florence in safety. The last night of the siege was the most awful, when the French, having gained possession of the heights near the San Pancrazio-gate, and beaten down the wall, held the city utterly at their mercy. The bombshells and fusees went hissing over the houses all night, causing fearful alarm. Everybody got up and betook themselves to the lower stories, into any hole or corner for safety. Mr. Wyatt, the celebrated sculptor, now dead (I do not mean the Wyatt of atrocious memory, who imagined that disgraceful bronze "Duke," which towers over London like a bad spirit triumphing over Art), alarmed as the rest, had risen, and only left his studio for an instant, when a shell entered and burst, destroying the walls and everything in the room. One moment sooner and he must have been killed. Another shell burst in the grand saloon of the Colonna Palace, breaking away part of a flight of marble steps leading to a kind of daïs, at the upper end of the vast gallery-an injury which the prince so much resented he never to this day has permitted it to be repaired. Among many fearful casualties, a maid-servant of the Duca Sermoneta, standing in her room, had her ribs shot away on one side, and died in great agony.

Garibaldi, aware that the French at any moment could have blown up the whole city like a powder-magazine from their position, then capitulated, and retreated from the city with his bands. He was a strikingly handsome man, but looked worn and jaded as he passed through the streets. During the whole siege his faithful negro had never left him, and his wife continually followed him into battle dressed as a man, retiring when the fighting became too furious, attended by the black. This poor creature, shortly before the end of the siege, was shot while asleep under the walls, after having escaped unhurt from so many engagements. When Garibaldi retreated, his wife, then enceinte, and very ill from fever, insisted on accompanying the army; but, as if a curse was on all he loved, she died on the march from exhaustion, in a hovel by the roadside. They buried her, in haste, in an oak forest, for the French were hard upon them, and their retreat was precipitate. When the French came up, a few hours after, they recognised her corpse, which had been torn up by swine burrowing for acorns! Garibaldi, when last heard of, was in command of a merchant ship in the China trade, for he is as good a sailor as he is a brave and experienced soldier.


"Connubialis amor de Mulcibre fecit Apellem."

NEAR an old cathedral doorway

Once I saw a curious well;
And while seated there I listened
To this tale which I will tell.

Once in Antwerp lived a painter,
Poor, but yet of honest fame;
Happy if on glowing canvas
He might leave a lasting name.
And this artist had a daughter,
Of a sweet but lofty mien;
Than the daughter of the painter
Fairer sylph was seldom seen.
All who saw that maiden loved her,
In that city, great and small;
But a youth, named Quentyn Matsys,
Loved her better than them all.

Matsys was a working blacksmith,
And the painter in his pride,
Told him, that an artist's daughter
Must become an artist's bride.
Bitter words, and full of anguish !
Quentyn's heart was vexèd sore;
Never with his lowly calling,
Had he quarrelled so before.
When he saw that fate was cruel,
Matsys knew but one desire;
Like a spark among the fuel,
Scorn had set his soul on fire.
When his daily toil was over,

Never slothful, tired, or faint,
Matsys in his secret chamber,

Strove, with all his heart, to paint.

Often to that chamber college
Stole the maiden, to impart
Loving counsel, and the knowledge
Of her father's generous art.
Years have passed, until, rejoicing,
Matsys throws off his disguise,
And stands forth a finished painter
In the wondering artist's eyes.
Love and skill at last have triumphed;
Seeing now his gift divine,

"Thou hast won her," said her father,

"Take her, she is doubly thine."

Often in the world around us,

Words that bear envenomed stings,

Spoken only to confound us,
Goad us on to higher things.

Only can profound emotion

Our divinest efforts move;
Oft have Genius and Devotion
Wakened at the touch of Love.







THE "Science of Astrology," although its most flourishing time had passed, still enthralled the unilluminated brains of our grandsires in its mystic signs and hieroglyphical calculations, and there were many gifted beings who amassed large fortunes by "casting nativities" for those who had an overweening curiosity to peep into the future, and an unlimited confidence in planetary influences.

The Universal Magazine of February, 1775, tells us of one of these cunning seers who allowed himself to be robbed while he was "stargazing:"

"January 10th.-Saturday evening.-A woman applied to a resolver of lawful questions in a court in Fleet-street, to be satisfied in relation to some future events; but while poor Albumazer was consulting the stars in his chamber in order to resolve her doubts, he seems to have been utterly ignorant of his own present fortune, for some thieves (supposed to be the inquirer's confederates) stripped his other apartments of everything that was conveniently portable."

A peep is afforded us into the chamber of one of these worthies in an old print of 1760, as well as in the description of Cadwallader's imposition in Smollett's" Peregrine Pickle." In the former, the floor is strewed with books, globes, telescopes, compasses, &c., in those days objects of wonder and even fear to the vulgar, and the walls hung with skeletons of lizards, bats, toads, moles, owls, alligators, and serpents, while snakes and abortions of the human foetus are preserved in spirits in gigantic jars, and a huge black cat sits gravely blinking on the table. In the midst of this imposing display, calculated to inspire awe and terror into the rash diver into Fortune's secrets, sits the astrologer, magician, wizard, and fortune-teller, a lean, grizzly man, with a long, flowing, white beard, as would become a prophet; his head encased in a tight-fitting black velvet or fur cap, and his spare body enwrapped in a long black gown. A volume of symbols is open before him, which he is consulting by the aid of a pair of spectacles, which add to the appearance of deep study which his furrowed brow would indicate, and by his side lie open a book of mathematical problems, and a scroll covered with strange Egyptian characters. This portrait, we believe, represents an astrologer who resided in the Old Bailey, and of whom it is reported that, while he was in the zenith of his fame, the thoroughfare was frequently rendered impassable by the number of carriages waiting at his door, which had conveyed the nobility and gentry to have their "fortunes told."

These astrologers seem to have haunted their old habitations after their death, if we read the following paragraph aright:

"The Flying Horse,' a noted victualling house in Moorfields, next to that of the late Astrologer Trotter, has been molested for several

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