"kept hitting and poking me with the barrel of his | gun, because I did not ascend as quickly as he wished, though I was close behind the man before me. At last I turned round in a pretended rage, and with my stick in both hands, raised it over his head. He shrunk back and brought his gun up to his shoulder with an oath. Two or three ran up. I caught hold of him, but at the same time they abused me, and seemed quite taken back at the idea of a ricattato threatening one of themselves. I told them I walked as well as they did, and I would not be bullied, so it was no use attempting it, that they might kill me if they wished, and the sooner the better. I found this answer capitally, and I was never touched again while on the march, and it was from this moment that they began to respect me a little for my apparent disregard of death; and when we arrived at the camp-fire, it was immediately narrated how I had threatened to kill a companion, this being the term they always use when speaking of each other." - - These camp-fires on the mountains are the really picturesque circumstance of a brigand's life, and when lying round them the only time when he is picturesque; for his uniform, which looks well enough when new, soon gets torn and dirty, and incomplete, this article being left behind in a sudden flight, — that article falling as a legacy to an accommodating peasant who has taken it to wash or to repair, and on whose hands the unexpected appearance of troops finally throws the dangerous treasures, while, as for the gay foppery of rings and chains and colored scarves and kerchiefs, and all the rest of the stock adornments, they exist certainly, but they appear only on rare festal days, when the times are considered safe, and finery and jollity not out of season. But these times are very rare; the main object of a brigand's life being to procure food, either by "tithes in kind," levied in unfriendly districts, or by exchange and barter when the peasants are of a more commercial and obliging frame of mind, or as future ransom-money in the shape of defenceless wayfarers with families who respect their ears, and would rather not have their heads sent to them in a paper parcel, while their bodies feed the wolves on the mountains. - But round the fires at night, — then Salvator Rosa lives again, and the brigand of the drama and the studio is in some sense realized. Swarthy men lying in every attitude round the blazing pile, their guns in their hands, their dark faces gleaming in the light, while hooded sentinels watch silently under the shadow of the rocks and through the long vista of the darkened trees, overhead the sky glittering with stars, and the old mountain echoes ringing to the sound of song and laughter, — seen just as a picture the thing is well enough, and full of admirable material for artists and the like, but that is all. Any group of men, from soldiers to settlers, bivouacking in the open air, affords the same combination of light and line; and one need not go to melodramatic thieves even for studies after Salvator Rosa. The dresses of the two bands, Manzo's and Pepino Cerino's, were sensible and wise-like enough, and with far more simplicity and less finery than is the current notion of a brigand's wardrobe. Manzo's men had long jackets, of stout brown cloth the color of withered leaves, with a most useful and generous arrangement of pockets, one pocket especially, in the back, being not unlike a pantomime clown's. Mr. Moens has seen a pair of trousers, two shirts, three or four pounds of bread, a bit of dirty bacon, cheese, and other things brought out thence, one by one, when a search was made for any missing article; in fact, it is the sack, or hand-bag, of modern days, sewed inside the coat, and not carried outside. The waistcoats, of dark-blue cloth, were buttoned at the side, but had showy gilt buttons down the centre, and they, too, had an arrangement of pockets of great use, for in the lower were kept spare cartridges, balls, gunpowder, knives, &c., while above went the watch in one, and percussion caps in the other. The trousers were of dark-blue cloth like the waistcoat, and were cut like other men's trousers. Cerino's band were in dark-blue coats and trousers, with bright green waistcoats adorned with small silver buttons; and they all had belts for cartridges, &c., and all had hoods attached by a button to their jackets, which, however, were often lost in the woods, and always at a premium when retained. They had wide-awakes; and one which Manzo to Mr. Moens as being rather more sightly than his own, had inside it the label of Christy of Gracechurch Street, who happened to be the Englishman's own hatter when at home. gave But the blessing of blessings to the brigands in the way of clothing is the capote, the large-hooded cloak worn in Italy by peasants, and familiar to all who have travelled on the Continent as a general article of dress everywhere, with certain slight modifications of cut. Manzo gave Mr. Moens one of these capotes, but as time went on, and these and other things became scarcer, he had to share it at night with Pavone, one of the band, who had a habit of snoring, and who was not quite as fragrant as a bottle of eau-de-Cologne. When the poor captive was ill, as he was once, so ill that he thought they would have "to dig a shallow hole to put his body in," he gave Pavone an uncomfortable night by "hitting him to stop his snoring, rolling myself round, and so dragging the covering from him, and groaning from the pain I suffered; but I must say for all that he was most forbearing." This bad fit of illness (diarrhea) was cured by some cheese made of cow's milk. Lorenzo, another brigand, cured himself of fever by drinking a good-sized bottle of castor-oil at one pull, and about ninety times as much quinine as would lie on a franc. This somewhat heroic remedy cut down in a day a fever which had lasted a fortnight. One of the causes which lengthened the captivity of Mr. Moens, was the belief of the brigands that he was a highly influential personage, related to Lord Palmerston, and of such importance that the Italian government would pay his ransom, whatever the amount asked. Wherefore, they fixed it originally at a hundred thousand ducats for himself and Mr. Aynsley, equal to seventeen thousand pounds; then after a few minutes' conversation with Sentonio, "a tall, clumsy ruffian with black eyes, hair, and beard," it was reduced to half, namely, fifty thousand ducats; but finally they accepted thirty thousand, which was a considerable reduction from the first demand. Many and great were the difficulties, not about raising the sum, but about transmitting it. The laws against paying ransom to the brigands, or trafficking with them in any way, are very severe; and as the capture of an English milord, a relation of Lord Palmerston, and the friend of the Italian government, had created immense excitement, the whole country was scoured by soldiery, to the imminent risk of the poor captive's life, when they came to shots with the brigands. For, as he says, they always seem to take special aim at him, as he was the tallest of the party; and | afraid of Manzo's vengeance against members of he was thus in even more than equal danger with his family, all of whom would be murdered on the the rest of a bullet through the heart. Their ac- first opportunity if he had deserted. Else it is not tivity added to the prolongation of his captivity; an uncommon thing for the minor members of a for the brigands would not let him go without the band to give themselves up when they have amassed money, and the money could not be brought up to a certain sum of money, whereby they can be well the band; and so the whole thing was a game at fed while in prison for their term. This they call cross-purposes and checked intentions, and an im-"retiring from business"; and a very pleasant and mense amount of suffering, mental and physical. profitable retiring it is. It was a tremendous moment for both Mr. Moens Great care was taken that Mr. Moens should and his then fellow-captive, Mr. Aynsley, when never see any of the peasants who came up to transthey drew lots as to which should be set free to go act their small business with the brigands. It was and raise the ransom. Mr. Moens held the pieces a matter of indifference whether they saw him or of wood which were to decide the lots, and Mr. not, but he was not to see them, so that he might Aynsley drew. When he drew the fortunate longer not be able to recognize and thus bear witness one of the two, "I must confess I felt as if I had against them, to the result of twenty years' impris been drawing for my life and I had lost," says Mr.onment for them if detected. He had to sit out of Moens. A minute afterwards, the report of a gun the bullet whizzing over the prisoner's head. told the band that the soldiers were upon them. Mr. Aynsley had met them, almost immediately after leaving the brigands, and they started in hot pursuit. No good was done; no good ever was done by the soldiers; only poor Mr. Moens slipped and fell in the general flight, nearly broke his arm, nearly got drowned, and was nearly shot; but finally escaped all these close chances to which his would-be rescuers subjected him, thanking God for his safety, but "feeling anything but charitably disposed towards the rulers who ought years ago to have cleared their country from these ruffians, instead of leaving them alone till they carried off an Englishman." He never had any very good chance of escape save once; when, if he would have shot two sleeping men, and one other awake and at a distance, he might perhaps have got away. Scope was the one at a distance, he having moved away two or three yards from his gun in order to get into the sun while he was freeing his shirt of vermin. For the brigands, who rarely change their clothes, and never wash themselves, are, as might be expected, overrun with vermin to a most disgusting extent. Mr. Moens was inside a cave. Sentonio and Pavone had laid their carcasses across the entrance, and Scope, as was said, had moved off to a little distance. Two guns, one single, the other doublebarrelled, lay within reach of his arm; he might seize one and kill the two sleeping men, and Scope too, if he threatened to move. It was a temptation, and he pondered over it, but his mind and heart revolted from a double, perhaps triple murder; his life was in no immediate danger; he fully believed that the ransom would be finally all settled; and, to turn away his thoughts, he opened the little book of Psalms he had with him, when his eye fell upon the passage, "Deliver me from blood-guiltiness, O Lord! The words spoke home; resolutely put the temptation behind him, amused himself with picking out the grains of wheat and rye from some ears he had plucked, and then a herd of cattle passing near woke the sleepers, and destroyed his only available chance of escape. he the way, pull his capote over his face, lie on his back, go through all sorts of voluntary methods of blindness, when the bread, and the meat, and the ciceri (a curious kind of pea, only one in a pod, and the name of which every one was obliged to pronounce on the night of the Sicilian vespers, when those who did not give it the full Sicilian accent were set down as French and killed), the milk, and the washing, and the rosolio came up, and money was chinked out, and the band kept from starving, for that day at least. It was the one point of honor, also of common-sense precaution, with the brigands. This same Pavone was a double murderer; for the first crime he had been imprisoned three years; but, repeating the amiable weakness, he had been afraid to face the authorities, and so took to the woods. His wife and children were in prison, that being the practice of the Italian government concerning the families of brigands. He would have given himself up to release them, but that he was Gambling is the favorite brigand amusement; and they gamble, as they do all things, to excess. Manzo lost seventy napoleons at one toss; and the private shares of ransom-moneys change hands twenty times before finally dispersed and disbursed in the plains. They wished Mr. Moens to play with them, but he, shrewdly suspecting that it would be a case of "Heads I win, tails you lose," tried the experiment with confetti. They lost, and laughed in his face when he asked them to pay up; on which he took the hint, and declined the heavier stakes. The day when the last of his ransom was paid, there was great gambling going on, and in a short time the money was nearly all in the hands of four men, the captain, Generoso, Andrea, and Pasquale. On the whole, now that the danger is past, the money gone, and no real damage done to any one, it is an experience scarcely to be much regretted. The ears of Mr. Moens were saved, his limbs were saved, his life was saved; and for the "compliment" of a few thousands he has had an experience and an adventure of startling magnitude in these prosaic times of ours. He has seen what no other Englishman of the time has seen, and has done what no one else has done, and has written a bright and charming book as the result, with one piece of advice as the moral, very patent to the reader, namely, Do not travel with much luggage, whether consisting of photographic plates or not, and do not travel in brigand-haunted places at all, with luggage or without. The heavy baggage was in part the cause of the Englishman's disaster. Continentals do not understand our love of work and turmoil, and the only facts that seem to have at all shaken the belief of the brigands that they had captured a milord were the blackened state of his hands from his manipulation of photographic chemicals, and his flannel trousers, like those which Italian prisoners wear. But they got over these two shocks, pursued the even tenor of their faith, stuck to their text, and did not abate in their de mands until the very last. A DEED OF DARKNESS. WHEN, after a forced absence (from political motives) of fifteen years, I was enabled in 1848 to go back to my own country, one of the first persons to welcome my return was an old fellow-student, whose name had not so much as once met my eye or my ear for the last twelve years, and whose existence I had wellnigh forgotten. town. It was nearly noon when we proceeded to it en masse, and began our harvest. It is merry work and a pretty sight this gathering of grapes, especially when enlivened, as it was in the present case, by the never-ceasing prattle and gladdening turbulence of a dozen joyous small busybodies taking their share, and more than their share, in it. There is something intoxicating in the process. It seems as though the gentle stimulant virtually contained in the juicy fruit asserted its exhilarating powers beforehand. Curzio and I were of about the same age, had been at school and college at the same time in Genoa, had, without being very intimate, sown My host told me the lucky chance to which was some of our wild oats together, and were actually owing the relative preservation of this vineyard from embarked in the same political boat when it capsized. the prevalent disease. The first year he had been How he managed to keep afloat while I sunk, and as great a sufferer as his neighbors: only one vine, by what concourse of circumstances we came to which grew against his house, had, by a strange exlose sight of each other for so long, are matters ir- ception, brought forth healthy fruit. What might relevant to my purpose. Suffice it to say, that Cur-be the cause of this phenomenon? By dint of seekzio called on the morrow of my arrival, and looked so pleased to see me, spoke of old times so feeling ly, and of myself so affectionately, that his genial warmth told upon me instantly, and I came up to his temperature in no time. In looks he was scarcely altered, but his manner and conversation were singularly improved. He talked well and a good deal, for which he humorously apologized by saying that he had been gagged all his life and that he must now make up for lost opportunities. Meeting after so long a separation in such eventful times, we ran no risk of lacking topics of conversation. We spent a few hours together very agreeably, at the end of which we both made the very pleasant discovery that we had never been such good friends as we were now. "You must come and see me in my wilds," said he, as he was leaving. "Of course I shall, as soon as I have a little leisure," said I. "I cannot take a put off," he replied; "ripe grapes cannot wait; you must really contrive to come within the week. I have something like a vintage to tempt you, a rarity not to be disdained now-a-days." That it was a rarity I knew to my cost, for this was the second year that, owing to the oidium, my vineyards had not yielded a single grape. In short, he insisted with so much good grace on my naming a day, that I named it. The little town of the Riviera of Genoa, in which Curzio lived, was three hours' walk from that in which I had pitched my tent for the time being. It stood half-way up a hill crowned by ilex and olive, and-shall I be permitted to add, that it commanded a beautiful view of land and sea? I know that descriptions of natural scenery are rococo in our sensational days, and I would fain not be behind my time. I was received with the utmost cordiality by the master and the mistress of the house. The lady was a brunette, full of character, and I made speedily great friends with a bevy of black-eyed, curly-headed little fellows, who had none of the squeamish bashfulness of their age. My host had convoked for the occasion the ban and arriere ban of the notabilities of the neighborhood, and there was a pretty large number present. Let me not forget to say, that my old schoolfellow was mayor of the town, doctor of the parish, and the largest land-owner therein: three qualifications which combined to make him socially, as he was intellectually, the first personage of the place. The vineyard whose golden riches were destined to fall under our knives and scissors was scarcely half an hour distant from Curzio's house in the ing, it recurred to his memory that one day, from the window of his laboratory, below which grew the vine, he had let fall by chance a bagful of sulphur, which spread itself over the whole plant. Acting upon this datum, he had tried sulphur next year on his vineyard amid the sneers of all round, and the present fine vintage was the result. "They ought to raise a statue to you," said I. "I should be well contented if they would only profit by my experience," answered my friend, "but they won't; I am sure they won't for twenty years to come. They are the slaves of routine and habit; everything in the shape of novelty, however beneficial, including the statutes and self-government, is a dead letter to them." After expatiating at some length and with some warmth on this theme, he suddenly paused, then added, with some compunction, "I would not prejudice you too much against these good folks, for good they are, and have many excellent points. A more docile, sober, much-enduring population can hardly be met with; there is a natural mildness in their blood which renders deeds of violence impossible to them. Crime, one may say, is unknown in these parts; only do not speak to them of progress: they are impervious to it.' He spoke well and willingly, as I have already remarked, and as I derived both pleasure and instruction from what he said, I managed to remain by his side during all the process of the vintage. A thorough practical man, familiar with the best methods of local cultivation, perfectly acquainted with the strength and the weakness of the population among which he had spent his life, Curzio was for me an invaluable cicerone on the somewhat new ground on which I was treading. For if in my long sojourn abroad I had learned some things of foreign countries, I had also unlearned much about my own, which I had a very actual interest to learn again. And I must say that most of the information I gleaned from my friend was afterwards fully confirmed by subsequent personal experience. But to return to our vintage. What with cutting grapes, and what with doing ample honor to an excellent dinner served on the grass, the day was on the wane before we knew where we were. Our Amphytrion, however, would not hear of our going home without my first seeing his Uccelliera. This was situated on a little eminence close by, perhaps a hundred paces above the vineyard in which we had been working, -a spot famous for catching birds of passage. Catching birds of passage is a favorite sport, I ought rather to say a passion, with all classes in Italy, and it was with a treat of this kind that my friend intended to inaugurate the second and last day of my visit. An | Uccelliera (fowling-box) I beg to explain, for the benefit of the uninitiated, is a small stone hut, the smaller the better, from the interior of which a person holding the cords attached to a double net outside, spreading in opposite directions, can at will, by a single twitch, bring the nets together, and thus envelope all the birds imprudent enough to have ventured within the circumjacent area. The amount of time, of patience, of labor, of inge-weaknesses to abhor inflicting unnecessary inconvennuity which are lavished to lure and decoy the feathered tribe into the fatal snare is something astonishing. The juiciest berries which may tempt a bird out of its road hang from the shrubs all round the narrow enclosure, the choicest seeds strew the ground; caged birds hidden among the foliage (some barbarously blinded that they may sing at all seasons) call from their prison to their free brethren, while others, tied to one end of a short pole, are, by its being suddenly raised, set fluttering most invitingly. These and an infinity of other devices lie in wait for the winged wayfarers. The sport may be objected to on more grounds than one, but certainly not on that of want of excitement. I have seen grave senators pale with emotion at the approach of a flock of wild-pigeons, cut capers at a happy catch, or be out of sorts all day at having missed a flight of linnets. Feeling rather tired and heavy with my day's work, and having besides to get up betimes (the rendezvous at the Uccelliera was for five in the morning), I begged leave at about half past nine in the evening to retire to my room, and I was in the act of going thither when a professional summons came for the Doctor to attend a woman in labor at some distance. In the uncertainty of how long he | might be detained, perhaps the whole night, it was arranged between us, that if by four in the morning he had not come to call me, as previously agreed on, I should go by myself to the place of rendezvous. He would join me as soon as possible, and at all events I should find there some of the gentlemen with whom I had spent the day in the vineyard. Was I sure, quite sure, of being able to find my way alone to the Uccelliera? As sure as I was that I could find my way to bed. My head was scarcely on my pillow when I fell asleep; and so sound was my slumber, that when I did awake, it was with a sense of having overslept myself. I lighted a match, and by its uncertain little flame I looked at my watch, ten minutes past four. Since Curzio had not come to rouse me, no doubt he had had to remain all night with his patient; so I rose, hurried on my clothes, stole softly down the stairs, lighted solely by my cigar, and glided out of the house. It was darker than the hour seemed to warrant, and at first I could scarcely see two steps before me; but this was only for a few moments. In proportion as I went along, so did the outlines of the neighboring objects begin to shape themselves, though as yet dimly; the air was heavy and damp, not a star was visible. Nevertheless, the way to the Uccelliera was so easy straight so far along the main road, and then to the right, through a lane dwindling to a path — that I could not have missed it if I would. The fowling-box looked as if tenanted by Morpheus himself, so profoundly quiet was everything about it. To my surprise the door was shut, and yet it must necessarily have been close upon five o'clock. It was strange; but what was strangest of all was, that there should not be the slightest indication of incipient dawn in the east. I took out my watch, and the mystery was explained. It was only a quarter to three! I had taken myself in famously. In my hurry and drowsiness I had mistaken the minute for the hour hand. What was I to do? Should I return to the house, and run the risk of rousing my hostess by knocking for admittance, or should I walk and smoke during the time to elapse before five! Now, it is one of my constitutional ience on any of my friends, old or new, so I speedily determined in favor of the peripatetic process, and began leisurely to retrace the way I had come. As I was nearing the lane abutting on the main road, it began to rain pretty fast. I knew of a place near at hand, for it had attracted my notice the day before, where I could find shelter, and I made for it at once. This was an arched recess in one of the walls of the lane above mentioned, having just room enough in it for a well breast-high with a stone seat behind it. The well had been abandoned, and was covered; it served now as a resting-place for peasants and their loads. The walls, or muricciuoli, which rose twice at least my height on each side, let but little light penetrate into this species of hole; enough though, after my eyes had had time to get accustomed to the obscurity, to discern the round shape of the well under my nose, and to have a faint perception that there stood opposite to me something more solid than air, which might well chance to be another wall, or muricciuolo. Having by this time finished my cigar, I crossed my arms, Napoleon-like, over my breast, shut my eyes, and asked myself if I could bona fide declare myself to be that identical individual who, but one short week ago, was buying Giusti's Poesie, at Truchy's, on the Boulevart des Italiens; and while I was considering the question, I felt touched by a magic wand, and conveyed to the Boulevart aforesaid, where the first thing I saw was a patrol of soldiers bearing down on me with measured tread. I A sound of footsteps, not dreamed of this time, real footsteps of several persons reverberating through the narrow passage, fell upon my ear. They came from the heights, I mean from the side opposite to the town, and had somewhat of the regular tramp of soldiers, or funeral bearers. strained my eyes, one, two, three, they passed me, but for the sound of their steps, like a spectral procession, slow, solemn, mute. The first, a little in advance of the others, carried what I surmised to be iron tools, from the jingling they made. Between the second and the third there was the length of something they bore upon their shoulders, and which accounted for the regular measure of their step, a something long and dark, save where it protruded beyond the back of the second bearer. This end, all wrapped in white, had a round, fantastic shape, than which nothing could be more suggestive of a shrouded head. The illusion was so complete, that I could not repress a shudder, which, after a moment's reflection, was followed by a smile. My curiosity, anyhow, was strongly excited. Where could they be going? What was it they were carrying? After all, might it not really be a corpse, the victim of some accident, being carried home by friends or neighbors? As I was thus cogitating, the footsteps stopped, to begin again almost immediately, but as it seemed to me, in another direction, and with less distinctness. I cautiously followed in their wake, and soon found myself at | when I recognized the voice of the chief actor in the the foot of one of those rugged flights of stone steps late drama! which at every turn give access to the olive plantations of the Riviera; there I came to a stand, and listened. My mysterious trio had evidently gone up that way, for the echo of their feet came now, a little deadened, from above me. I went up three of the stone steps; the tramp ceased all at once, ten seconds of dead stillness, then the thump of something heavy dropped on the earth. "Hush!" said a voice, reprovingly, "to work, and the quicker the better. Hist! what's that? somebody on the watch?" It was only I, who in ascending another step had unwarily dislodged a loose stone, which had rolled down noisily. This fourth step had brought my eyes on a level with the adjacent ground, a flat square, and as far as I could see, thickly planted with trees. Strain my eyes as I would, I could distinguish nothing but a vista of trunks. "Only some ferret," suggested a second voice, after a pause, employed, I fancy, in listening, and during which I had scarcely dared to breathe. “More likely a fox," opined a third voice; "there is plenty of that vermin hereabouts." "From I looked the man full in the face. He struck me as having a most patibulary countenance, and I entered the house. Curzio, candle in hand, was at the top of the stairs. "Is that you?" "Yes, it is me." "Where the deuse do you come from, dripping wet, and with that haggard face?" witnessing a deed of darkness," I replied. "Nonsense, what do you mean?" and he stared at me in alarm. "Come to my room, and you shall hear," said I. And as soon as we were closeted, I told him my tale, told it with an emotion and conviction that were infectious. Poor Curzio looked like a ghost himself, as he thrust both hands into his hair, protesting vehemently and incoherently that it could not be, that I was the dupe of some hallucination. "Would to God I were!" said I. 66 By the by, who is that man I met just now leaving the house? "That's Bastian, my bailiff, as trustworthy a fel low "Your trustworthy fellow is a villain," cried I; "he was one of the three, and their chief." This revelation had a queer and unexpected effect upon my friend. His fear-contracted features reLet us hope so," resumed the first voice; "Ilaxed, his rigid mouth distended, and he burst forth would rather not be caught at this sort of business." "Nor I," "Nor I,"-assented the other two voices in succession. Although they spoke in whispers, I did not lose a syllable of what they said; but why should they speak in whispers ? into one of the most glorious laughs I ever heard from mortal lips. "My mulberries," he chuckled; "I see it all now, it is my mulberries." It was my turn now to stare at him; and it took him some time to recover composure enough to give me the following explanation: "You must know that ever since the appearance of oidium I have had it in my mind to try whether mulberry-trees could or could not be grown with success on our slopes; but one thing or another obliged me to postpone the Voice No. 1 made itself heard again. "This hole is not deep enough; dig deeper, softly." A spade was in motion instantly. The mention of a hole (fossa) had an ominous sound to my ears. A hole, and to bury what? One had evidently been pre-experiment. If we could add the produce of silkpared beforehand! What could this portend? Was I really on the track of some foul deed? 64 There, that will do," said voice No. 1, and the sound of the spade ceased. "Where is the body? Bring it here.' worms to that of our olives, it would be a great help to us in our years of bad crop or no crop at all. I must not forget to say that public feeling hereabouts is most opposed to the cultivation of mulberry-trees: first, because it is a novelty, and consequently an The body (il morto!) my hair stood on end. abomination; secondly, on account of a certain local The.... thing for which he had asked was not tradition, the origin of which has baffled all my rebrought, but dragged to him. The lowering of it searches. Once on a time, according to this tradiinto the earth took long, and was attended by diffi- tion, the rearing of silk-worms was the chief indusculty. I could hear the hard breathing of the men try of these parts, and the women sufficing for the under the exertion; I could hear them moving work, nothing was left for the men but to starve or about, and going to and fro in search of tools, as I emigrate. To argue about the absurdity of this last supposed, to facilitate their task. At last it was consequence would be like pounding water in a moraccomplished, and nothing remained but to shovel tar, it is an article of faith with our folks. Well, in the earth. This was done quickly, but cautiously, a few days ago, I received from a friend of mine, a by three spades all working at once. Then there grower of mulberry-trees in Piedmont, a sample of was the sound of the stamping of feet on the freshly- saplings, six in number, I believe, and I gave Basturned ground. A fiendish sneer from spokesman tian orders to plant them. He at first made a very No. 1 crowned the horror of the scene. "We leave wry face, and then, after a good deal of circumlocuyou in your snug berth; stay there in peace and tell tion, asked me if I should have any objection to his no tales." Such was the witty sally with which prob- planting them by night. I inquired why at night ably the murderer parted from his victim. It was rather than by day, I had of course guessed the received with suppressed laughter by the two wretch-reason. You shall have his answer in his own words; es, his accomplices. it is instructive in many ways. "Why," says he, "if I put in these trees by day, and I am seen doing it, as I must be, I shall be a marked man for the rest of my life, which would be especially vexatious for me who have both wife and children; whereas if I do it by night, and nobody sees me, nobody can fix the odium of the deed upon me; and, suppose any one suspects me, my No is as good as their Yes." I granted his request, and thus it came to pass that the planting of my half-dozen young trees had to be accomplished as though it were a midnight crime." Seen by the new light thrown upon them by Cur Thereupon they all left; two went up, the third down the hill at full gallop, and across the country in the direction of the town. I stood transfixed as though spellbound for some minutes, and then I too set off as fast as I could back to my friend's house, harassed by a feeling impossible to describe. My hand was on the knocker, when the door opened, and a peasant issued forth. I asked him if the Doctor was at home. He said yes, adding something complimentary about my being so early a riser. Judge of the shock I got |