An Italian, if he can help it, never gives a direct answer; so the messenger replied, 'It is Meo Varrone, chirurgo. He is dying.'

Is he at home?' asked the surgeon, at Vallecorsa ?'-'Yes, signore. Maledetto!' exclaimed the surgeon. How is it pos sible that I should go so far to-night?'

เ

Eh!' exclaimed the youth. The road is not so bad, and Meo will die unless you do.'

The surgeon now commenced descending the steps. 'Well, then,' said he, let us get away at once.

What sort of a beast have you with you? It's a likely night and a convenient road for breaking a man's neck.'

Here he is, surgeon,' said the young man; and it would not be easy to find his fellow. Per Cristo! he has better legs than a cat; and I don't think he could tumble down if he tried. I am certain, if you threw him to the bottom of the valley, he would light on his feet. Oh! there is no danger of him, surgeon.'

After adjusting the stirrups and the girths, the surgeon mounted the mule, and observed that it was necessary to get on as fast as they could where the road was good. So, suiting the action to the word, he applied a tolerably thick stick he had to the sides of the mule. To his surprise, the animal rather slackened than mended his pace, and, although the surgeon continued the application of his stick, it served no purpose whatever but to irritate his own temper. The youth, who had been upon the titter for the last minute or two, here burst into a loud open laugh.

The devil take the fellow, and the mule, too!' ejaculated the surgeon. If we go no faster than this, the padrone will be dead long before we arrive. And this is the brute you so boasted about!' said the surgeon, again applying the stick.

"Tis of no use, Signore Chirurgo,' said the guide, still laughing, 'he won't go without me;' and here he spoke a word to the beast, which in an instant broke into a smart trot, while the young fellow ran laughing at his side. After half an hour, in which time they had made some way, the road obliged them to slacken their pace, and the good humour of the surgeon having returned, he said to the young man, Ebbene, garzone. How long have you lived with the capo? Are you learning his business?

Eh! that does not require a long apprenticeship in this part of the country. A man soon begins to trade for himself."

• Have you begun?' asked the surgeon.

Eh!' replied the garzone, in a small way, perhaps; and here the young rogue laughed at his own conceit.

Va bene! look to yourself, and see that the force does not lay its

hand upon you.'

The youth snapped his fingers.

You are a Vallecorsano?- Sicuro,' replied the guide.

Did you live with Meo Varrone at the time he was hurt at the foot of Monte Romano?'

No, I never even heard of it. How was it?'

' Ebbene,' answered the surgeon, as it will show you that the force is sometimes to be feared, I will tell you. One night I was called from home by a youth of about your own age, who told me that a man was hurt, and that his comrades had carried him almost

to the top of Monte Romano. It was a dark night, the stones and the grass were wet and slippery, and, after three hours' hard labour, in walking, tumbling, and climbing, we arrived at the spot where the wounded man and some of his companions were. As soon as I came they lighted a branch of strulia, and I saw lying at the foot of a tree an exceedingly large man. I had then never seen Meo Varrone, and did not know it was he; but, on inquiring, I found it was, and that he had been badly wounded in an encounter with some soldiers of the force. He lay groaning upon the grass, his jacket was thrown over his right shoulder, and when I attempted to take it off-Dio buono! I have seldom seen such a sight,--he had received two charges of large shot at the same moment from the guns of the carabiniere, and his jacket was fairly beaten into his side. In pulling it away, many of the shot came with it, and I extracted the rest;-altogether there were not less than seventy wounds. With very great labour and difficulty he was carried into the town we have just left, and before it was daylight had been received into a house, where he remained until he got well. At that time there was not quite so much activity in the police as at present, and so he remained for several weeks unmolested. The padre who attended him, when there was but little hope of recovery, for some little time entertained a notion that Meo would reform his life; but, for my part, I never expected anything of the sort; and it was not long before Meo began to give proofs that I was in the right. As soon as he was able to leave the house in which he had been nursed, he began visiting the wine-houses, where he ate like a swine and drank like a fish, and insulted every one he met with. He got into continual broils; and meeting one of the men who had assisted in bringing him off from the mountain, and whom he had never remunerated even with thanks, he paid his debt with a blow of his knife, and left the poor wretch in need of nothing more than the beccamorte (bearers of the dead.'

To the surprise of the surgeon, the guide, on hearing this, burst into an uncontrollable laugh, which continued at intervals for a quarter of an hour. Indeed, the young fellow appeared to be so tickled with the idea of his master's inode of discharging his obligations, that he could not restrain himself, but continued his mirth long after the surgeon had expressed pretty strongly his disgust.

Soon after, the surgeon and his guide were slowly climbing the steep and rugged street of a very small village, which was elevated high upon the rocky side of a mountain they had to pass, in order to reach the plain above, where the town stood to which they were going. They had arrived at the end of this little nest of habitations lifted high into the air, scattered and broken, and scarcely to be distinguished from the rock on which they were built, when a man issued from the last cottage, and running after the surgeon, called him by name, and begged that he would stop a moment and hear what he had to say.

'What is it, my friend?' said the surgeon. I have no time to spare. What do you want?'

"Why, surgeon,' said the man, 'there is a Signore in my place who is badly hurt, and very ill. I found him this morning lying on the road upon the plain, just after you pass the machia.'

Is he a stranger?' asked the surgeon.

I believe he is,' answered the man. 'He is a cacciatore; but he has neither dog nor gun with him. Who he is I don't know; for he has not spoken a word, nor appeared conscious of anything, since I found him.'

'That is curious,' remarked the surgeon. Where is your cottage? I will step back and see him.'

The man led the way to his dwelling, and, having entered, a light was procured, and the surgeon proceeded to examine the condition of the disabled sportsman. He found him in a state of complete insensibility, and exhibiting symptoms that threatened a speedy death, if something was not immediately done to relieve them. The surgeon had too much humanity to leave the poor wretch without an effort to save him; so in a moment preparations were made, the man was bled, and in a very short time afterwards he began to sigh, to show some twitching movements of his features and limbs, and presently to open his eyes, and stare with a wild and stupified gaze. A few spoonsful of warm soup were given to him, and in a minute or two it was evident that the stranger and the surgeon were acquainted with each other. The master of the cottage and his wife, who had attended the stranger with great care since he had been in their charge, both seemed to look for an explanation; but the surgeon evaded the questions put to him, and begged to be left alone for a few minutes with the stranger.

'What has happened, Gaetano ?' said the surgeon. 'Why are you here? The wounded man looked confused, and attempted to speak; but, after several efforts, he could not collect himself sufficiently to remember anything that had taken place. The surgeon, therefore, ceased to press his inquiries; and after giving some directions as to how the stranger was to be treated, he hurried away, promising to call upon his return. Presently the surgeon and his guide were on their way to the retreat of the chief. Had it been daylight, it would have required no small care to find a footing in such a rugged passage; but dark as it was, every step was dangerous and difficult. The young fellow tripped on with the lightness and ease of a cat, but the surgeon, although pretty well accustomed to rough roads, found himself sadly at fault.

Having now disposed of the mule, the surgeon took the arm of his companion, and they proceeded on foot until presently they came out upon an open and elevated space. Here, at about a hundred yards' distance, stood rather a large building, erected in the manner of a farm-house, and standing in the midst of a space which looked like a ruined vineyard. There stood the two upright ornamented pillars of brick which had once sustained the gates, and formed the principal entrance. Scattered about at uncertain distances were a few old and broken olive-trees, some lying on the stony ground, and others reclining, bent and tortured into many fantastic shapes. There were also some straggling sycamores, with the vine running wild and unpruned about them, and hanging pendent in thick matted tresses; in other places it lay on earth, as if trampled upon and neglected. Altogether, the place had an air of loneliness and desolation. No lights were observable at any of the windows; but, on a nearer approach, a faint glimmer might be seen through the openings and cracks of some boards, which had been nailed up against the spaces they occupied.

As is usual, the upper portion only of the house was used as a dwelling, and this was reached by a staircase from without, which went up parallel with the side of the building, and led to a sort of corridor from whence it was entered. Under this flight of steps, supported by arches, were the doors of cellars and stables. On arriving at the foot of the stairs, the guide clapped his hands twice, and, before the surgeon could reach the top, a door was opened, which admitted into a large and almost naked room, evidently appropriated to common use, and leading out of it were several doors and passages. In the centre stood a long sort of table, composed of long boards, placed upon tressels; and by its side were some rude benches, and a few heavy chairs. Upon the distant end of this table stood a common lamp of tin, clumsily manufactured, having a shade over it, like a reading-lamp, and giving a dull red light. It looked as if it had been for many hours neglected, the light extending just far enough upon the table to make visible an open book, and a rosary lying upon it, while all around was buried in darkness.

As is the case in all Italian houses, a picture of the Madonna was placed high upon one of the walls, and before it a lamp was burning, but so small and faint was the light emitted, that a person might have been in the room without even perceiving it. Seen above the ruddy glare of the lamp upon the table, surrounded by its gloom and smoky atmosphere, it looked like a pale, sickly star, sinking deep into obscurity and distance.

The young man having come no farther than the foot of the stairs, the surgeon stood alone in this dark and dreary apartment, expecting some one to welcome him; but, as nobody came, he commenced knocking upon the table with the end of his stick, and calling. No one answered; but presently he heard some one moving near the end of the table, and opposite the picture of the Madonna. On looking, he saw a very old man rising from his knees, and attempting, with some difficulty and evident pain, to regain his feet. The surgeon stepped towards him, offering his assistance. The old man slowly shook his head, placed himself in a chair, and pointed to another.

'Grazia! said the surgeon, still keeping his legs, and evidently affected by the distressed look and manner of the aged man before him. How is Meo, padre?"

With a deep sob, and with a voice husky and broken with emotion, the old man said, ' His time is come, chirurgo,'

Ma che!' exclaimed the surgeon. 'Meo is a strong man, and still young. Hope for the best. Perhaps there is no danger.'

'Surgeon,' said the old man, in a solemn tone, 'there is both danger and death. It is too late. Thy skill availeth nothing. Human aid is vain, and for the aid of Heaven, who dare presume to ask it? I, who am his father, I, who am guilty of his existence, even I dare not ask more of Heaven than its grace to smooth his passage, and to lessen the dreadful chasm that lies between the gloom of his cold grave and his final rest. To ask for life I dare not-would not! O let him die! Gesu Maria be his guide!'

A burst of true parental sorrow choked the old man's utterance; and the surgeon took advantage of it to put in a word of encouragement and hope.

'No, no, no,' cried the old man; it is fixed. His doom is

sealed. A father's feelings tell me that I am childless. My lost illdoing boy! Covered with shame, and blackened with crime, yet still mine, unhappy Meo!'

During the time the surgeon had remained listening to the grief of the old man, he had frequently caught the sounds of many voices wailing and lamenting in a distant apartment; but the door of this room appeared now to be thrown open, and he heard distinctly what had before reached his ear but in a confused and smothered manner. The surgeon hastened along an obscure passage, guided by the light which issued from an open door at the end of it. And here a scene presented itself which no words can describe-a scene touching and terrible in

the extreme.

This room was a large, lofty, and uncomfortable-looking place, having much the appearance of a granary. There were many persons in it,-men, women, and children, perhaps twenty; a strange confusion of voices, and a great glare of light. Many garments of wearing-apparel were hanging about the walls; large bunches of dried Indian corn, and mats of figs, curiously put together; and in a corner were some implements of husbandry, in fellowship with some muskets and fowling-pieces, small wine-casks and flasks.

In another corner were two decent-looking beds, in one of which a child slept soundly, and on the side of the other a man sat, his hat decorated with ribbons, brigand fashion, pulled down low over his eyes, his jacket gallooned, a long knife in his girdle. His arms were folded, and he appeared totally absorbed in grief, or in his own thoughts. On a table, in about the centre of the wall, stood six slender wax-candles burning before a crucifix which hung upon the wall; and at the distant end of the room two other candles were lighted. The moment the surgeon made his appearance, he was at once surrounded by several persons, old and young, exhibiting every degree of emotion. Some tore their hair, beat their breasts and heads; others wrung their hands, weeping bitterly some called on the Madonna and on the saints; whilst others, again, cursed, and stamped their feet with rage and terrible imprecations. All laid their hands upon the surgeon, vociferating, and begging earnestly that he would aid and save the chief. So beset and surrounded was he that he could see nothing of his patient, nor was he certain even of his being in the same room with him; but presently they made way for him, and a sight presented itself at once appalling and extraordinary. In a low bed, at the distant end of the room, with its head touching the wall, and placed between the two candles, which were surrounded by a number of coloured prints, small images, a holy-water vessel, a rosary, and a crucifix, lay the body of an immensely large man, for whom the bed appeared much too narrow and too short. Whether swollen, or from whatever cause, the body rose so high that the head was scarcely seen; whilst, at the same time, the feet protruded from the end of the bed to the distance of half the leg upwards. But what struck the surgeon with astonishment was, that to these large and naked feet was attached a pair of oldfashioned time-eaten spurs, tied over the instep with a black string; and, looking farther, he saw that in the grasp of the strong and bony hand lay a long, bare, and rusty sword, the point resting upon the pillow, and the handle of which was of antique shape, and had once been richly ornamented. At the head of the dying man an old rusty hel