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we are gay enough at times, when our masters are in good humour, rejoicing over the success of some expedition. In youth we admire the strength of our lovers, and listen with delight to the stories of their exploits, of their triumphs over the soldiers. We never see them as criminals to us they appear only as men oppressed by bad laws, and bravely asserting their independence at the hazard of their lives. They are heroes to us, not criminals. But by and-by, as we grow older and have husbands, perhaps children, in the band, we learn what fear is.

When we feel that we are hunted from pass to pass, sheltering in caves, or encamping on the bare mountain-then we begin to understand that we belong to an outcast race, and we tremble at every halloo lest it prove the intimation of a surprise which may mean death to all. When we find wild revels followed by days of hunger; when we find our husbands so haunted by the dread of treachery that they suspect us and each other, then we know that there is no home, no rest anywhere for us, and we envy the happy lot of the wives of the poor shepherds.

"Our men have less time than us to think of these things, and so, no doubt, they are less sensible of the miserable condition in which we live. I am grateful to the holy mother that no children were given to me, and yet I love children: their happy ignorance of the crime and danger which surround us sometimes helps me to forget them too. No, these tears are not for one lost, but for one saved; if regret makes my eyes dim, my heart is full of joy. The child whose memory I cherish was a stranger's; but he became very precious to me.

"The band had been absent two days; we women had been commanded to await them in one of our most secure hiding-places-a huge long cavern which had two outlets. The men returned laden with booty taken from the carriage of a rich nobleman. Gaetano came last.

He

"I was relieved. The child clung to my neck as if he felt sure of protection from me. had been much frightened and much fatigued by the journey to the cavern. A shout from the men, who were by this time busy feasting at the farther end of the cave, startled him, and he looked over my shoulder trembling. I kissed him and coaxed him to sit down on a box beside me, telling him that he would soon be with his mother again. His little head fell back on my knee, and he slept peacefully.

"Gaetano threw down the papers he had been examining, and stretching himself upon a pile of wrappers, looked with smiling satisfaction at the child. He had demanded a high ransom, knowing that the mother would be ready to give anything for the recovery of her son, and he felt sure that all he had asked would be granted.

"Some days passed and little Elio was beginning to feel at ease in his strange home, although he could not be persuaded to leave my side. I loved the child; and that was why he so soon became contented in the cavern. The message from Naples was delivered to Gaetano, and I saw that he was angry and disappointed. The message told him that the boy Elio was not the son of the rich nobleman but of one of his servants, and that the amount required to ransom him was too large.

"The band refused to believe this story, and declared that it was a trick to gain time in order to attack them. They were ready and resolved to take the usual horrible means of asserting their power: the little one was doomed. I looked to Gaetano; but he could not help me; chief as he was he dare not break the law of the band. I turned to the men. I do not know what were my words, but I held up the poor child and implored them in the name of the dear Virgin to spare him; but they would not yield. Then I spoke wildly, and promised them a greater reward than that they had expected if they would only be merciful and give

"A prize for you, wife!' he said, and flung me time to go myself to Naples. I suppose a trembling child into my arms.

"Mother!' sobbed the little one, and I shuddered, thinking that his one word told a cruel story. But it was not so bad as I feared. I looked at Gaetano, and he, understanding me, answered,

"No, there has been no one much hurt; it was a nurse who was with him, and she has been sent back to Naples to demand ransom for the little signor. A pretty little fellow, is he not?-he quite takes to you-and worth a pretty sum.'

VOL. V.

they pitied me, and perhaps Heaven grant that it was so— -they were moved by the sweet face of the child; at anyrate they agreed. Gaetano would have had me give up all thought of what seemed to be a useless journey; but he too consented at length when he saw how earnest was my determination.

"I had no fears for myself; the only dread which haunted me was that any harm done to me would be the signal for the destruction of Elio. But Heaven was very kind. I was per

100

mitted to see the nobleman and he listened to me. He was pleased to say that he admired me for what I had done; and that for my sake he would do much to rescue Elio. He assured

ITALIAN BANDITTI.

[Charlotte A. Waldie, born 1788; died 1859. Her

Kelso. Lockhart, in his Life of Scott, mentions the work from which the following extract is made:—“I remember the pleasure with which he [Sir Walter] read, late in life, Rome in the Nineteenth Century, an ingenious

me that the child, although a great pet of the grandfather was a schoolfellow of Sir Walter Scott at family, was the offspring of a faithful servant now dead. But he agreed to pay half the ransom demanded, and to obtain for the Vardarelli band a free pardon on condition that they should take service under the government. Oh, how brave and light my heart was then. My wild promise was fulfilled, and I brought to the band a greater reward than they could ever have expected; for by the tiny hands of the child they had spared, they were themselves

saved."

PEACE.

BY PROFESSOR WILSON.

I could believe that sorrow ne'er sojourned
Within the circle of these sunny hills;

That this small lake, beneath the morning light,
Now lying so serenely beautiful,

Ne'er felt one passing storm, but on its breast
Retained for aye the silent imagery

Of those untroubled heavens.

How still yon isle,
Scarcely distinguished from its glimmering shadow
In the water pure as air! Yon little flock
How snow-white! lying on the pastoral mount,
Basking in the sunshine. That lone fisherman,
Who draws his net so slowly to the shore,
How calm an image of secluded life!
While the boat moving with its twinkling oars,
On its short voyage to yon verdant point
Fringed with wild birch-wood, leaves a shining track
Connecting by a pure and silvery line
The quiet of both shores.

So deep the calm

I hear the solitary stock-dove's voice
Moaning across the lake, from the dark bosom
Of yon old pine-grove. Hark, the village clock
Tolls soberly! And, 'mid the tufted elms,
Reveals the spire still pointing up to heaven.
I travel on unto the noisy city,

And on this sunny bank mine hour of rest
Stream-like has murmured by-yet shall the music
Oft rise again-the lake, hills, wood, and grove,
And that calm House of God. Sweet Vale, Farewell!

work produced by one of Mr. Waldie's grand-daughters, and how comically he depicted the alarm with which his ancient friend would have perused some of its delineations of the high-places of Popery." Miss Waldie also wrote, At Home and Abroad, Three Days in Belgium, and other sketches of travel. In 1822 she married Mr. Eaton, banker, Stamford.

Her sister, Miss E. A. Waldie (who became the wife of Admiral Watts), was the authoress of several similar works, but she obtained repute chiefly by her paintings in oil and water colours ]

Frascati, Nov. 11, 1818.

Consternation fills this little peaceful town. Yesterday evening Lucien Buonaparte's villa was entered by a gang of banditti;-but I must tell you the story in order as it happened.

About four in the afternoon Monsignore (as the old priest of the family is through courtesy called) set out to take his accustomed walk; and, unluckily for himself, directed his steps up the hill to the ruins of ancient Tusculum; when, suddenly from the bushes which shade the cavity of the amphitheatre, two armed robbers sprang out, dragged him among the thickets, where four others were lying in ambush; and having stripped him of his watch, money, and clothes, they tied his hands behind his back, and gave him notice, that the first moment he attempted to speak or make the smallest noise would be the last of his life. They kept him prisoner there till after sunset, when they crept through the wood to the house, and made a halt among the thick laurels and shrubs close to it. In the meantime the dinnerbell rang, the family sat down to table, but as Monsignore was not to be found, a servant was sent into the pleasure-ground in search of him, who left the house door unfastened. The banditti softly made their approaches. Five of them entered unseen and unheard, and the sixth stayed to guard the door. Monsignore seized this moment to betake himself to his heels, and gained a remote outhouse, where he buried himself overhead among straw, and was found many hours after more dead than alive.

In the meantime the five robbers, with their fire-arms presented, cautiously advanced into the house; but they were soon descried by the servants, whose shrieks they stilled in a moment by the menace of instant death if they moved a step or uttered a sound. One maid

servant, however, escaped, and gave the alarm to the party in the dining-room, who all fled in different directions to conceal themselves, excepting the unfortunate secretary, who had previously left the room to inquire into the cause of the tumult, and was seized on his way down stairs by the robbers, who mistook him for the prince; and, in spite of his protestations, was carried off, together with the head butler, and a poor Facchino,1 whom they encountered on the grounds, to the mountain above Velletri, a distance of seven miles, without stopping.

This morning the captured Facchino, like another Regulus, has been sent as ambassador, or charge d'affaires, from the banditti to the prince, to propose terms which are, to deliver up their prisoners on the payment of a ransom of 4000 crowns; or, on the non-payment of it within four-and-twenty hours, to shoot them. Lucien Buonaparte sent back one half of their demand in money, and an order on his banker for the rest. The robbers sent back the order torn through the middle, with a further demand of 4000 crowns in hard money, besides the 2000 they had already received, under pain of the immediate death of their prisoners. The prince received this insolent mandate in his palace at Rome, where he took refuge this morning, and has been obliged to obey it.

I wonder the government do not feel ashamed that such outrages should be perpetrated within ten miles of Rome, and that they should be obliged to admit delegates from banditti into the very seat of government-the capital itself. A detachment of troops, and about two hundred armed peasants, levied by Lucien Buonaparte, are ready for the pursuit of the villains the moment their captives are released-but till then they dare not move; for the eyrie on which they have perched themselves commands a view of the whole country in every direction, and they have sworn to put the prisoners to death the moment they see the approach of an armed man. The Pope's soldiers, indeed, it would seem, are not much to be depended upon themselves, for it is not long since the guard from the Trinita de Monti, and the Porta del Popolo, at Rome, walked off one fine moonlight night, with their arms and accoutrements, to the hills, and joined a party of banditti.

It was the intention of the banditti who entered Lucien Buonaparte's villa to have seized both him and his daughter, who had been betrothed that very day to Prince Ercolani, a young Bolognese nobleman; and had they succeeded, their demands would have had no bounds.

1 Porter or out-door labourer.

Frascati, Nov. 29.

After a captivity of two days and a half the prisoners returned, and the troops and armed peasantry instantly began the pursuit. The mountain on which they were stationed, it is said, was previously completely surrounded with guards, and every part of it has been searched, an immense reward has been offered for the apprehension even of one of them-but all in vain. No traces of them have been discovered; and Lucien Buonaparte, in addition to the ransom, has had to pay an immense sum to the peasantry he hired, without the satisfaction of bringing the offenders to justice.

The unfortunate secretary has been confined to bed ever since, partly from the effects of fright, fatigue, and cold, and partly from a wound he received in his forehead in the scuffle, when he was first taken prisoner. The captured butler and Facchino, whom I have seen, say that the robbers did not treat them ill, and gave them plenty of food; more, indeed, than they could eat; for, it may be supposed, that in such a situation their appetite could not be very keen. Neither could they enjoy much repose, surrounded with cocked carabines. The captain of those banditti, who was a remarkably little man, used to say to them, with great politeness, "We shall really be sorry to murder you, gentlemen; but if the prince does not send the money, we must do it—our honour is engaged."

They knew, indeed, too well, he would keep his word; for it is not long since a poor young woman was carried off between Velletri and Terracina, and the ransom they required not being paid, she was murdered, and her body left on the mountains.

Nor is this the only exploit of the sort in this neighbourhood. A few weeks ago, a Roman gentleman and his daughters were taking a walk after mass on a Sunday, close to the town of Palestrina, when a party of banditti rushed upon them and carried them off to the mountains. The poor old man, who was asthmatic, and unable to keep pace with the rapidity of the flight, was brutally murdered before the eyes of his unfortunate daughters, whose ransom enriched these monsters with the wealth of the man they had slain.

About two months ago, a bride, on the day of her nuptials, was carried off from a villa near Albano, while sitting at table surrounded by her husband and relations, and after passing a night on the mountain, she was liberated on the payment of a heavy ransom, without insult or injury.

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