wise, some members of the band, or some
other members of some other bands acting
on oral instruction, would then and there
mark him, as a hunter does a stag, would
scent him out and shoot him (and perhaps
his children) from behind a convenient tree,
fire his house, and strew ashes on his hearth-
stone. This in spite of the magnificent
defence offered by government, in the shape
of three gendarmes, attired in a brilliant
uniform of white, yellow, and blue, with
cocked hats as big as Dr. Syntax wore
when ho went out searching for the
picturesque—announcing them at least a mile
off, in fine contrast to the emerald mantle
of the woods—over a district forty miles
in extent Such facts will not be found
chronicled in local newspapers, nor will
they be admitted in the clubs of Florence,
or other large cities where it is convenient
to believe pleasant things only; but they
are true none the less, and we well know
them to be true who receive polite
correspondence in raw meat in the old Cardinal's
retreat.

Great news has just come in,
Campanello was taken last night. He was
living at free quarters on an unfortunate
peasant on the very summit of the
topmost heights, over the Romitorio, looking
towards Volterra. But in this case love
was stronger than fear of vengeance. He
had deeply incensed a youth who was in
love with one of the peasant's daughters
by paying his court to her, and by offering
her some trinkets supposed to have been
stolen, which she wore. This youth, by
name Oreste, went in his fury straight to
a town called Rosia, and informed our
friends, the three gendarmes who live
there, where Campanello was to be found,
and promised to conceal them until he
could be taken. In the mean time poor
Campanello, led away by the same fatal
passion of love, lent himself blindly to his
pursuer's devices. That very evening there
was a dance given at a neighbouring
cottage. Thither went Campanello in pursuit
of his fair one, unarmed, even leaving his
little sword in the house where he slept.
In the middle of the dance he caught sight
of our brilliant friends, conspicuous in their
war paint, as they naturally would be, and,
escaping by a back entrance, rushed off in
flight. But Fate again met him in the
shape of the injured lover, Oreste, who
was watching outside. He sprang upon
him, and tied him up until the gendarmes
arrived, and secured him, and, already
scenting the sweet savour of a government
reward for the capture of a capo-brigante
and a deserter, triumphantly led him off to
prison.

EARTH'S SHADOWS.

O PERISHABLE brother, let us pause,
Hero on the bald crown of the crag, and mark,
With tight-held breath and passionate deep eye,
The many-coloured picture. Far beneath
Sleepeth the silent water like a sheet
Of liquid mother o'-pearl; and on its rim
A ship sleeps, and the shadow of the ship.
Astern the red sharks basking, tiny specks
Upon the brine: oh, hark! how softly sings
A wild weird ditty, to a watery tune,
The fisher among his nets upon the shore!
And yonder, far away, his shouting bairns
Are running, dwarf 'd by distance, small as mice,
Along the yellow sands. Behind us, see
The immeasurable mountains, rising silent
From bourne to bourne, from heathery thymy slopes,
To the grey slopes of granite; from the slopes
Of granite to the dim and ashen heights,
Where, with a silver glimmer, silently
The white cloud, pausing, sheds miraculous snow
On the heights, untravell'd, whither we are bound!

O perishable brother, what a world!
How wondrous and how beauteous! Look! and think
What magic mixed the tints of yonder heaven,
Wherein, upon a cushion soft as moss,
A heaven pink-tinted like a maiden's flesh,
The dim Star of the gloaming lieth cool
In palpitating silver, while beneath
Her image, putting luminous feelers forth,
Streams liquid, like a living thing o' the sea!
What magic? What magician? O, my brother,
What grand magician, mixing up those tints,
Pouring the water down, and sending forth
The crystal air like breath snowing the heavens
With luminous jewels of the day and night,
Look'd down and saw thee lie, a lifeless clod,
And lifted thee, and moulded thee to shape!
Colour'd thee with the sunlight till thy blood
Ran ruby, pour'd the chemic tints o' the air
Thro' eyes that kindled into azure, stole
The flesh tints of the lily and the rose
To make thee wondrous fair unto thyself,
Knitted thy limbs with ruby bands, and blew
Into thy hollow heart until it stirred;
Then, to the inmost chamber of his heaven
Withdrawing, left, in midst of such a world,
The living apparition of a Man,
A mystery amid the mysteries,
A lonely semblance with a wild appeal
To which no thing that lives, however dear,
Hath given a tearless answer; a shapen Soul,
Projecting ever as it ages on,
A Shade which is a silence and a sleep!

Yet not companionless, within this waste
Of splendour, dwellest thou; here by thy side
I linger, girdled for the road like thee,
With pilgrim's staff and scrip, and thro' the vales
Below, the race of people like to us
Moves on together like a single cloud,
Uttering a common moan, and to our eyes
Casting a common shadow; yet each soul
Therein now moveth, with a want like thine,
Westward unto the bourne. Nor those alone,
Thy perishable brethren, share thy want,
And wander, haunted, thro' the world; but beasts,
With that dumb hunger in their eye projects,
Their darkness: by the yeanling lambkin's side
Its shadow plays, and the lithe lizard hath
Its image on the flat stone in the sun.
And these, the greater and the less like we,
Shall perish in their season. In the mere
The slender water-lily sees her shade,