sorely tarnished, there was that in their
demeanour which showed that to press too closely
on their retreat would be a dangerous experiment.
Perfect tranquillity prevailed. It may
be faithfully set down here that of all the booty
said to have been amassed by this band of
brigands— for the old phrase had been heard
again within the last two days— the only visible
trace was a dried codfish sticking on the bayonet
of one provident private. Perhaps, after all, even
this solitary fish had been honestly paid for, and
the sin was only one against military discipline,
not against civic morality.

The sun was just setting as Garibaldi himself
appeared. He rode along the ranks, in his well-
known white poncho, torn in scores of places by
rifle-balls, his long yellow hair and beard covered
with the hot summer dust, and his tanned face
grave—as well it might be—with the sense of
responsibility. A small mounted staff
accompanied him, among whom the spectators could
not but look with foreboding interest at the
slight form of his wife, wrapped in a long blue
cloak. Though she sat her horse cheerfully
enough, she looked but ill-fitted to endure the
fatigues of the wild retreat, which, as we know,
were destined to prove fatal to her.

A shout from the populace, feeble at first, but
fast swelling to a roar of " Long live the great
warrior!" ceased with the quiet gesture of
reproof with which it was received by its object.
He dismounted, and his painful gait showed that
all the Vincennes bullets which had been
specially aimed at him had not fallen harmless.
From the look-out over the Lateran Gate, to
which he had ascended, he was engaged in
sweeping the whole horizon carefully and
anxiously with his glass, when his survey was
interrupted, and the melancholy silence of the
assembly was broken, by the startling sound of
a shot, discharged close at hand. At such a
moment little was needful to create alarm; for
a few seconds the ranks swayed to and fro, and
there seemed every probability that the Piazza
would become filled with a mere disorderly mob.
But the officers were at once on the alert, and,
running rapidly through the ranks, enjoined and
enforced silence and order. Garibaldi himself
immediately descended, and the cause of alarm, which
proved to be a somewhat singular one, was made
manifest. One of the front rank men had
carried in the skirt pocket of his blouse a
concealed pistol, which by some accident had been
discharged. Contrary to all probability, the
soldier himself was uninjured, but the ball had,
unluckily, entered the thigh of a bystander, only
about six yards distant. (I went to the spot
shortly afterwards, and saw the soldier still
occupying his place in the rank, his face of a
corpse-like whiteness, and with a large blackened
hole burnt in the skirt of his blouse. The poor
fellow who was wounded had been removed into
the little custom-house at the gate, on the door-
step of which he had been standing.) This
unlucky accident seemed but an ill omen for the
departure, which was now no longer to be
delayed, and gave additional gloom to a scene
already sombre enough. The gate by which the
King of Naples had proposed to make his triumphal
entry was unbarred for the egress of his
conqueror; and swiftly, silently, and sadly, the
troops filed out into the twilight Campagna.
All was ended, and we drove home.

Some weeks previously, I had lent a Cary's
pocket telescope to a young Neapolitan who
was fighting in the Roman ranks. One evening,
on returning from the field, he came to me, with
a rather disconcerted air, to inform me that he
no longer had my glass. The general had seen
him make use of it, had borrowed it from him,
and, struck with its excellence, had inquired if
it were his own? " No, general," was the
answer, " it belongs to an English family residing
here." " Give me their address, and say that I
regret that the necessities of war oblige me to
borrow their property." The message was duly
communicated to me; but, I confess, my confi-
dence in the general was not sufficient to awaken
in me any great expectation of ever seeing my
glass again.

But I had done injustice to Garibaldi. On
this last day (for that time) of his Roman
career, when not only his own life, but the lives
of all his gallant men, of his noble sons, and
of his ill-fated wife, were in dark hazard and
uncertainty, he did not forget this trifling
matter. The lancer, whom we had seen riding
so fast, was despatched by his chief with orders
to find our house and restore the glass.
Ignorant of the Roman localities, he had ridden into
various porte cochères before he could discover
where we lived: creating awful alarm in the
quiet neighbourhood. But he made us out at
last, and delivered his message; a little daughter
of mine received his trust from him; and ever
since a special value has been attached by her,
and by all of us, to " Garibaldi's glass."

VIRGILIUS THE ENCHANTER.

IN discoursing of Talismans and Amulets,*
we mentioned some which were said to have
been made by Virgilius the Enchanter for
the protection of Rome and Naples. The feats
of that imaginary magician are related at large
in an old English romance called The Lyfe
of Virgilius, probably founded on a French
work, embodying the various traditions of the
middle ages; and, as a specimen of the kind
of literature which gave entertainment to our
forefathers in the early days of printing, the so-
called "Life" is worthy of half an hour's attention
The book to which we more especially
allude, was printed at Antwerp by John
Doesborcke, and is a curious piece of quaint old
English spelling—somewhat vitiated, perhaps,
by Dutch compositors, but no doubt genuine
enough in the main. The precise date does not
appear; but the language and orthography
indicate the fifteenth century. This edition was
reprinted, about five-and-thirty years ago, by
Mr. W. J. Thorns, the present Editor of Notes

* In volume viii., page 85.