therefore, I took my flight to one of the numerous
little paesotti, which lie within a few miles
of the capital. Of the picturesque in scenery,
I say nothing; rather of the picturesque in
manners.

The little village where I put up my tent
was one of vast importance, in the opinion of
its inhabitants, rejoicing as it did in a Judge
and his Corte—a Syndic with his Eletti—two
Chancellors, Judicial and Municipal respectively,
an usher, and a fat advocate with a
stentorian voice, besides two or three ragged
hangers on—half beggars, half gentlemen—
who aspired to the title of Impieghati! The
Judge was of that class called the tergo classe
in Neapolitan classification, and, as such,
received twenty ducats a month: being a fraction
under three pounds ten shillings and
sixpence. Out of this sum, he had to contribute
a certain precentage to some funds at
Naples; to house, feed, and clothe himself
and family; and keep up the judicial authority
and dignity. For the Judge is no slight
personage in a small village, where he is a
kind of absolute little sovereign over the
liberties of the people. One of this fraternity
I knew, who had the courage to take upon
himself the responsibilities of office, and the
still greater responsibilities of a wife, three
children, and a servant, upon something less
than forty pounds a year. As he was a true
Neapolitan, he spoke and acted like a man of
considerable means; to enable him to do this,
he kept all people who could be tempted to
litigation within the limits of his Judgeship,
perpetually by the ears. A great advocate
of the rights of man was he, and no one, if
he could help it, would he permit to put up
with an insult.

Don Ciccio in fine was pronounced to be
a very good fellow, always ready to give the
people their rights, and was most favourably
contrasted with his successor, who, having
really some property and a conscience too,
often acted the part of a pacificator. But
Ciccio must be paid for permission to litigate.
So it was generally understood, and thus he
contrived to live. The butcher supplied him
with meat at half-price; but then the butcher
could now and then sell a cow that had died,
and the Judge—good man—would know
nothing of it. The butterman would supply
him gratis, but then the butterman might
indulge with impunity in certain acts of
oppression. As for fish, had he been the
prophet Jonah himself, his table might have
groaned with his supply; and so Don Ciccio
lived a jolly life, the very king of judges. I
knew him well, and can even now see him,
in my mind's eye, as he rolled along in his
huge Spanish cloak, which he always wore—
I shrewdly guess, to cover the nakedness of
the land; for Ciccio, like other great personages,
cared more for the inward than the
outward man. Behind him walked what by
the country people was called his Court, and
a very solemn and awful-looking Court it was.
Sometimes the great man threw a word to
them over his shoulder; but generally he kept
on his silent, dignified path; every bumpkin
getting out of his road if time permitted, or
otherwise standing on tiptoe and making flat
back against the wall. To me, he always
condescended to be courteous, perhaps
because I gave him an occasional feed of
maccaroni. My influence would have been
sufficient to decide a cause, and a note from
me might have doomed a man to prison; as
it did, unwittingly, on one occasion, with the
additional courtesy of his Excellency's
compliments, and he begged to know how long
I wished the fellow to be detained. Don
Ciccio was at length promoted, and, when the
fatal morning of his departure came,
accompanied to his starting-place by his Court, and
all the grateful litigants of the village, amid
much passionate weeping and embracing he
left for his new home. And then, after this
melancholy parting, the Court and the litigants
and all the great and small men of the place,
again turned their faces towards their homes.

"Curses on his soul!" said the usher, first
breaking the awful silence. "We are well
rid of him. Was ever such a harpy known!"

So it was with the whole circle; the
butcher, the baker, the butterman, the
greengrocer, all loud and courageous in their
outcries, perfectly regardless of their own readiness
to administer to, and purchase corruption
for, their own advantage; and perfectly
regardless, too, of all the little oppressions
which they themselves had practised under
cover of the favour of the prime oppressor.

This portrait is the portrait of many of
Ciccio's class in this kingdom of the Two
Sicilies; change the name, and hundreds
would recognise the exact likeness of the
little tyrant who struts amongst them, and
irritates in order that he may exact. How
can it be otherwise? Ciccio is by birth a
gentleman, has received something (not much)
of an education, fills a station of importance
in the sphere in which he resides. How are
his and his family's wants and dignities to be
supplied? Certainly not out of the miserable
pittance which he receives from the government;
other means are to be devised, and
these are of them.

It is easy to conceive the fine moral
influences exercised by a number of Ciccios
scattered over the country, lights set upon hills,
centres of circles; it is easy to account for
some portion of this intense degradation of
the Neapolitan character.

It may appear sufficiently extraordinary on
the surface, that there should be a rush for
all public offices. The reason, however, is
obvious enough, when it is considered that for
a great proportion of the youth of the country
there is absolutely no other career open.
The field of politics is lying fallow; it will be
worked hereafter; but at present it is
prohibited, dangerous, and unproductive in
anything but misery. Literature is as bad, with