One of the bravest of that gallant army which Francis I. led to Italy was a Corsican of unknown birth, named Sampiero. He had fled from his home when the Bank crushed Rinuccio; had fought for the Medici, for the King of France; had earned renown at an age when most men have not begun life; and now-loaded with honors, and rewarded by the hand of There were men of the line of Rocca left. the most beautiful and richest heiress of CorsiRinuccio della Rocca rose when Giampolo fled, ca, Vannina d'Ornana-he turned his thoughts fought, was taken prisoner, and sentenced to to his country. With him to think was to act. dwell forever in Genoa. Two years he bore France and Turkey were allied, as they are now. exile; then suddenly disappeared to land in Cor-French and Turkish fleets sailed to attack Corsica with eighteen men. The Dorias command- sica, Sampiero guiding the invasion. Town afted for the Bank; Nicolas, a man of vast energy, marched to meet Rinuccio, foreshadowing his policy by stopping on the way to behead the patriot's son. At the first encounter Rinuccio was utterly defeated and forced to fly. Doria laid the People's Land waste. Followers of the

After this, it was more hopeless than ever to look for foreign aid. "We must trust to our

Then began a struggle between one man and several nations, the like of which is only found again in the history of that other Corsican Na-selves," wrote he, and landed in Corsica. The poleon. Chased from Corsica, Sampiero took his wife and children to Marseilles, and set out to obtain foreign aid for his oppressed country. He went to every Italian court, but the petty princes gave him no encouragement. To the Medicis at Paris, so deeply indebted to him, and solemnly pledged to serve him at need; but Catherine had forgotten the best friend of her family. To Barbarossa at Algiers, to the Sultan; but they were tired of war.

So

Genoese led a large force to meet him; but the terror of his name was such that the soldiers threw down their arms. Stefano Doria crossed over with more troops; Germany sold legion after legion to the republic; Spain sent fifteen thousand men; the ablest officers in Europe were hired to conquer him; money was poured forth without stint. He was not conquered. The People's Land had risen at his call; neither want, nor the ravage of their homes, nor rags, While he was at Algiers, a messenger brought nor cold, nor defeat, could subdue them. him intelligence that Genoa, fearing him in his long as Sampiero would lead they would follow. exile, plotted mischief against his wife and chil- For two years the war never lulled for a day. dren. For a moment he faltered; then an- In the intervals between the battles, Sampiero swered that he must first see to the freedom of planned a constitution for his country on a pure Corsica before he could devote himself to his democratic basis. So desirous was he to secure family. To Marseilles he sent a trusty friend. perfect equality, that he would not suffer himHe pursued his own journey to Constantinople. self to be called Count of Corsica as the other Mischief, indeed, had the men of ducats plot-great patriots had been; the people styled him ted. To gain possession of the person of Sam- Padre della Patria. piero's wife and children, as hostages, a couple A man of this kind could only be got rid of of villains had been sent to Marseilles to beguile in one way. Men were hired, and Sampiero the poor woman and persuade her to return to and a few friends were decoyed into an amGenoa. She was assured that her husband's in- buscade. At the first shot he saw his fate, terest, and her children's prospects in life, would bade his son fly, and closed with his murderers, be irreparably injured if she remained in exile; who fell back as he advanced. Foremost among that her return would smooth the way for a rec- them were the three Ornanos, his wife's kinsmen, onciliation, and that, however averse Sampiero who had been bought by Genoa. These three, might be at first to such a measure, he would a gang of soldiers at their back, ventured to in the end acknowledge its advantages, and be withstand him. One he wounded; then, wiping grateful to her who brought it about. The fond away the blood that was streaming down his face wife was deluded. A day or two before Sam- with his left hand, kept the others at bay with piero's friend arrived she set sail for Genoa. his sword till his own servant treacherously shot When he reached Marseilles and found her him in the back. All then rushed in, massacred house empty, he collected a band of Corsicans him, and carried off his head to claim the promin hot haste, took ship and gave chase. Offised reward. Genoa was illuminated when the Antibes he overhauled the chase, and signaled news of his assassination reached the city. her to shorten sail. The truth burst upon Did Rome produce a more rugged patriot Vannina's mind; she prayed to be put ashore, than Sampiero? and her husband's friend took possession of her person. The news spread. The Parliament of Aix offered her protection against any person soever. Vannina, a true Corsican, declined the offer, saying that she was Sampiero's wife, and would submit to whatever sentence he might inflict.

His spirit survived him. His friend and comrade, Leonardo of Casanova, was in prison with his son. The latter obtained a disguise, hastened to his father's cell, and adjured him to fly. The old man shuddered at the thought of sacrificing his boy's life. "Go, my father," said the youth: "the country can not spare your wisdom; I can hope for no brighter destiny than to die at my age for Corsica." The father took the disguise and fled. He was hardly out of gunshot when his son was seized and hanged out of a window of the castle.

Two more years the struggle lasted, under Sampiero's son Alfonso. Then exhausted Genoa proposed peace; and Corsica, which had singly withstood the whole power of the Empire, Spain, and Genoa, and whose inhabitants were

The Corsican was on his way home, gloomily pondering his reverses. At Marseilles he was told the story; not a word of comment escaped his lips. But a garrulous friend exclaiming that he had long foreseen the event, Sampiero turned on him like a tiger, crying, "And you concealed what you foresaw ?" and stabbed him to the heart. Leaping on horseback he rode to Aix, where the penitent Vannina had remained. He led her forth without a word. His face was stern, composed, unreadable. Back to Mar-reduced by war to a mere handful, consented, on seilles, into their house, which was empty and desolate; there, as she sat her down, he remembered how he had loved her and trusted her, and the thought of her treason to him and to his country shot through his Corsican soul, and he struck her dead on the spot.

condition that the People's Land should not be despoiled of her ancient democracy.

Vain hope! a few months and Corsica contained a few native slaves and a host of Genoese officials and soldiers. Nothing intermediate. Nothing but the two classes, the tramplers and

the trampled. For the war had made way for solitude, not peace; Corsica was a howling wilderness. Generation after generation grew up in the mountains, swore vendetta, and died. Such was the patriotism of the Corsicans, says their historian, that even in this dark hour, when all the ingenuity of Genoa was directed to the depopulation of the island, and life within its bosom was a burden, the men would not emigrate. They were willing to suffer; resigned to insult; ready to die; but unconquerably bound to their fathers' homes.

days' truce. Giafferi should have known bishops better, but the truce is granted. When it ends, the insurgents are ten thousand strong; a second truce, and they are fifteen thousand, every where in arms. Genoa, in rapid decline, her only strength in dollars, proposes to treat: finding the islanders firm for liberty, sends to the Emperor to buy men. Charles has a large stock on hand, able-bodied, muscular, trained to fight; market price four gulden per month, one hundred gulden for each article destroyed, and less in proportion for each leg or arm knocked off. This was beBloodshed and sorrow had well-nigh choked fore the wicked rebellion of the American colothe fount of population. Vannina's country-nies raised the price.

women went barren to the grave. Over a cen- Four thousand warranted fighting machines tury elapsed before the People's Land could rally-Wachtendonk thrown into the bargain-arrive a troop of able-bodied youths, or venture to give in Corsica, and set about throat-cutting. Corutterance to their undying hatred of the foreign usurper; when they felt themselves men again, the vendetta began. In thirty years, nearly as many thousand Genoese or Corsican traitors fell by the wayside, in their homes, on the church steps, struck by balls from unseen guns. Curse them not, you who have never known what it is to chafe helplessly against foreign fetters; to see your home made desolate, your sister borne away from you to be unwomaned, your life's blood wrenched out to fatten libertines, tyrants, monsters. The God of vengeance strikes with the hand of man.

The eighteenth century had risen high in the heavens when the vendetta assumed national proportions. England enforced-or tried to enforce-her acts of trade here; Genoa enforced hers-identical in tenor-in Corsica. England fought with Massachusetts and New York for pay for her governors; Genoa demanded due seini, twice six dollars, from every hearth for hers. In America, colonial assemblies stoutly set home tyrants at defiance; weaker and nearer, the men of Corsica fled to the fields when the tax-gatherer called for his scudi. One old man, mayhap too feeble to fly, scraped together all he had, and poured it into the hand of the Genoese. 'Twas half a soldo-five mills-short. The official demanded the uttermost farthing, under pain of instant forfeiture of goods and home. Wringing his hands, and with his white locks straggling in the wind, the weak old man tottered forth into the highway, bemoaning his fate in a feeble voice. As he wandered, men gathered round him. Dark eyes flashed, strong hands clutched the poniard and the gun, as he garrulously repeated his tale over and over again. Some one, flinging cap in air, cries: Evviva la libertà!-Corsica is herself again. Bells tolled, conch sounded, silent men tread the hills with watchful eye, groups gather at the old familiar rendezvous. A company of Genoese soldiers, warned of tumult, march in, take up quarters for the night, promise themselves an easy victory over the rebels. Morning finds them without so much as a dirk among them; and with much civility, Corsicans, armed with the stolen guns, escort them back home. They march on Bastia. A bishop bogs twenty-four

sicans arrive too, from every army in Europe, finding a country of their own to fight for. Among others, Filiciano Leoni, whom, yet on the shore, his old father clasps in his arms and bids march in his stead against the tower of Nonza. A few hours after a messenger, bloodand-dirt-spattered, gallops to the old man's house. "What news?" "Not well," replies the messenger; "your son has fallen.” “Nonza is taken?” "It is taken!" "Well, then," cries the veteran, "evviva Corsica!"

War raged. Drafts-Genoa Dr. to so many Germans killed, at one hundred gulden per corpse fell heavily on the treasury. The Emperor complains that if the consumption continues, his supply will fall too low. Wachtendonk is taken, and to his unspeakable wonderment is not massacred, but sent home by wise Giafferi, with word to the Germans that Corsica claims nothing but freedom, but can not be debarred from that by the whole stock in trade of the Emperor. A few more thousand gulden are laid out in German flesh and blood by Genoa; then a peace, outwardly brilliant for the Corsicans, inwardly fruitful of peril for the People's Land. Short and restless, in fact. The Germans' back turned, Giafferi is up in arms again, the first Paoli, Hyacinth to wit, by his side, likewise Ceccaldi, recently escaped from the Malapaga. Once more the deadly struggle begins. On the side of Corsica are valor, heroism, obstinacy; on that of Genoa, wealth, soldiers, fleets. In this world matter triumphs over mind; Corsica is driven to the mountains, the People's Land starves, extermination is imminent. In mid-ruin, a ship-the Union Jack of England floating from mizzen top-sails into Aleria. Who is this strange figure landing from the barge? Tall and stately in person; Spanish hat with drooping plume; Moorish trowsers, and girdle of finest yellow silk, clasping a pair of corsair-like pistols, richly inlaid: in his hand, of all things in the world, a stick carved to stand for a sceptre. He orders the sailors to discharge cargo, and cannon, muskets, ammunition, gold in boxes and bags, corn, nay, even coats and shoes are piled on the beach, while the Corsicans gaze in mute bewilderment. Here is a friend indeed.

None other than Theodore von Neuhoff, a Westphalian by birth, a famous soldier in Spain, and the trusty confidant of Alberoni. Spain exhausted, he had gone to Paris, become an adviser of the Duke of Orleans, and finally a partner in the Law swindle. Every body knew him; nobody disputed his courage, or his genius, or his wealth. Having risen as high as man could rise in France, he had set out, like Don Quixote, in search of adventure abroad; and finding Corsica in trouble, had set his fertile mind to work, the net result being a scheme for the liberation of the island under King Theodore the First. The scheme seems less wild when it is remembered that only a year before the Corsicans, for want of some hero to worship, had superstitiously appointed the Virgin Mary Protectress of the People's Land, and her Son Gonfaloniere. Paoli, Giafferi, and the other patriots, dazzled by the promises of one whose influence at the European courts was said to be unbounded, closed the bargain; reserving the whole legislative power to the people, and crowning the adventurer Theodore with laurel and oak leaves, in lieu of metal.

tunity of sending a French garrison to Corsica. "Manifest destiny," said he, "and geographical necessity, require us to possess ourselves of Corsica."

Every Corsican between the age of sixteen and sixty took the field, crying Viva il Re! While fighting, and wondering when their King would obtain a discharge from his Dutch creditors, a fleet of three men-of-war, and a squadron of transports, laden with men, arms, and supplies, sailed into the port of Aleria. A second time Theodore landed in great state; having actually, by the wonderful resources of his mind, persuaded his creditors to fit him out an expedition! Another man in such circumstances would infallibly have realized his hopes. But the whole history of Neuhoff is at war with probabilities. When he first arrived, a stranger, decked out in foreign trappings, and demanding regal honors, the Corsicans flocked to his banner; when he was absent in prison, they fought and died for him; when he returned, eager to lead them and able to defend their cause, they turned their backs on him. Possibly, the kingly dream had ended. At all events, deserted by his old courtiers, warned of the disaffection of the people, Theodore re-embarked on board ship and fled to England. The only change was that, instead of "King Theodore," the Corsican banners bore the Biblical inscription : "Better to die in war than see the misery of our nation." There was no rest for the French.

Five years afterward, war raging as usual, up started King Theodore once more, this time with English ships. He distributed arms and royal proclamations in equal doses; the people took the one, and made wads of the other. It was plain that the Corsican throne was a chimera. Even Neuhoff admitted it at last, and declaring that royalty was as thankless an occupation as he had found soldiering, politics, finance, and intrigue to be, sailed away for the last time from his kingdom's shore.

It was a step backward from him who had spurned the title of Count. But the Corsicans would have crowned a chimpanzee, had he been able to grant them liberty and drive out the Genoese. And if his Majesty Theodore the First did confer silly titles, write pompous letters, and environ himself with a mock-heroic court, margraves, chancellors, lords in waiting, masters of ceremonies, white sticks and red sticks, and all the other rubbish of royal paraphernalia, he fought none the worse for all that, and laid about him in battle before the walls at Bastia as if his life was of no more account than a drummer's. More than this: he disciplined the army, screwed money out of the old seigniors in exchange for titles, and made a decided improvement in the condition of the rebels. Unhappily, in the flush of his first triumph, he had told the Corsicans that the ship Left to themselves, the Corsicans chose a which bore him to the island was only the fore-native leader-the lineal successor of Sampiero runner of a fleet his friends were dispatching to in the dynasty of Corsican heroes. This was their aid, with arms, money, and supplies. Now Giampiero Gaffori, a man cast in Spartan this fleet having been launched nowhere save in the fertile imagination of King Theodore, as time wore on and the Corsican funds wore out, discontent arose at court. Clamors even were heard, and Theodore, foreseeing the storm, took leave of his subjects, as he said, to hasten the fleet, embarked on board ship, and, in an abbé's dress, landed at Leghorn. The next thing the Corsicans heard of him was that he was in jail for debt at Amsterdam. The fact was trumpeted in their ears by the Genoese, who bade them take warning and return to the service of the Republic. An assembly of the people called, without dissentient voice it was resolved that the men of Corsica had sworn fidelity to King Theodore, and that they would not betray or desert him. In disgust and despair Genoa called On the 10th of August, 1746, Corsica deon France for aid, and Henry, ever eager to clared itself independent, and intrusted supreme extend French territory, jumped at the oppor-power to Gaffori and two other patriots. The

mould. Against the strong place of Corte he led his mountaineers and opened fire. It so happened that his son was in the place; true to Genoese policy, the commandant ordered the lad to be suspended outside the wall at the very point where his father's cannon were making the most impression. At the sight of him, gunners let fall their tools their leader's son! But Gaffori, a single moment of weakness gulped, shouted "Fire!" and the battlements were hidden from view by smoke and flame. Then hastily forming his forlorn hope, he led them to the breach, dashed into the place, and tore down the Genoese flag-superadding to the joy of triumph the inexpressible delight of clasping his son unhurt in his arms.

A

constitution, similar to that of Sambucuccio and to France. Men who read history must school
Sampiero, was thoroughly democratic. But their nerves to coolness. Five years before,
there was a fatality about the island. France France ceded, in full dominion to the king of
once more lent Genoa a helping hand; and England, a country peopled by her sons, all of
Corsican Independence became little better whom had sucked hatred of the English name
than a name. At one time all Corsica was with their mother's milk; now she bought from
subdued save Gaffori only. He was a host in Genoa another people, who were at that mo-
himself, however; before long, divided the isl- ment as independent as the French themselves,
and with the foreigners, and the Diet resumed and whom Genoa had no more right to sell,
its functions. Victory after victory struck ter- even if France to buy, than the Province of
ror into Genoa; their cherished possession was New York. Bayonets made good the bargain.
slipping through their hands. There was no- French armies were poured into Corsica, and
thing to save them but the old plan. Gaffori the death-struggle began. Paoli was not a
had a brother, an Italian brother, as Giudice soldier by nature; certainly not a guerrilla.
had had a son, and Sampiero a servant: him | But he fought as the last of the Corsican dynas-
the Genoese hired, and on a dark October night ty should have fought; yielding inch by inch;
he slew their enemy for them and got his thir- fortifying and defending every pass; attacking
ty pieces.
every exposed point; engaging an enemy ten
times his strength; infusing courage into the
Corsicans to the last. From village to village,
from fort to fort, from crag to crag, he was
driven by the overwhelming army of the invad-
ers; till-every military point in the island in
the hands of the French-he found himself with
a small band of followers on the gulf Porto
Vecchio, without a single hope left. A gener-
ous Englishman offered him a ship, and bade
him forget his country.

Worms had not touched his body when the Corsican people assembled, took a fresh oath to avenge him, and chose the second PaoliPasquale to be their leader. A contrast to his predecessors in the hero-dynasty. A young man of graceful figure, gentle voice, and persuasive eloquence; modest rather than assured; more of a thinker than an actor; a reasoner on the great principles of human society-in some sort a Corsican Otis or Adams. In his cabinet at Naples he had bent his whole mind to the study of government; and about the same time as they had arrived at the same conclusions with regard to popular rights. He had done He had seen the true faults of his country and his people; and his first act on his return was to proscribe that hereditary weapon of Corsican warfare, the vendetta. It was a rude shock to Corsican prejudice: the vendetta had often been their sole arm against the Genoese, their sole consolation under defeat, misery, and despair; but Paoli was firm, and it was abandoned. Other reforms followed; culminating

more.

"Forget my country !" cried the crushed patriot: "Corsicans never forget. But-" and his mind wandered over the history of the past, the never-ending, never-varying struggle Corsica had waged for freedom, and the inexorable law which seemed to condemn her to defeat in the very hour of victory-"but," he groaned, "fatality commands."

And he embarked. That hour Corsican freedom expired.

ARE WE A POLITE PEOPLE?
OUR GENTLEMEN.

in the Corsican constitution that model of WE Americans are all gentlemen by self-ap

pointment. Having voluntarily assumed the title, it is but reasonable to expect that we should incur the obligations. Our pretensions

66

democratic charters, older than our own by
nearly twenty, than that of revolutionary France
by over thirty years. At last, it seemed, the
campaign which had lasted nearly eight hun-are magnificent; let us inquire how far our per-
dred years was drawing to a close, and Corsica
was to be free. All over Europe men applaud-
ed her heroism and Paoli's wisdom. Chatham
spoke of Corsica as a model for states; Rousseau
declared his life would be happy could he but
aid Paoli in his great work of legislation.
Wretched, broken-down Genoa was nearer being
conquered by the Corsicans than subduing them.
Paoli, in words strongly suggestive of familiar
sentences in the writings of Washington, felt
that to him had been committed the burden of
crowning the great work which had been begun
by Sambucuccio, and in the prosecution of
which all the heroes of his native isle had fallen
martyrs. The island throve. Commerce re-but it is not unjust. Our visitor presents him-
vived. The land was tilled. Crime diminished.
Paoli founded the university of Corsica.

formances are correspondent. When a gentleman" is announced, we unhesitatingly prepare to receive him in the drawing-room, and take it for granted that he is quite up to the drawing-room standard. If our "gentleman,” whatever may be the fineness of his broadcloth or the polish of his boots, inaugurates his visit by a record of his manners in an indelible stain of tobacco-juice upon the Carrera marble, we naturally infer that he is an impostor, and take care-if we do not kick him out at once-that, for the future, our "gentleman" shall be kept at a safe distance from the nice proprieties of our interior. The treatment may be severe,

self as a gentleman, and is judged accordingly. If he walks into our drawing-room, he is bound The nearer victory, the nearer defeat. In the to submit to its laws; and if he does not, or can midst of his grateful toils, Genoa, treacherous not, he manifestly is as much out of his place as to the last, and driven from the island, sold it | a chimney-sweep within the finest and whitest