ally broken by sighs and a few tears, was to the following effect.

Count Zaleski was one of those patriotic Polish nobles who fought so long and valiantly against foreign oppression; he was a Lithuanian by birth, of considerable wealth, though his estates had now passed into the possession of the Russians. He had engaged heart and soul in the unfortunate confederacy of Bar, and had stood by the side of the gallant Kosciusko, in the fatal field of Macieiowice; after which he had shared the fate of his other brothers in arms, being severed from his wife and child, a boy of ten or twelve years old, and dragged to the wilds of Siberia. On the death of Catherine, in 1796, Paul, who then ascended the Russian throne, proclaimed a general amnesty; Zaleski was restored to the arms of his wife and child, and retired into an obscure nook of Lithuania, with the wrecks of his fortune, to pine over the sad fate of his unfortunate country, and to bring up his boy to be an avenger of its wrongs. Time rolled on, and Zaleski saw himself the grandfather of the little Victor. Shortly after his birth, the gigantic army of Napoleon marched towards Moscow, to lay low the archenemy of Napoleon; and the Count and his son were marshalled in its ranks. That awful and ill-starred expedition bereaved Zaleski of his child, and Victor of his father; grief leagued with war to thin this unfortunate family; and the old man and the infant were all that remained of the name of Zaleski.

"Think not," said the Count, with energy, "that the crown which has bound the temples of a Boleslas, a Casimir, and a Sobieski, has ever adorned the head of a Nicholas. No, the glittering bauble which, in the disgraceful pageant of last year,* was prostituted to the gratification of a despot's pride, was as new as his hated dynasty. The diadem of Poland shall only grace the head of a Piast! See!" exclaimed Zaleski, as he drew forth a small key which was suspended round his neck, and throwing open a closet, raised the floor, which was constructed so as to form the lid of a large chest. The astonished youth beheld five crowns, four sceptres, three golden apples, two chains of gold, and a curiously wrought

sword.

"Swear upon the cross of this holy

The coronation of Nicholas took splace at Warsaw.

sword," said Zaleski, as he presented him the sabre to kiss, which was once wielded by the great Boleslas, "that you will never reveal the secret I am now about to disclose, till a Piast is on the throne of Poland!"

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I swear!" said Victor.

"Count Bielski," continued the old man," was one of my oldest and best friends: he fought with me under Kosciusko; but the close of that unfortunate campaign severed us; I was dragged to Siberia, and heard nothing of his fate till some years afterwards. In our dreadful retreat from Moscow we were continually harassed by the Cossacks, who invariably seized and butchered any straggler from the main corps, whether in the van or rear. One of their victims was one day lying in our road; and the soldiers, who had lost all commiseration in the absorbing feeling of self-preservation, were heedlessly riding over the body, when I chanced to pass by, and, imagining that I saw the blood still oozing from the wounds, ordered the men to remove and examine it. It proved to be a Polish officer; he had received some severe cuts in the head; but, by dint of what few restoratives we could furnish, animation returned. You may imagine my surprise and horror, when on looking at his pale but handsome features, I recognised my dear friend. At the sound of my exclamation, he opened his eyes, and faintly uttered my name, and, at the same time, made a motion for me to bring my ear nearer to his mouth. I could only distinguish the word "secret ;" and in a few moments his eyes were again closed, and his voice suspended; he was exhausted with loss of blood; and as proud a heart as ever beat in mortal bosom then ceased to throb for ever. I hung for some time lingering over the corpse, straining my ears to catch if it were but the slightest murmur from those pale lips; but they had closed for the last time, and the beautiful mind which had peopled that brain with exalted ideas, had flown to heaven, and carried its secret with it!

"The anxiety and bustle of the retreat, for a while, banished the circumstance from my thoughts. I should have followed the waning fortunes of the Corsican with my brave countrymen; but there was another little voice calling to me for protection. I laid by my sword for the third time, and, taking you, Victor, in my arms, set out to seek for a seclusion where the Russian blood-hounds might not hunt me out,

Illustrated Article.

THE BRIGAND OF EBOLI.* BY CHARLES MACFARLANE, ESQ. It was on a fine afternoon early in summer, the day of the annual festival of Santa Maria degli Angioli, that a troop of peasants, coming in the direction of Salerno, took the steep mountain path leading to the far-famed sanctuary of the Madonna, which stands on the loftiest peak of the grand chain of Apennine that extends between Avellino and the Salernitan gulf. They passed on with hurried steps, though they were far too late to witness the miracle performed every year by the uncouth wooden statue of the Virgin, or to have any part in the devotions of the day and sport, which were always finished long before noon. Perhaps they were only anxious to lose as little as possible of the feasting and dancing, that always closely follow the offices of religion in the gay south, on days

From the Lit. Souvenir.
T
VOL. VIII.

See page 292

like these; but the way-farers did not look so gay and careless as men usually do when repairing on such pleasant business. Their dark rough brows were knit, their large coal-black eyes were darting and restless, as though habitually so, from fear or vigilance; and though they failed not most devoutly to cross themselves at every one of the innumerable crucifixes, and little white chapels, that formed from the mountain's root an avenue to its summit, the words on their tongues were unholy and ungentle.

One among them, indeed, seemed more light-hearted and unconcerned; he went on caroling some simple ditty, but the theme of the song was a robber's exploit, and the boldness depicted on his bronzed countenance, partook of ferocity, and was bordered by an expression of wiliness or cunning. To judge from his figure, which was much exposed, as he wore only a loose shirt open at the neck, and drawers that descended no lower than the knee, he must have been a young man; but the lines of his face had the depth and ri

215

gidity that older years, or that hard life and violent passions, which can anticipate the work of age, impress on the human countenance. His form was cast in a fine manly mould, and his face, sun-burnt as it was, would have been handsome, but for those deep passionfurrows, and that rigidity;—indeed, it was handsome at moments when some soothing feeling occupied him, as it would now and then on his way, when emerging from a thick wood of ilex, or turning some obstructing rock, the view of the rich and smiling plain at his feet would burst upon him, or a glimpse of the white façade of the Sanctuary of the Madonna, high above his head, with the crowding, festive groups before it.

When they drew nearer to the sanctuary, the merry sounds of the tabor and the zampogna (a sort of bagpipe, which primitive instrument, highly modified, is found in the higher regions of the Nea politan kingdom, as well as in nearly every mountainous district of Europe), somewhat cleared up the countenances, and tranquillized the uneasy eyes of the other peasants, who walked towards the attractive scene with quickened steps.

"We shall get a tune and a dance, and a draught of good wine under the shadow of the Virgin, if we get nothing better," said one of the way-farers.

"Ay, ay, a cup of Lachryma Christi, and a slice of presciutto, and a terraglio or so," said another.

"And a squeeze of the hand, and a smile from a pretty girl or two!" joyfully cried the least ill-looking one of the party.

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"Those pretty girls will be thy ruin, sooner or later!" said one of the sourest-visaged of the peasantry, take my word for it, will they, unless thou changest thy fantasies, and ceasest to be caught by the rustle of female garments after this guise."

"Peace to thee-bird of evil augury!" replied the other, and he added, after a short reflective pause:-" But even if it should be so, what matters it? Some take their way to the devil's mansion by cards and dice, some with the wine-cup, some go one way, some another-and if woman be as sure a way as any, it is certainly as pleasant a one! But we are near the sanctuary !prayer to the Madonna, my comrades!" And in the next moment, these men who seemed occupied by any thing rather than sentiments of religion and peace, devoutly crossed themselves, and pronounced an "Ave Maria," with

-a

much fervour. They were now in a thick grove of hardy mountain ash, and finishing their prayer to the Virgin, they advanced to its extremity, at which they paused to observe the scene. It was picturesque and animated. Before the snow-white sanctuary which stood on a peak of bare rock, that was ascended by a winding stair-case, cut in the rock's face, there was an esplanade, partly natural, and in part artificial, of considerable extent. On this elevated flat the devotees from all the neighbouring country, and many from distant parts of the kingdom, and on the slopes of the mountain, immediately beneath it, were assembled in gay confusion, which was increased and rendered the pleasanter to the eye, by the variety of costume; for then, as now, nearly every district had its peculiar mode of dress, and that of the females was frequently graceful and striking to an extreme degree.

Some groups were refreshing themselves with provisions or dainties, furnished copiously by certain itinerant venders or other more sedate dealers, who had erected temporary kitchens in the open air; others were exclusively engaged with the wine-flask, that passed rapidly round, with a brindisi or rhymed toast or sentiment, supposed at least to be an impromptu, from each gay Bacchanalian ; whilst the sweet nuts that grow so plentifully in the romantic district of Avellino, were munched now and then as an accompaniment to the juice of the grape. Conjurors, mountebanks, and story-tellers, for whose extravagant narratives the Neapolitans have always had an extreme taste, occupied several of the company. One of these ingenious narrators entertained his auditors with the life and wonderful adventures of the Brigand chief, Benedetto Mangone, the celebrated peasant of Eboli.

He stated that Mangone was a lion in courage, a fox in cunning, a wolf in rapacity, a tiger in cruelty; how he had attacked whole hosts of travellers; how he had beaten the nobles and their armigeri; how all the Spanish troops of the Viceroy that had ever gone against him, had been foiled and cut to pieces in detail; and he wound up the hairbreadth escapes, and the surprising adventures of his hero, by an hypothesis of his own, that king Mangone must be the devil, or a direct lineal descendant of his satanic majesty; for, otherwise, how could he do such deeds, and escape?

"I would shew to that Don Bugiardo

that Benedetto Mangone has no cloven feet," said one of the new comers in the wood.

"Pr'ythee, be still, and don't let the devil get the upper hand of thee here," whispered one of his companions, and pointing to a dancing group, which, one among many others, occupied another part of the esplanade, he added, "By St. Gennaro, that's a pretty tarantella, and better worth heeding than this ald ballad-monger!"

"We will even go nearer, and see those free-legged maidens," said the man who had first spoken; "it is clear there are none of the Viceroy's most valiant maccaroni eaters here, and, as for any of the few peasants who may have the honour to know us personally, why we are safe in their fears, or indeed, just as likely to find friends as foes." Saying this, he walked out to the open esplanade, and was followed by some of his comrades, whilst others still hesitated in the wood.

As this man, whom I have described as being the handsomest of the party we have seen ascending the mountain, walked through the festive crowd, nobody seemed to notice him, or if they did, it was but to remark that he was a good-natured looking fellow, for he had put on his fair-weather countenance, and smoothed his features to a holiday smile. But as he approached a party of peasants, whom their dress showed to be inhabitants of some of the villages in the vast open plain that extends between Salerno and Eboli and the sea, the faces of every one of them waxed pale as death, and an old man muttered unconsciously, "Benedetto Mangone!"

"Well! and what of that?" said Benedetto in his ear; "cannot I come to the Madonna's shrine, and pray my prayer as well as thou, and dance a turn or two in the tarantella as well as any lout here? Hold thy peace, good master Shepherd-I am not here with evil intentions-my coffers are too well filled with the gold of nobles and Spaniards, to feel the want of a peasant's purse of copper, or his wife's trinkets. -Hold thy peace, I say, and no harm shall be done here by me or mine!"

"We are thy slaves, and here to do thy bidding!" replied the old man, in a low, faltering voice, to Mangone, who had turned round with a laughing face to watch the merry dance.

"Had we not better retire hence, with the Madonna to our aid ?" inquired one of the pale peasants, a

woman who was but too well acquainted, from the circumstance of near neighbourhood, with the exploits and freaks of the formidable banditti.

"Not so, Annarella," replied the old man; "the devil is not so black as he is painted. Mangone always keeps his word; and be it said between us, is often a better friend to the poor peasants than their baron's steward, or the Spaniards, and the tax-gatherers of his Excellency the Viceroy."

The group of dancers which had attracted the attention and admiration of the robbers, reposed for awhile, but now began again with a fresh infusion of glee and vigour. There were several pretty girls engaged in this tarantella, but one among them absorbed the faculties of Mangone. She was the most youthful and graceful of the party, and a life of labour and exposure to the scorching sun had not been able to spoil the beauty and delicacy of her face and complexion. There was an expression of innocence mixed with her really heart felt gaiety, that might have charmed any heart; and, as vice does not necessarily destroy our taste for that quality in others, but on the contrary rather increases it, the bandit gazed on the thoughtless girl with looks of intense interest; and when her joyful, laughing eyes met his, and were fixed, wondering by them, his heart became her captive.

"By San Benedetto, I will try a tarantella with that maiden, though all her kindred should say nay!" whispered Mangone to his companion: and at the very next stop in the dance, heedless of the frowns of her previous partner, and of her father and mother, who did not approve of a stranger's attentions, he placed himself before her.

Had the young creature acted as propriety required, for, strange as it may appear, the peasantry of Italy have very strict notions on that head, she would have refused to dance with a man unknown to her, even though at a public festival; but she was fascinated by Mangone's ardent gaze, and perhaps, felt already, although all unconscious of it, that mysterious influence which will not allow a being passionately loved, not to love again.

With one momentary, deprecating look at her displeased parents, the innocent creature responded to the animated motions of Mangone; and if ever a dance could express, or favour and forward the passion of love, it is assuredly the tarantella! For some time