all been youthful, and there is no fatigue upon his brow or cheek.  Fall or stand, one sees in him a man engaged in the career for which he is adapted by nature.  He went upon the parapet, and looked upon the road with a spy-glass, and, no obstruction being in sight, he turned his face for a moment back upon Rome, then led the way through the gate.  Hard was the heart, stony and seared the eye, that had no tear for that moment.  Go, fated, gallant band! and if God care not indeed for men as for the sparrows, most of ye go forth to perish.  And Rome, anew the Niobe!  Must she lose also these beautiful and brave, that promised her regeneration, and would have given it, but for the perfidy, the overpowering force, of the foreign intervention?

I know that many “respectable” gentlemen would be surprised to hear me speak in this way.  Gentlemen who perform their “duties to society” by buying for themselves handsome clothes and furniture with the interest of their money, speak of Garibaldi and his men as “brigands” and “vagabonds.”  Such are they, doubtless, in the same sense as Jesus, Moses, and Eneas were.  To me, men who can throw so lightly aside the ease of wealth, the joys of affection, for the sake of what they deem honor, in whatsoever form, are the “respectable.”  No doubt there are in these bands a number of men of lawless minds, and who follow this banner only because there is for them no other path.  But the greater part are the noble youths who have fled from the Austrian conscription, or fly now from the renewal of the Papal suffocation, darkened by French protection.

As for the protectors, they entirely threw aside the mask, as it was always supposed they would, the moment they had possession of Rome.  I do not know whether they were really so bewildered by their priestly counsellors as to imagine they would be well received in a city which they had bombarded, and where twelve hundred men were lying wounded by their assault.  To say nothing of the justice or injustice of the matter, it could not be supposed that the Roman people, if it had any sense of dignity, would welcome them.  I did not appear in the street, as I would not give any countenance to such a wrong; but an English lady, my friend, told me they seemed to look expectingly for the strong party of friends they had always pretended to have within the walls.  The French officers looked up to the windows for ladies, and, she being the only one they saw, saluted her.  She made no reply.  They then passed into the Corso.  Many were assembled, the softer Romans being unable to control a curiosity the Milanese would have disclaimed, but preserving an icy silence.  In an evil hour, a foolish priest dared to break it by the cry of Viva Pio Nono! The populace, roused to fury, rushed on him with their knives.  He was much wounded; one or two others were killed in the rush.  The people howled then, and hissed at the French, who, advancing their bayonets, and clearing the way before