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VI.—Tiano (ampola And Bkzkcca).

July 22.—Here we are in "Upper" Tiano, Tiano Superiore, 01 Tiano di Sopra, as it is called. It perfectly buzzes with excitement from yesterday's fight. At first the Garibaldians fell back on this place, but the tug of the conflict was between it and Bezecca, a little further on the road to Riva. We left Storo at five this morning, but the seven miles took nearly three hours, so blocked was the steep road with heavy material going to the front; while at the little fort or Block-Haus, Ampola, just half-way, a complete stoppage gave us full opportunity to examine the dismantled fort, the blackened walls of the baracks now almost level with the ground; the craggs from which the Italians had plied their artillery; and the romantic stream which thundered down into a hollow, right beneath the fort, in a white and brilliant cataract.

In spite of delay we got into Tiano at a lucky moment; for scarcely had we effected a lodgement in the Albergo, when officers and men, flocking in from outpost duty in search of breakfast or of rest, filled the house like a beehive. The inn had been cleared out the day before, and it was necessary to disperse in every direction In search of provisions. It was approaching noon when some of our party reappeared with partial supplies. Our meals in Stora had been scrambles, our breakfast here was a thorough "scrimmage;" yet, as before, courtesy and good-fellowship prevailed universally, and it was fortunate they did; for, in respect of food aud drink, of fire to cook by, or the wherewithal, of whatever kind, to accomplish dinner, it was everyone for himself and his own, and crowding and jostling without limit was the result. The central scene of operations was of course the kitchen, and we had again to admire the equanimity and goodnature with which the cook and her staff endured the usurpation of the guests. The landlord also and his servants were,wisely content to assist and supplement the exertions of the crowd, too numerous for their wants to be supplied by the ordinary service of the inn.

At last our turn comes. As usual we had contrived to ally ourselves with others, and to establish an impromptu mess, a process which

was greatly forwarded by D 's wide-spread

acquaintance with both officers and men, and

by R 's adroitness in the culinary line. We

sit down to salmi, roti, and omelettes of a rude but savoury description. Alas! no vegetables, no bread, not a crumb of the latter in the town. At this critical moment enter two Bersaglieri, for whom places have been kept; they have brought an ample supply of huge ration biscuits, and nothing more is wanted.

We had fasted long, most of our companions still longer. Our "breakfast-dinner" is soon finished. Cigars are lit, the thin country wine (nnt "Asti," alas!) goes round again, and talk sets in more furiously than ever. Many of the

5th are here, each man enraged at the regiment's heavy losses yesterday, and longing to revenge his colonel. All anticipate a fresh engagement. These two are all that are left of a party of thirty who dined together in Brescia before joining the camp, the other twenty-eight are killed or wounded. One of them fiercely narrates the treachery of a native, who, acting as guide, led his company into an ambush of "Tedeschi," and was shot forthwith by the narrator's own hand. There is a dark story about a body of Austrians, who appeared on the heights clad in the red shirt, and with cries of "Avanti, Garibaldini," lured on some unsuspecting volunteers, who, when close, were received with an exterminating volley. But all agreed that this tale wanted confirmation.

The man on my right tells me of his life on the hill-tops for the last three days. Always on the move; the supplies sent up, but unable to overtake the party; nothing but biscuit to live on. He has been dragging up the guns, and his neck is scarred, and his collar cut through by the ropes. He soon turns our conversation to more peaceful topics, being interested in English literature. But in this he is less at home than a comrade who pursues the subject more eagerly. He deplores the want of education among his countrymen, but hardly with justice, perhaps, if he himself is to be taken as a specimen. He works hard at English politics and English books, is especially familiar with John Stuart Mill, and has translated the Essay on Liberty: a Life of O'Connell is also one of his works. This man's conversation (and that of others like him) seems to indicate that not only the rank and wealth of Italy are represented up here in her volunteer army, but also the thought and education of the country. There doubtless are "canaglia" and ragamuffins in the ranks; but they are side by side with Visconti and Spinulas, with refined and highlyeducated gentlemen.

All this time fresh relays of volunteers have been dropping in, and fresh dinners preparing; but the crowd gets thinner and thinner, and presently a battery of field-guns passes somewhat hastily towards the front, and the dispersion of guests goes on still more rapidly. However, all remains quiet; and soon we hear that nothing is expected to occur in this direction. "Garibaldi has just driven back to Storo." The advance is to be pushed by the other road, which, from Storo, leads on Trent by Conditio and Lardaro. Lardaro! that is the next nut to crack, and a hard one it will be for troops with such light artillery. The Austrian fort there is said to be very strong. We also, therefore, drive back to Storo, and have leisure once more to remark what manner of country this is which Garibaldi and his men have so far conquered.

It looks a tiny corner on an ordinary map, this piece of the Tyrol. A war-map shows the truth somewhat better; but come and see it with your own eyes, and you will finally confess that, after all, the "red-shirt" army has done something. It is true that their more advanced positions are but thirty miles from that fortcrowned rock of Anfo, which was Italy's outpost on the solitary lake. But that thirty miles has already taken them more than half way to Trent itself, and given them no inconsiderable portion of the coveted district. But the point is that it ii thirty miles of mountain and valley.

Prussia occupied Bohemia by a ten days' campaign; hut Prussia had not to attack a ■ingle position like these which meet us at every torn of the road. Prussia crossed the Iron Mountains it is true; but the passes were undefended, and afterwards vast plains and level roads lay before her advancing troops. But this country is all "iron mountains"; and its roads are all "passes"—all occupied with deliberate (kill and defended with every advantage

oo tie side of those attacked.

last above Rocca d'Anfo you see Caffaro: it is the frontier town. Two hot fights—bayonets twee crossed at its quaint little bridge—marked tie opening of the campaign. Thence, one by one, Monte Suello, Bagolino, Darzo, and Lodrone witnessed the fruitless efforts of the Aostrians to bold their own against the " Camichi Rossi." At last Storo is occupied, and held at one time under the very fire of Austrian sharpshooters from the rocks above. Still day by day, almost hour by hour the work goes on— here a village, there a height is occupied, still the advance is maintained, though not without almost daily loss. But bow can so brief an outline do justice to the arduous details—to the life-and-death contests, the petty skirmishes with the Tyrol marksman on the cliffs, the Austrian lancer in the valley? Or, more, to the days and nights of intense bodily toil; while guns were not dragged only, but carried to the summits of mountains, which it was a toil even for the unladen to climb: and while forced "mountain marches" were made to turn positions which could not be openly assaulted without fearful loss? Thus was the Val di Ledro occupied, and in consequence Ampola surrendered "Senza Condizioni," battered as it was, but not vitally injured by the light mountain guns. Thus, too, (on the Lardaro road) Condino and its dependencies are occupied. Thither we go to-morrow, with high hopes of seeing, ere long, successful operations against Lardaro itself.

Vh-an Opinion Of Thk Garibaldian Army.

It is perhaps difficult to estimate the precise amount of interest which the English public takes iu the affairs of Italy in general, or in the fortunes of her volunteer army in particular; much, however, has actually been (.aid and written on this subject; and, whether opinions are uncalled for or not, it is sometimes difficult to remain BJlent—difficult to refrain from saying one word, however unimportant, to the end that true impressions, rather than false, may prevail, "Reserve" has arguments only too.

plausible and tempting; on the other hand there is a profound gratification in the feeling liberavi animam meant.

Now, of course, every one professes the unbiassed mind, open to conviction—the temper of inquiry and of observation rather than of assertion and criticism;" so that I will only say that I, too, can see the darker side of the picture; I, too, could say my say about shortcomings in the Garabaldian army. But, for many reasons, my few remarks will be professedly on the other side only. For too often do we hear complacent scoffers (French, English, or Italian) who, mingling some few grains of truth with much of its opposite, sneer sometimes at the Garibaldians, sometimes at their General. Even Italians (though I believe very few) are to be found who speak of their volunteers as "canaglia"—the sweepings of the streets; or who ask "What have they done?" or say, with a shrug of the shoulders, " Ah! Garibaldi is brave as a lion; but then—he has no tac/iques, no strategy." Others, and truehearted men too, indignant at certain mortifying occurrences,* refuse to take a moment's account of brighter events. Others, again, well-wishers of Italy, see both sides, and, too candid to delineate the brighter features, without dwelling also on ill deserts, do neither one or the other, and indulge simply in general statements and vague expressions of praise and sympathy.

There are, however, a few tangible facts worthy of mention; a few circumstances, with regard to which the evidence of one's owu eyes forces rather than suggests certain conclusions. With regard to the Garibaldians as men, I may say that in the whole force it was impossible to see or hear of anything like lisorder, brawling or ill-conduct of any Bort or kind; but the most refined courtesy and the warmest hospitality and kindness miiiht be found by the stranger in abundance. With regard to what they have done as an army, I can only speak of results— of a highly-disciplined and determined enemy driven back, step by step, his onsets met and repulsed, his tactics foiled, bis troops dislodged from positions chosen by themselves, and by nature almost inaccessible. An advance kept up almost hour by hour, as the outposts were pushed from peak to peak, from hamlet to hamlet; while behind, as if by magic, the fields swarmed with the camichi rossi and the fragrance of their soupa already perfumed the air, as you drove on the village just evacuated by the Tedeschi. For, take notice as we drive. Yesterday, their white tunics were in full possession of garden, field, and street. This afternoon, English and Italian ladies are already preparing hospital wards in the Albergo, where some Austrian colonel had his quarters not twenty-four hours back.

* Such, for instance as the panic which overcame many of the men on the 21st, when deprived of their officers, and for the first time, perhaps, under fire. It is well known that the bravest froops may quail under these circumstances.

The guns went to the front long ago, but the commissariat train is still on the move : blankets, loaves, flour, bullocks (and as before) All the road at intervals. In a convenient house the Posta Militdre is already established, doing work in a business-like style, that would not shame St. Marlin-le-Grand.

"The Telegraph will be up by the time we drive back to-morrow," says D .

"Impossible," thought I (though I had seen it on the other roads)!" Where are the workmen to dig holes by hundreds for the posts f Where are the posts, the wires, and the fixings?"

As it happened we did not return till a daylater; but there, at all events was the scientific triumph of the age; its tall posts, and miles of wire accompanying the road, leaping chasms, crossing the river, overtopping the cbesnuts, looking as if it had been there for years—so finished and thorough had been the work of crowbar, spade, and axe; but tools and workmen (Lombard or Tyrolian) have already cleared off, and left not a chip or nail behind. True it is that some of the Austrian armies are not without their telegraph, and we heard something of the Prussian field telegraph, as a proof, among others, of the science of their system and the completeness of their organization. But this is only the' Armata Voluntaria—the " unorganized crowd of brave undisciplined men, who may carry on a desultory guerilla warfare with some success, but who cannot be looked to for the work of regular troops, or take the position of a regular army." Yet, somehow this rabble of raw Garabaldini has its commissariat and quarter-master's department, its hospitals and ambulance trains, its military post, and its telegraph; and, what is more, the commissariat does feed the troops, the wounded are tended, the telegraph works, the post does dispatch your letters with care and promptitude.

True it may be that a month, or even a week, back, matters were otherwise; but how long is it since this force took the field r how many weeks since war itself was declared? Surely we know of regular armies in which similar deficiencies took something more than a week or two in being rectified. But let justice be done to all parties. May not this change for the better, in Borne measure result from the very representations of those correspondents, 6ome of whose letters, in certain London journals have given an unfavourable impression on these points? If so, all honour to those Englishmen whose resolute plain speaking has in any degree quickened the attention of the Italian public, and stimulated the Italian Government to greater regard for the requirements of their volunteers.

And, above all, honour to him, whose energy and tempered will, at once forbearing and resolute, has once more answered "invincible" to the bodings of anxious friends and the slanders of deadly enemies. I have heard "Garibaldi is not a man for this age. He is too simple and straightforward, and much too ready to think everyone like himself. In character he belongs to the crusades and the days of knight-'

errantry; but he is out of place in the 19th century."

Oh! wisdom of the unwise! is he not, then, by your own showing, above all others the man for this age? If, indeed, it is true that we are a self-seeking, "common-place," gold-worshippin jr generation, are we not, therefore, in the greater need of a man like this? not because he is less selfish or more devoted than thousands around us; but because in him that faith and singleness of heart has been united not only with the enterprise but also with the versatile prowess of a Raleigh, and has been embodied in a career at once martyr-like and romantic, which has made it shine like a beacon to his generation, kindling and animating the faith of thousands of hearts, less illustrious, but not less true than his own!

VIII.—Lion's Cubs.

Condino is, perhaps, evenmorepicturesquethan Storo. It also has its piazza or "place "; but one side is formed by the sloping mountain itself, and big rocks and trees come striding down into the very town. As you look in this direction the view, instead of being bounded by a row of houses, passes right up into verdant glades, each a charming oasis, which the contrast with the rocky masses that flank it makes still more inviting. Rills of water from the hill cascade down them. You might envy the few horses and mules which graze upon these turfy slopes. Here and there a tent or a "leanto " against the rock, suggests that some of the troops have picked out their quarters, either with an eye for the picturesque, or for the comparative seclusion therein afforded. The square itself " hums, like a beehive," with life—eating, drinking, talking, and singing, buying and selling, &c.

"Everyone" is here, and my Italian companion has been busy pointing out individuals worth notice: now the veteran who commands the Guides, now the man who saved Garibaldi's life at the Volturno; or those here and there who, to my great wonderment, wear the wellknown "Manxman's" three-legged badge on their breasts. But I learn that it has nothing to do with the Isle of Man. It'means Sicily (Trinacia), and marks those men who are of the "thousand," and who sailed from Genoa ia Garibaldi's famous expedition.

"Menotti," said my companion, touching my arm, and directing my attention to a small group of officers and men close by.

Menotti Garibaldi is standing at the corner of the street, a friend at his side; a yard or two off stand one or two Garibaldians, and Garibaldi's negro attendant, who gazes at Menotti, and seems to feel unbounded satisfaction in doing so—at least his ink-black features are lit by a broad, genial smile of mingled pride and attachment. The appearance of the 'young Garibaldi certainly justifies his follower's ad miration. This lion's cub look? none the worse

for the stormy trouble of the hour in which he first saw the light—none the worse for his uneaiy cradle on the saddle-bow—and none the worse for the scrimmage of last Saturday, when he led on the 9th to the rescue at Beccezza. His frame, apparently, is most athletic; his bearing erect and commanding. His dark hair and eyes tuifgeit the Creole blood: the impression is increased by bronzed and almost swarthy features. They aay he is utterly intrepid—so much, at all events, his whole appearance suggests. Some TMid ny there is too much of the bandit-chief iii that defiant, almost reckless air; and truly he bob the ideal of a brigand of the nobler Wed; but this is more than balanced by the thorouirhly goodnatured smile on his lip, and by tie extreme gallantry and openness of his thak bearing. He looked up to someone who spoh to him from an open window.

"Ricciotti," said G , as I observed a

nrr youthful figure in the uniform of the Guides, who began to talk to Menotli from the open window. Xothing could be more marked than the contrast between the brothers. Ricciotti looks eren younger than he is. His youthful features and bright expression ere the type of amiability and frank good nature, and speak of a courage as enthusiastic as bis brother's, though perhaps less commanding.

Admirers of Garibaldi would probably expect to find something out of the common in his offspring; and I don't think their appearance would disappoint even the highest of such expectations.

IX. —the Outposts.

The anticipated attack has not come off yetj but we can walk up the road to the outposts. Twenty minutes will take us there. On each side of the road are bivouacs, more contracted and compact than those previously described— s great proportion of the men drawn up in line, but standing at ease. Soon we come upon a couple of 24-pounders—beautiful brass-guns, ad rifled. They command a long, straight pee of road in front, and look very business-' **■ We walk on: sentinels are posted at Wflrals of about a hundred yards. No one, *ft officers of a certain rank, passes them »sW an order. We pass an Albergo, silent, "E*«rted. Its owners have been scared away by '»! skirmishing at Condino, and the firing of yesterday. With our glasses we sweep the Contains on either side, and once or twice dsteet the red dots creeping slowly up a moun""i path. A column of smoke directs our atjwtion to a still higher bluff, that must overlook Lardaro itself, and command the whole country round and beyond. There we can make °ot a bivouac of red shirts. It is the look-out, P°r excellence, and from that airy, Alpine "specula," lynx-like eyes are watching for the

slightestmovementonthepartof the enemy. The outpost is at a little hamlet, to which leads a path diverging upwards from the main road. We reach it in five minutes. Of late stray shot and shell more than once flew over these houses and ploughed up the gardens. The villagers still seem scared, and fluttered, like fowls after the swoop of a hawk. Their suspense is natuial: any moment a gun may boom forth, saying that in half-an-hour or less bayonet and bullet may be plying their bloody work in this quiet street. A tremulous old man begs us to come into his garden and see where a bomb tore his fruit-trees, and furrowed his maize and potatoplots. But we pass on. This village, like the rest, has its little central piazza or " place." On one side all the able-bodied males of the population seem to be drawn up. They are silent, expectant, and some look rather sullen. The aged padre' paces up and down among them. Opposite is the hall of the petty municipality: in this a large archway opens into a sort of vestibule, dark, ample, and cool. Just inside the archs' shade sit a circle of officers, silent too, and expectant. Outside two chargers are held by Tyrolese peasants, who, with large hazel boughs, assiduously flick away the flies that settle on the animals in their charge. A strange, listening silence pervades the place: the officers glance keenly, and frequently, upwards, in the direction of the old grey church. What are they looking at? Carry your eye just over the foot of the church, and on towards the more distant mountains. There is the blue smoke; there is the look-out's eyrie ; there is the bivouac of red shirts. A weird, invisible link of mute intelligence seems to traverse the still air between that curling smoke and this silent square. A momentary expectation of some signal, of some announcement, sudden and brief, yet of unmistakeable import, rules the straining eye, the listening ear, the suspended breath.

But here "amateurs" are only tolerated by an extreme stretch of courtesy, which we should be sorry to trespass on: so we leave the village and stroll back to Condino.

Heavy clouds are gathering as we return. In fine weather the climate in these mountains is delicious, though fiery-hot in midday. Fine weather hitherto we have bad, and that is vastly in favour of campaigning. But to-night promises to be of a rougher humour. The clouds begin to hide the mountain-tops; but soon they gather up their misty skirts, and hang high overhead in compact and gloomy masses. The storm threatens till nightfall; as we seek our quarters it bursts in full fury.

"Think of those poor fellows on the hill!" Bays D——, as from our window we watch the blue flashes, that at intervals disclose the mighty mountain outlines towards Lardaro and Trent.

Suddenly, after one brilliant moment, a single red star seems to shine through the night from some rift in tbe clouds. Ah! it is the bivouacfire of the scouts. There it is, where, next moment, the lightning gives to full view the bold outline of the bluff. There they are, without shelter—perhaps short of food and drink. The rain continues to descend heavily, but the lone red star still gleams like a meteor through the gloom. "Pile on wood and heath, brave hearts!" Ah! it sinks—it is gone! No: "Viva Italia!" It glows again, red and strong. Another burst of thunder shakes the house, and a perfect waterspout seems to resound upon the roof. Anxiously we look forth: the red star no longer streams through the darkness. We gaze and gaze again: it rises no more. In soaking wet and darkness must gentle and plebeian, hale and feeble, crouch or stand through the night, with a doubtful prospect of breakfast in the morning, and a fair chance of subsequent ague.

However, the morning breaks fair, a thousand times brighter and fairer for the storm, and news comes in, "The Austrians have evacuated Lardaro—fort and all!" Head-quarters are already being shifted from Storo.

Once more "Avanti!" In the afternoon we drive on to a village near the fort, and spend two nights in new quarters, amidst new scenes and new incidents—perhaps not devoid of interest, but not now to be recounted.

X.—Addio!

The armistice is arranged, and for that and other reasons some of us (for the present at least) must say good-bye to the camp. No carriage to be had! After much research appears a long, light dray, drawn by a mule. Put the baggage in the middle; sit, stand, lie, or whatever you can, on and around it. D 's faithful Milanese displaces the driver, who lacks energy, and is sent to ride behind. The Lombard's tongue is even more persuasive than the stick he flourishes; and we rattle down the road at a fair speed, and with lots of excitement from the mule's heels, and from collisions actual or anticipated.

Once more Condino, Storo, Caffaro, and its frontier bridge, Rocca d'Anfo, and the glassy lake. At Vestone we get supper and a better carriage, and journey on through the still moonlight. Morning dawns: Brescia once more receives us—Brescia, with its colonnades, ample and cool, its great fountains at every corner, with tbeir huge basins. Our excursion is over. See! as we turn into this square, the marble statue of Italia meets our eyes, fresh from the sculptor's hand, dazzling white in the cold morning air. Her right hand grasps her spear, her left rests upon her shield; the rays of the rising sun illuminate the turretted crown upon her uplifted brow.

THE DANDELION.

BY JAMES RIS8EII, LOWELL.

Dear common flower, that grow'st beside the way Fringing the dusty road with harmless gold;

First pledge of blithesome May, Which children pluck, and full of pride, behold, High-hearted buccaneers, o'erjoyed that they An £1 Dorado in the grass have found,

Which not the rich earth's ample round May match in wealth—thou art more dear to me Than all the prouder summer-blooms may be.

Gold such as thine ne'er drew the Spanish prow
Through the primeval hush of Indian seas,

Nor v, rinkled the lean brow

Of age, to rob the lover's heart of ease.

'Tis the spring's largess, which she scatters now

To rich and poor alike with lavish hand,

Though most hearts never understand

To take it at God's value, but pass by

The offered wealth with unrewarded eye.

Thou art my Tropics and mine Italy;

To look at thee unlocks a wanner clime;
The eyes thou givest me

Arc in the heart, and heed not space or time;
Not in mid-June, the golden-cuirnssed bee
Feels a more summer-like, warm ravishment,
In the white lily's breezy tent,
His conquered Sybaris, than I, when first
From the dark green thy yellow circles burst.

Then think I of deep shadows on the grass—
Of meadows where in sun the cattle graze,

Where, as the breezes pass,

The gleaming rushes lean a thousand ways;
Of leaves that slumber in a cloudy mass,

Or whiten in the wind—or waters bine

That from the distance sparkle through

Some woodland gap—and of a sky above

Where one white cloud like a stray lamb doth move.

My childhood's earliest thoughts are linked with thee:

The sight of thee calls back the robin's song.
Who, from the dark oak-tree

Beside the door, sang clearly all day long;
And I, secure in childish piety,
Listened as if I heard an angel sing
With uews from heaven, which he did bring
Fresh every day to my untainted ears,
•When birds and flowers and I were happy peers.

How like a prodigal doth Nature seem,
When thou, for all thy gold, so common art!

Thou teachest me to deem

More sacredly of every human heart,

Since each reflects in joy its scanty gleam

Of heaven, and could some wondrous secret show,

Did we but pay the love we owe,

And with a child's undoubt ing wisdom look

Into the page of its unwritten book.

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