Seated upon the turf, they gave themselves up to the pleasing influence that flows from the pipe. Is there any thing equal to it? How did the ancients contrive to while away the time without it? Had they known its effects how they would have cherished it! We should now be gazing on the ruins of venerable temples, reared by adoring votaries to the goddess Tabaca. Boys at school would have construed passages about her. Lempriere, Smith, Anthon, Drissler, and others would have done honor to her. Classic mythology would have been full of her presence. Olympian Jove would have been presented to us with this divinity as his constant attendant, and a nimbus around his immortal brows of her making. Bacchus would have had a rival, a superior!

Poets would have told how TABACA went over the world girt in that but set off the more her splendid radiance. We should have known how much Bacchus had to do with [Transcriber's Note: Greek Transliteration] ta bakcheia [/end Greek]; a chapter which will probably be a lost one in the History of Civilization. But that he who smokes should drink beer is quite indisputable. Whether the beer is to be X, XX, or XXX; or whether the brewer's name should begin with an A, as in Alsopp, and run through the whole alphabet, ending with V, as in Vassar, may be fairly left to individual consideration.

What noble poetry, what spirited odes, what eloquent words, has not the world lost by the ignorance of the Greek and Roman touching this plant?

The above remarks were made by Dick on this occasion. But Buttons was talking with the wounded Italians.

The Doctor had bound up their wounds and Buttons had favored them with a drop from his flask. Dick cut up some tobacco and filled a pipe for each. After all, the Italians were not fiends. They had attacked them not from malice, but purely from professional motives.

Yet, had their enemies been Tedeschi, no amount of attention would have overcome their sullen hate. But being Americans, gay, easy, without malice, in fact kind and rather agreeable, they softened, yielded altogether, and finally chatted familiarly with Buttons and Dick. They were young, not worse in appearance than the majority of men; perhaps not bad fellows in their social relations; at any rate, rather inclined to be jolly in their present circumstances. They were quite free in their expressions of admiration for the bravery of their captors, and looked with awe upon the Doctor's revolver, which was the first they had ever seen.

In fact, the younger prisoner became quite communicative. Thus:

"I was born in Velletri. My age is twenty-four years. I have never shed blood except three times. The first time was in Narni—odd place, Narni. My employer was a vine-dresser. The season was dry; the brush caught fire, I don't know how, and in five minutes a third of the vineyard was consumed to ashes. My employer came cursing and raving at me, and swore he'd make me work for him till I made good the loss. Enraged, I struck him. He seized an axe. I drew my stiletto, and—of course I had to run away.

"The second time was in Naples. The affair was brought about by a woman. Signore, women are at the bottom of most crimes that men commit. I was in love with her. A friend of mine fell in love with her too. I informed him that if he interfered with me I would kill him. I told her that if she encouraged him I would kill him and her too. I suppose she was piqued. Women will get piqued sometimes. At any rate she gave him marked encouragement. I scolded and threatened. No use. She told me she was tired of me; that I was too tyrannical. In fact, she dared to turn me off and take the other fellow. Maffeo was a good fellow. I was sorry for him, but I had to keep my word.

"The third time was only a month ago. I robbed a Frenchman, out of pure patriotism—the French, you know, are our oppressors—and kept what I found about him to reward me for my gallant act. The Government, however, did not look upon it in a proper light. They sent out a detachment to arrest me. I was caught, and by good fortune brought to an inn. At night I was bound tightly and shut up in the same room with the soldiers. The innkeeper's daughter, a friend of mine, came in for something, and by mere chance dropped a knife behind me. I got it, cut my cords, and when they were all asleep I departed. Before going I left the knife behind; and where now, Signore, do you think I left it?"

"I have no idea."

"You would never guess. You never would have thought of it yourself."

"Where did you leave it?"

"In the heart of the Captain."



CHAPTER XLI.

FINAL ATTACK OF REINFORCEMENTS OF BRIGANDS.—THE DODGE CLUB DEFIES THEM AND REPELS THEM.—HOW TO MAKE A BARRICADE.—FRATERNIZATION OF AMERICAN EAGLE AND GALLIC COCK.—THERE'S NOTHING LIKE LEATHER.

"It is certainly a singular position for an American citizen to be placed in," said the Senator. "To come from a cotton-mill to such a regular out-and-out piece of fighting as this. Yet it seems to me that fighting comes natural to the American blood."

"They've been very quiet for ever so long," said Mr. Figgs; "perhaps they've gone away."

"I don't believe they have, for two reasons. The first is, they are robbers, and want our money; the second, they are Italians, and want revenge. They won't let us off so easily after the drubbing we gave them."

Thus Buttons, and the others rather coincided in his opinion. For several miles further on the road ran through a dangerous place, where men might lurk in ambush, and pick them off like so many snipe. They rather enjoyed a good fight, but did not care about being regularly shot down. So they waited.

It was three in the afternoon. Fearfully hot, too, but not so bad as it might have been. High trees sheltered them. They could ruminate under the shade. The only difficulty was the want of food. What can a garrison do that is ill provided with eatables? The Doctor's little store of crackers and cheese was divided and eaten. A basket of figs and oranges followed. Still they were hungry.

"Well," said Dick, "there's one thing we can do if the worst comes to the worst."

"What's that?"

"Go through the forest in Indian file back to Perugia."

"That's all very well," said the Senator, stubbornly, "but we're not going back. No, Sir, not a step!"

"I'm tired of this," said Buttons, impatiently. "I'll go out as scout."

"I'll go too," said Dick.

"Don't go far, boys," said the Senator, in the tone of an anxious father.

"No, not very. That hill yonder will be a good lookout place."

"Yes, if you are not seen yourselves."

"We'll risk that. If we see any signs of these scoundrels, and find that they see us, we will fire to let you know. If we remain undiscovered we will come back quietly."

"Very well. But I don't like to let you go off alone, my boys; it's too much of an exposure."

"Nonsense."

"I have a great mind to go too."

"No, no, you had better stay to hold our place of retreat. We'll come back, you know."

"Very well, then."

The Senator sat himself down again, and Buttons and Dick vanished among the trees. An hour passed; the three in the barricade began to feel uneasy; the prisoners were asleep and snoring.

"Hang it," cried the Senator, "I wish I had gone with them!"

"Never fear," said the Doctor, "they are too nimble to be caught just yet. If they had been caught you'd have heard a little firing."

At that very moment the loud report of a rifle burst through the air, followed by a second; upon which a whole volley poured out. The three started to their feet.

"They are found!" cried the Senator. "It's about a mile away. Be ready."

Mr. Figgs had two rifles by his side, and sat looking at the distance with knitted brows. He had received some terrific bruises in the late melee, but was prepared to fight till he died. He had said but little through the day. He was not talkative. His courage was of a quiet order. He felt the solemnity of the occasion. It was a little different from sitting at the head of a Board of bank directors, or shaving notes in a private office. At the end of about ten minutes there was a crackling among the bushes. Buttons and Dick came tumbling down into the road.

"Get ready! Quick. They're here!"

"All ready."

"All loaded?"

"Yes."

"We saw them away down the road, behind a grove of trees. We couldn't resist, and so fired at them. The whole band leaped up raving, and saw us, and fired. They then set off up the road to this place, thinking that we are divided. They're only a few rods away."

"How many are there of them?"

"Fourteen."

"They must have got some more. There were only ten able-bodied, unwounded men when they left."

"Less," said the Doctor; "my pistol—"

"H'st!"

At this moment they heard the noise of footsteps. A band of armed men came in sight. Halting cautiously, they examined the barricade. Bang! It was the Doctor's revolver. Down went one fellow, yelling. The rest were frantic. Like fools, they made a rush at the barricade.

Bang! a second shot, another wounded. A volley was the answer. Like fools, the brigands fired against the barricade. No damage was done. The barricade was too strong.

The answer to this was a withering volley from the Americans. The bandits reeled, staggered, fell back, shrieking, groaning, and cursing. Two men lay dead on the road. The others took refuge in the woods.

For two hours an incessant fire was kept up between the bandits in the woods and the Americans in their retreat. No damage was done on either side.

"Those fellows try so hard they almost deserve to lick us," said the Senator dryly.

Suddenly there came from afar the piercing blast of a trumpet.

"Hark!" cried Buttons.

Again.

A cavalry trumpet!

"They are horsemen!" cried Dick, who was holding his ear to the ground; and then added:

"[Transcriber's Note: Greek Transliteration] ippon m okupodon amphi ktupos ouata ballei [/end Greek]."

"Hey?" cried the Senator; "water barley?"

Again the sound. A dead silence. All listening.

And now the tramp of horses was plainly heard. The firing had ceased altogether since the first blast of the trumpet. The bandits disappeared. The horsemen drew nearer, and were evidently quite numerous. At last they burst upon the scene, and the little garrison greeted them with a wild hurrah. They were French dragoons, about thirty in number. Prominent among them was Pietro, who at first stared wildly around, and then, seeing the Americans, gave a cry of joy.

The travellers now came out into the road, and quick and hurried greetings were interchanged. The commander of the troop, learning that the bandits had just left, sent off two-thirds of his men in pursuit, and remained with the rest behind.

Pietro had a long story to tell of his own doings. He had wandered through the forest till he came to Perugia. The commandant there listened to his story, but declined sending any of his men to the assistance of the travellers. Pietro was in despair. Fortunately a small detachment of French cavalry had just arrived at Perugia on their way to Rome and the captain was more merciful. The gallant fellow at once set out, and, led by Pietro, arrived at the place most opportunely.

It did not take long to get the coach ready again. One horse was found to be so badly wounded that it had to be killed. The others were slightly hurt. The baggage and trunks were riddled with bullets. These were once more piled up, the wounded prisoners placed inside, and the travellers, not being able to get in all together, took turns in walking.

At the next town the prisoners were delivered up to the authorities. The travellers celebrated their victory by a grand banquet, to which they invited the French officer and the soldiers, who came on with them to this town. Uproar prevailed. The Frenchmen were exuberant in compliments to the gallantry of their entertainers. Toasts followed.

"The Emperor and President!"

"America and France!"

"Tricolor and stars!"

"The two countries intertwined!"

"A song, Dick!" cried the Senator, who always liked to hear Dick sing. Dick looked modest.



"Strike up!"

"What?"

"The 'Scoodoo abscook!'" cried Mr Figgs.

"No; 'The Old Cow!'" cried Buttons.

"'The Pig by the Banks of the River!'" said the Doctor.

"Dick, don't," said the Senator. "I'll tell you an appropriate song. These Frenchmen believe in France. We believe in America. Each one thinks there is nothing like Leather. Sing 'Leather,' then."

FIGGS. BUTTONS. THE DOCTOR.} "Yes, 'Leather!'"

"Then let it be 'Leather,'" said Dick; and he struck up the following (which may not be obtained of any of the music publishers), to a very peculiar tune:

I.

"Mercury! Patron of melody, Father of Music and Lord, Thine was the skill that invented Music's harmonious chord. Sweet were the sounds that arose, Sweetly they blended together; Thus, in the ages of old, Music arose out of—LEATHER!

[Full chorus by all the company.] "Then Leather! sing Leather! my lads! Mercury! Music!! and Leather!!! Of all the things under the sun, Hurrah! there is nothing like Leather!

[Extra Chorus, descriptive of a Cobbler hammering on his Lapstone.] "Then Rub a dub, dub! Rub a dub, dub! Rub a dub, dub!!! say we!

II.

"War is a wonderful science, Mars was its patron, I'm told, How did he used to accoutre Armies in battles of old? With casque, and with sling, and with shield, With bow-string and breastplate together; Thus, in the ages of old, War was begun out of—LEATHER!

[Chorus.] "Then Leather! sing Leather! my lads! Mars and his weapons of Leather!!! Of all the things under the sun, Hurrah! there is nothing like Leather!

[Extra Chorus.] "Then Rub a dub, dub! Rub a dub, dub! Rub a dub, dub!!! say we!

III.

"Love is a pleasing emotion, All of us know it by heart; Whence, can you tell me, arises Love's overpowering smart? Tipped with an adamant barb, Gracefully tufted with feather, Love's irresistible dart Comes from a quiver of—LEATHER!

[Chorus.] "Then Leather! sing Leather, my lads! Darts! and Distraction!! and Leather!!! Of all the things under the sun, Hurrah! there is nothing like Leather!



[Extra Chorus.] "Then Rub a dub, dub! Rub a dub, dub! Rub a dub, dub!!! say we!

IV.

"Orators wrote out their speeches, Poets their verses recited, Statesmen promulgated edicts, Sages their maxims indited. Parchment, my lads, was the article All used to write on together; Thus the Republic of Letters Sprang into life out of—LEATHER!

[Chorus.] "Then Leather! sing Leather, my lads! Poetry! Science!! and Leather!!! Of all the things under the sun, Hurrah! there is nothing like Leather!

[Extra Chorus.] "Then Rub a dub, dub! Rub a dub, dub! Rub a dub, dub!!! say we!"



CHAPTER XLII.

FLORENCE.—DESPERATION OF BUTTONS, OF MR. FIGGS, AND OF THE DOCTOR.

Florence, the fair!—Certainly it is the fairest of cities. Beautiful for situation; the joy of the whole earth! It has a beauty that grows upon the heart. The Arno is the sweetest of rivers, its valley the loveliest of vales; luxuriant meadows; rich vineyards; groves of olive, of orange, and of chestnut; forests of cypress; long lines of mulberry; the dark purple of the distant Apennines; innumerable white villas peeping through the surrounding groves; the mysterious haze of the sunset, which throws a softer charm over the scene; the magnificent cattle; the fine horses; the bewitching girls, with their broad hats of Tuscan straw; the city itself, with its gloomy old palaces, iron-grated and massive walled, from the ancient holds of street-fighting nobles, long since passed away, to the severe Etruscan majesty of the Pitti Palace; behold Florence!

It is the abode of peace, gentleness, and kindly pleasure (or at any rate it was so when the Club was there). Every stone in its pavement has a charm. Other cities may please; Florence alone can win enduring love. It is one of the very few which a man can select as a permanent home, and never repent of his decision. In fact, it is probably the only city on earth which a stranger can live in and make for himself a true home, so pleasant as to make desire for any other simply impossible.



In Florence there is a large English population, drawn there by two powerful attractions. The first is the beauty of the place, with its healthy climate, its unrivalled collections of art, and its connection with the world at large. The second is the astonishing cheapness of living, though, alas! this is greatly changed from former times, since Florence has become the capital of Italy. Formerly a palace could be rented for a trifle, troops of servants for another trifle, and the table could be furnished from day to day with rarities and delicacies innumerable for another trifle. It is, therefore, a paradise for the respectable poor, the needy men of intelligence, and perhaps it may be added, for the shabby genteel. There is a glorious congregation of dilettante, literati, savans; a blessed brotherhood of artists and authors; here gather political philosophers of every grade. It was all this even under the Grand Duke of refreshing memory; hereafter it will be the same, only, perhaps, a little more so, under the new influences which it shall acquire and exert as the metropolis of a great kingdom.

The Florentines are the most polished people under the sun. The Parisians claim this proud pre-eminence, but it can not be maintained. Amid the brilliancies of Parisian life there are fearful memories of bloody revolutions, brutal fights, and blood-thirsty cruelties. No such events as these mar the fair pages of later Florentine history. In fact, the forbearance and gentleness of the people have been perhaps to their disadvantage. Life in Florence is joy. The sensation of living is of itself a pleasure. Life in that delicious atmosphere becomes a higher state of being. It is the proper home for poets and artists. Those who pretend that there is any thing in America equal to Florence either in climate, landscape, or atmosphere, are simply humbugs. Florence is unique. It is the only Athens of the modern world.



The streets are cool and delightful. The great bath houses keep off the rays of the sun. The people love to stroll away the greater part of their happy days. They loiter around the corners or under the porticoes gathering news and retailing the same. Hand-organs are generally discountenanced. Happy city!



When it is too hot in the streets there is the vast cathedral—Il Duomo—dim, shadowy, magnificent, its gigantic dome surpassed only by that of St. Peter's. And yet in the twilight of this sacred interior, where there dwells so much of the mysterious gloom only found in the Gothic cathedrals of the north, many find greater delight than in all the dazzling splendor, the pomp, and glory, and majesty of the Roman temple. Beside it rises the Campanile, as fair as a dream, and in appearance almost as unsubstantial. Not far off is the Baptistery, with its gates of bronze—an assemblage of glory which might well suffice for one city.



Around the piazza that incloses these sacred buildings they sell the best roasted chestnuts in the world. Is it any wonder that Florence is so attractive?



The Dodge Club obtained furnished apartments in a fine large hotel that looked out on the Ponte della Trinita and on the Arno. Beneath was the principal promenade in the city. It was a highly agreeable residence.

No sooner had they arrived than Buttons set out in search of the Spaniards. Three days had been lost on the road. He was half afraid that those three days had lost him the Spaniards altogether. Three days! It was possible that they had seen Florence in that time and had already left. The thought of this made Buttons feel extremely nervous. He spent the first day in looking over all the hotels in the city. The second in searching through as many of the lodging-houses as were likely to be chosen by the Spaniards. The third he spent in meandering disconsolately through the cafes. Still there were no signs of them. Upon this Buttons fell into a profound melancholy. In fact it was a very hard case. There seemed nothing left for him to do. How could he find them out?



Dick noticed the disquietude of his friend, and sympathized with him deeply. So he lent his aid and searched through the city as industriously as possible. Yet in spite of every effort their arduous labors were defeated. So Buttons became hopeless.

The Senator, however, had met with friends. The American Minister at Turin happened at that time to be in Florence. Him the Senator recollected as an old acquaintance, and also as a tried companion in arms through many a political campaign. The Minister received him with the most exuberant delight. Dinner, wine, feast of reason, flow of soul, interchange of latest news, stories of recent adventures on both sides, laughter, compliments, speculations on future party prospects, made the hours of an entire afternoon fly like lightning. The American Eagle was never more convivial.

The Minister would not let him go. He made him put up at his hotel. He had the entree into the highest Florentine society. He would introduce the Senator everywhere. The Senator would have an opportunity of seeing Italian manners and customs such as was very rarely enjoyed. The Senator was delighted at the idea.

But Mr. Figgs and the Doctor began to show signs of weariness. The former walked with Dick through the Boboli gardens and confided all his soul to his young friend. What was the use of an elderly man like him putting himself to so much trouble? He had seen enough of Italy. He didn't want to see any more. He would much rather be safe at home. Besides, the members of the Club were all going down the broad road that leadeth to ruin. Buttons was infatuated about those Spaniards. The Doctor thought that he (Dick) was involved in some mysterious affair of a similar nature. Lastly, the Senator was making a plunge into society. It was too much. The ride over the Apennines to Bologna might be interesting for two young fellows like him and Buttons, but was unfit for an elderly person. Moreover, he didn't care about going to the seat of war. He had seen enough of fighting. In short, he and the Doctor had made up their minds to go back to Paris via Leghorn and Marseilles.

Dick remonstrated, expostulated, coaxed. But Mr. Figgs was inflexible.



CHAPTER XLIII.

THE SENATOR ENTRAPPED.—THE WILES AND WITCHERY OF A QUEEN OF SOCIETY. —HIS FATE DESTINED TO BE, AS HE THINKS, ITALIAN COUNTESSES. —SENTIMENTAL CONVERSATION.—POETRY.—BEAUTY.—MOONLIGHT.—RAPTURE. —DISTRACTION.—BLISS!

The blandishments of Florentine society might have led captive a sterner soul than that of the Senator. Whether he wished it or not, he was overcome. His friend, the Minister, took him to the houses of the leaders of society, and introduced him as an eminent American statesman and member of the Senate.

Could any recommendation be equal to that? For, be it remembered, it was the Revolutionary time. Republicanism ran high. America was synonymous with the Promised Land. To be a statesman in America was as great a dignity as to be prince in any empire on earth. Besides, it was infinitely more honored, for it was popular. The eyes of the struggling people were tamed to that country which shoved them an example of republican freedom.

So if the Florentines received the Senator with boundless hospitality, it was because they admired his country, and reverenced his dignity. They liked to consider the presence of the American Minister and Senator as an expression of the good-will of the American Government. They looked upon him diplomatically. All that he said was listened to with the deepest respect, which was none the less when they did not comprehend a word. His pithy sentences, when translated into Italian, became the neatest epigrams in the world. His suggestions as to the best mode of elevating and enriching the country were considered by one set as the profoundest philosophy, and by another as the keenest satire. They were determined to lionize him. It was a new sensation to the Senator. He desired to prolong it. He recalled the lines of the good Watts:

"My willing soul would stay In such a frame as this."

He thought of Dr. Franklin in Paris, of his severe republicanism amid the aristocratic influences around. How like his present situation was to that of the august philosopher!

The marked attention which the Minister paid to the Senator added greatly to the importance of the latter. The Florentines reasoned thus: A Minister is a great man. As a general thing his travelling countrymen pay respect to him. What then must be the position of that travelling fellow-countryman who receives attention instead of paying it? What would the position of an Englishman need to be in order to gain the attention of the British Embassador? Ducal at least. Hence there is only one conclusion. An American Senator ranks with an English Duke.

Others went beyond this: Mark the massive forehead, the severe eye, the cool, self-possessed mien of this American. The air of one accustomed to rule. Listen to his philosophic conversation. One of America's greatest statesmen. No doubt he has a certain prospect of becoming President. President! It must be so; and that accounts for the attention paid by the American Embassador. He, of course, wishes to be continued in his office under the next administration. After all, the Florentines were not so far out of the way. A much worse man than the Senator might be made President. In the chapter of accidents his name, or the name of one like him, might carry the votes of some roaring convention.

For two or three days the Senator was the subject of an eager contest among all the leaders of society. At length there appeared upon, the scene the great Victrix in a thousand contests such as these. The others fell back discomfited, and the Senator became her prey.

The Countess di Nottinero was not exactly a Recamier, but she was a remarkably brilliant woman, and the acknowledged leader of the liberal part of Florentine society. Of course, the haughty aristocratic party held themselves grandly aloof, and knew nothing either of her or the society to which she belonged.

She was generally known as La Cica, a nickname given by her enemies, though what "Cica" meant no one could tell exactly. It was a sort of contraction made up from her Christian name, Cecilia, as some thought; others thought it was the Italian word cica given on account of some unknown incident. At any rate, as soon as she made her appearance driving down the Lungh' Arno, with the massive form of the Senator by her side, his fame rose up to its zenith. He became more remarked than ever, and known among all classes as the illustrious American to whom belonged the certainty of being next President of the United States.

Rumor strengthened as it grew. Reports were circulated which would certainly have amazed the worthy Senator if he had heard them all. It was said that he was the special Plenipotentiary Extraordinary sent by the American Government as a mark of their deep sympathy with the Italian movement, and that he was empowered, at the first appearance of a new Government in Italy, to recognize it officially as a first-class Power, and thus give it the mighty sanction of the United States. What wonder that all eyes were turned admiringly toward him wherever he went. But he was too modest to notice it. He little knew that he was the chief object of interest to every house, hotel, and cafe in the city. Yet it was a fact.

His companions lost sight of him for some time. They heard the conversation going on about the sayings of the great American. They did not know at first who it was; but at length concluded that it referred to the Minister from Turin.

La Cica did her part marvellously well. All the dilettanti, the artists, authors, political philosophers, and beaux esprits of every grade followed the example of La Cica. And it is a fact that by the mere force of character, apart from any adventitious aids of refinement, the Senator held his own remarkably. Yet it must be confessed that he was at times extremely puzzled.

La Cica did not speak the best English in the world; yet that could not account for all the singular remarks which she made. Still less could it account for the tender interest of her manner. She had remarkably bright eyes. Why wandered those eyes so often to his, and why did they beam with such devotion—beaming for a moment only to fall in sweet innocent confusion? La Cica had the most fascinating manners, yet they were often perplexing to the Senator's soul. The little offices which she required of him did not appear in his matter-of-fact eyes as strictly prudent. The innate gallantry which he possessed carried him bravely along through much that was bewildering to his nerves. Yet he was often in danger of running away in terror.

"The Countess," he thought, "is a most remarkable fine woman; but she does use her eyes uncommon, and I do wish she wouldn't be quite so demonstrative."

The good Senator had never before encountered a thorough woman of the world, and was as ignorant as a child of the innumerable little harmless arts by which the power of such a one is extended and secured. At last the Senator came to this conclusion. La Cica was desperately in love with him.

She appeared to be a widow. At least she had no husband that he had ever seen; and therefore to the Senator's mind she must be a spinster or a widow. From the general style in which she was addressed he concluded that she was the latter. Now if the poor Cica was hopelessly in love, it must be stopped at once. For he was a married man, and his good lady still lived, with a very large family, most of the members of which had grown up.

La Cica ought to know this. She ought indeed. But let the knowledge be given delicately, not abruptly. He confided his little difficulty to his friend the Minister. The Minister only laughed heartily.

"But give me your opinion."

The Minister held his sides, and laughed more immoderately than ever.

"It's no laughing matter," said the Senator. "It's serious. I think you might give an opinion."

But the Minister declined. A broad grin wreathed his face during all the remainder of his stay at Florence. In fact, it is said that it has remained there ever since.

The Senator felt indignant, but his course was taken. On the following evening they walked on the balcony of La Cica's noble residence. She was sentimental, devoted, charming.

The conversation of a fascinating woman does not look so well when reported as it is when uttered. Her power is in her tone, her glance, her manner. Who can catch the evanescent beauty of her expression or the deep tenderness of her well-modulated voice? Who indeed?

"Does ze scene please you, my Senator?"

"Very much indeed."

"Youar countrymen haf tol me zey would like to stay here alloway."

"It is a beautiful place."

"Did you aiver see any thin moaire loafely?" And the Countess looked full in his face.

"Never," said the Senator, earnestly. The next instant he blushed. He had been betrayed into a compliment.

The Countess sighed.

"Helas! my Senator, that it is not pairmitted to moartals to sociate as zey would laike."

"'Your Senator,'" thought the gentleman thus addressed; "how fond, how tender—poor thing! poor thing!"

"I wish that Italy was nearer to the States," said he.

"How I adamiar youar style of mind, so differente from ze Italiana. You are so strong—so nobile. Yet would Maike to see moar of ze poetic in you."

"I always loved poetry, marm," said the Senator, desperately.

"Ah—good—nais—eccelente. I am plees at zat," cried the Countess, with much animation. "You would loafe it moar eef you knew Italiano. Your langua ees not sufficiente musicale for poatry."

"It is not so soft a language as the I-talian."

"Ah—no—not so soft. Very well. And what theenka you of ze Italiano?"

"The sweetest language I ever heard in all my born days."

"Ah, now—you hev not heard much of ze Italiano, my Senator."

"I have heard you speak often," said the Senator, naively.

"Ah, you compliment! I sot you was aboove flattera."

And the Countess playfully tapped his arm with her little fan.

"What Ingelis poet do you loafe best?"

"Poet? English poet?" said the Senator, with some surprise. "Oh—why, marm, I think Watts is about the best of the lot!"

"Watt? Was he a poet? I did not know zat. He who invented ze stim-injaine? And yet if he was a poet it is natnrale zat you loafe him best."

"Steam-engine? Oh no! This one was a minister."

"A meeneestaire? Ah! an abbe? I know him not. Yet I haf read mos of all youar poets."

"He made up hymns, marm, and psalms—for instance: 'Watts's Divine Hymns and Spiritual Songs.'"

"Songs? Spiritnelle? Ah, I mus at once procuaire ze works of Watt, which was favorit poet of my Senator."

"A lady of such intelligence as you would like the poet Watts," said the Senator, firmly.



"He is the best known by far of all our poets."

"What? better zan Sakespeare, Milton, Bairon? You much surprass me."

"Better known and better loved than the whole lot. Why, his poetry is known by heart through all England and America."

"Merciful Heaven! what you tell me! ees eet possbl! An yet he is not known here efen by name. It would plees me mooch, my Senator, to hajre you make one quotatione. Know you Watt? Tell to me some words of his which I may remembaire."

"I have a shocking bad memory."

"Bad raemora! Oh, but you remember somethin, zis mos beautful charm nait—you haf a nobile soul—you mus be affecta by beauty—by ze ideal. Make for a me one quotatione."

And she rested her little hand on the Senator's arm, and looked up imploringly in his face.

The Senator looked foolish. He felt even more so. Here was a beautiful woman, by act and look showing a tender interest in him. Perplexing—but very flattering after all. So he replied:

"You will not let me refuse you any thing."

"Aha! you are vera willin to refuse. It is difficulty for me to excitare youar regards. You are fill with the grands ideas. But come—will you spik for me some from your favorit Watt?"

"Well, if you wish it so much," said the Senator, kindly, and he hesitated.

"Ah—I do wis it so much!"

"Ehem!"

"Begin," said the Countess. "Behold me. I listen. I hear everysin, and will remembaire it forava."

The only thing that the Senator could think of was the verse which had been running in his head for the last few days, its measured rhythm keeping time with every occupation:

"'My willing soul would stay—'"

"Stop one moment," said the Countess. "I weesh to learn it from you;" and she looked fondly and tenderly up, but instantly dropped her eyes.

"'Ma willina sol wooda sta—'"

"In such a frame as this,'" prompted the Senator.

"'Een socha framas zees.' Wait—'Ma willina sol wooda sta in socha framas zees.' Ah, appropriat! but could I hope zat you were true to zose lines, my Senator? Well?"

"'And sit and sing herself away,'" said the Senator, in a faltering voice, and breaking out into a cold perspiration for fear of committing himself by such uncommonly strong language.

"'Ansit ansin hassaf awai,'" repeated the Countess, her face lighting up with a sweetly conscious expression.

The Senator paused.

"Well?"

"I—ehem! I forget."

"Forget? Impossible!"

"I do really."

"Ah now! Forget? I see by youar face—you desave. Say on."

The Countess again gently touched his arm with both of her little hands, and held it as though she would clasp it.

"Have you fear? Ah, cruel!"

The Senator turned pale, but finding refusal impossible, boldly finished:

"'To everlasting bliss'—there!"

"'To affarlastin blees thar.' Stop. I repeat it all: 'My willina sol wooda sta in socha framas zees, ansit ansin hassaf awai to affarlastin blees thar.' Am I right?"

"Yes," said the Senator, meekly.

"I knew you war a poetic sola," said the Countess, confidingly. "You air honesto—true—you can not desave. When you spik I can beliv you. Ah, my Senator! an you can spik zis poetry!—at soch a taime! I nefare knew befoare zat you was so impassione!—an you air so artaful! You breeng ze confersazione to beauty—to poatry—to ze poet Watt—so you may spik verses mos impassione! Ah! What do you mean? Santissima madre! how I wish you spik Italiano."

The Countess drew nearer to him, but her approach only deepened his perplexity.

"How that poor thing does love me!" sighed the Senator. "Law bless it! she can't help it—can't help it nohow. She is a goner; and what can I do? I'll have to leave Florence. Oh, why did I quit Buttons! Oh, why—"

The Countess was standing close beside him in a tender mood waiting for him to break the silence. How could he? He had been uttering words which sounded to her like love; and she—"a widow! a widow! wretched man that I am!"

There was a pause. The longer it lasted the more awkward the Senator felt. What upon earth was he to do or say? What business had he to go and quote poetry to widows? What an old fool he must be! But the Countess was very far from feeling awkward. Assuming an elegant attitude she looked up, her face expressing the tenderest solicitude.

"What ails my Senator?"

"Why the fact is, marm—I feel sad—at leaving Florence. I must go shortly. My wife has written summoning me home. The children are down with the measles."

Oh, base fabrication! Oh, false Senator! There wasn't a word of truth in that remark. You spoke so because you wished La Cica to know that you had a wife and family. Yet it was very badly done.

La Cica changed neither her attitude nor her expression. Evidently the existence of his wife, and the melancholy situation of his unfortunate children, awaked no sympathy.

"But, my Senator—did you not say you wooda seeng yousellef away to affarlasteen belees?"

"Oh, marm, it was a quotation—only a quotation."

But at this critical juncture the conversation was broken up by the arrival of a number of ladies and gentlemen.

But could the Senator have known!

Could he but have known how and where those words would confront him again!



CHAPTER XLIV.

"MORERE DIAGORA, NON ENIM IN COELUM ADSCENSURUS ES."—THE APOTHEOSIS OF THE SENATOR (NOTHING LESS—IT WAS A MOMENT IN WHICH A MAN MIGHT WISH TO DIE—THOUGH, OF COURSE, THE SENATOR DIDN'T DIE).

Strolling through the streets day by day Buttons and Dick beheld the triumph of the Senator. They gazed on it from afar, and in amazement saw their old companion suddenly lifted up to a position which they could not hope to gain. The companion of nobles—the associate of beaux esprits—the friend of the wealthy, the great, and the proud; what in the world was the cause of this sudden, this unparalleled leap forward to the very highest point of honor? Who, in the name of goodness, was that dashing woman with whom he was always driving about? Who were those fair ladies with whom he was forever promenading? Plainly the chief people of the land; but how the mischief did he get among them? They were bewildered even though the half of the truth had not begun to dawn upon their minds. They never saw him to ask him about it, and for some time only looked upon him from a distance.

"Do you give it up?" asked Buttons.

"I give it up."

"And I too."

"At any rate the United States might have many a worse representative."

"But I wonder how he can get along. How can he manage to hold his own among these refined, over-cultivated, fastidious Florentines?"

"Goodness knows!"

"A common school New England education can scarcely fit a man for intercourse with polished Italians. The granite hills of New Hampshire have never been famous for producing men of high breeding. That is not their specialty."

"Besides, our good friend can not speak a single word of any language but his own."

"And frequently fails in that."

"He hasn't the remotest glimmering of an idea about Art."

"Not of the Fine Arts, but in the useful arts he is immense."

"He looks upon Italy as he would upon a field of stumps—a place to be cleared, broken up, brought under cultivation, and made productive."

"Yes, productive in cotton factories and Yankee notions."

"What in the world can keep up his reputation among the most poetic and least utilitarian people in the world?"

"There's the mystery!"

"The beauty of it is he goes as much with the English as with the Italians. Can he keep up his vernacular among them and still preserve the charm?"

"Well, whatever is the secret. I glory in it. I believe in him. He is a man. A more noble-hearted, sincere, upright, guileless soul never lived. Besides, he knows thoroughly what he has gone over."

"He is as generous a soul as ever lived."

"Yes, a stiff utilitarian in theory, but in practice an impulsive sentimentalist."

"He would legislate according to the most narrow and selfish principles, but would lay down his life for his friend."

"Think of him at Perugia!"

"Yes; the man himself with his brave soul and invincible courage. Didn't he fight? Methinks he did!"

"If it hadn't been for him it is extremely probable that you and I would now have been—well, certainly not just here."

Talking thus, the two young men walked up toward the Palazzo Vecchio. They noticed that the busy street through which they passed was filled with an unusual multitude, who were all agitated with one general and profound excitement, and were all hurrying in one direction. The sight awakened their interest. They went on with the stream. At every step the crowd increased. At every street new throngs poured in to join the vast multitude.

Confused murmurs rose into the air. Hasty words passed from mouth to month. They were unintelligible. They could only distinguish broken sentences—words unknown—Cavriana—Mincio—Tedeschi —Napoleone—Spia d'ltalia. What was it all about? They could not guess. Evidently some mighty national event had occurred, which was of overwhelming importance. For the entire city had turned out, and now, as they entered the great square in front of the Palazzo Vecchio, an astonishing sight burst upon their view. A vast multitude filled the square to overflowing. Load cries arose. Shouts of a thousand kinds all blending together into one deafening roar, and rising on high like the thunder of a cataract:

"Vittoria!" "Vittoria!" "Cavriana!" "I Francesi!" "Viva l'Italia!" "Viva Vittore Emmannele! il nostro Re!" "Viva!" "Viva!" "VIVA!!!" Words like these rose all around, mingled with thousands of similar exclamations. At length there was distinguished one word. It was passed from man to man, more frequently uttered, gathering as it passed, adding new volumes of meaning to its own sonorous sound, till at last all other words were drowned in that one grand word, which to this rejoicing multitude was the lyre of glorious victory, the promise of endless triumphs for regenerated Italy:

"SOLFERINO!"



"Solferino!" They did not know then, as they listened, the full meaning of that eloquent word. But on mingling with the shouting crowd they soon learned it all: how the accursed Tedeschi had summoned all their energy to crush forever the array of liberty; how the Kaisar himself came from beyond the mountains to insure his triumph; how the allied armies had rushed upon their massive columns and beaten them back; how, hour after hour, the battle raged, till at last the plain for many a league was covered with the wounded and the dead: how the wrongs of ages were crowded together in the glorious vengeance of that day of days; how Victory hovered over the invincible banners of Italy; how the Tedeschi fled, routed, over the river, no more to cross it as masters; how the hopes of Italy arose immortal from that one day's terrific slaughter; how Liberty was now forever secured, and a Kingdom of Italy under an Italian King.

"Viva Italia!" "Viva Luigi Napoleone!" "Vira Garibaldi!" "Viva Vittore Eramanuele Re d'Italia!"

In great moments of popular excitement people do not talk to one another. They rhapsodize; and the Italians more than any other people. Hence the above.



Buttons and Dick clambered up to the recess of a window and contemplated the scene. There was the innumerable crowd; swaying, embracing, laughing, weeping, shouting, cheering. High in the air waved hundreds of banners; and the tri-color flaunted in ribbons, from thousands of breasts, or shone in rosettes, or gleamed in flowers. Ever and anon loud trumpet blasts arose triumphantly on high; in the distance victorious strains came swelling up front bands hurried there to express in thrilling music what words could never utter; while all around the whole air rang with the thunder of cannon that saluted the triumph of Solferino.

"Look there! Look! LOOK!" cried Dick.

He pointed to the large portico which is on the right of the Palazzo Vecchio. Buttons looked as he was directed.

He saw a great assemblage of ladies and gentlemen, the chief people of the Tuscan state. From this place those announcements had been made which had set the people wild with joy. There were beautiful ladies whose flashed faces and suffused eyes bore witness to their deep emotion. There were noble gentlemen whose arms still waved in the air as they cheered for Italy. And there, high above all others, rose a familiar figure—the massive shoulders, the calm, shrewd, square face, the benignant glance and smile, which could belong only to one person.

"The Senator!" cried Buttons.

Every body was looking in that direction. The impulsive crowd having celebrated abstract ideas, were now absolutely hungering for some tangible object upon which to expend something of the warmth of their feelings. A few who stood near the Senator and were impressed by his aspect, as soon as all the news had been made known, gave expression and direction to the feeling by shouting his name. As they shouted others took up the cry, louder, louder, and louder still, till his name burst forth in one sublime sound from thirty thousand lips.

No wonder that he started at such an appeal. He turned and looked upon the crowd. An ordinary man would have exhibited either confusion or wonder. The Senator, being an extraordinary man, exhibited neither. As he turned a vast roar burst from the multitude.

"Good Heavens!" cried Buttons; "what's in the wind now? Will this be a repetition of the scene in the Place Vendome?"

"Hush!"

The crowd saw before them the man whose name and fame had been the subject of conjecture, wonder, applause, and hope for many days. They beheld in him the Representative of a mighty nation, sent to give them the right hand of fellowship, and welcome their country among the great powers of the earth. In him they saw the embodiment of America!

"Viva!" burst through the air. "The American Embassador!" "Hurrah for the American Embassador!" "The Plenipotentiary Extraordinary!" "He comes to crown our triumph!" "Hurrah for America!" "Free, generous America!" "The first nation to welcome Italy!" "Hurrah!" "This is the time!" "He will speak!" "Silence!" "Silence!" "He rises!" "Lo!" "He looks at us!" "Silence!" "Listen to the Most Illustrious Plenipotentiary Extraordinary!" "Hush! AMERICA SPEAKS!"

Such shouts and exclamations as these burst forth, with many others to the same effect. The crowd in front of the portico where the Senator stood—were almost uncontrollable in their excitement. The Senator rose to the greatness of the occasion. Here was a chance to Speak—to utter forth the deep sympathy of his countrymen with every down-trodden people striving for freedom. He turned to face them and held out his hand. At once the immense assemblage was hushed to silence.

The Senator took off his hat. Never before did he look as he looked now. The grandeur of the occasion had sublimed his usually rugged features into majesty. He looked like the incarnation of a strong, vigorous, invincible people.

The Senator spoke:

"Men of Italy!"

"In the name of the Great Republic!—I congratulate you on this glorious victory! It is a triumph of Liberty!—of the principles of '76!—of the immortal idees!—for which our forefathers fought and died!—at Lexington!—at Bunker Hill!—and at a thousand other places in the great and glorious Revolution!"

The Senator paused. This was enough. It had been spoken in English. The Italians did not of course understand a word, yet they comprehended all his meaning. As he paused there burst forth a shout of joy such as is heard only once in a life-time; shout upon shout. The long peals of sound rose up and spread far away over the city. The vast crowd vibrated like one man to the impulse of the common enthusiasm.

It was too great to last. They rushed to the carriage of La Cica. They unharnessed the horses. They led the Senator to it and made him enter. They flung their tri-colors in. They threw flowers on his lap. They wound the flag of Italy around the carriage. A thousand marched before it. Thousands more walked beside and behind. They drew him up to his hotel in triumph, and the band struck up the thrilling strain of "Yankee Doodle!"

It would be unfair not to render justice to La Cica. She bore the scene admirably. Her beaming face, and lustrous eyes, and heaving bosom, and majestic air, showed that she appropriated to herself all the honor thus lavished upon the Senator. It was a proud moment for La Cica.

"Dick," said Buttons, as they descended from their perch.

"Well?"

"How do you feel now?"

"Obliterated. I do not exist. I was once a blot. I am expunged. There is no such thing as Dick."

"Who could have imagined this?"

"And how he bore it! The Senator is a great man. But come. Don't let us speak for an hour, for we are both unable to talk coherently."

From patriotic motives the two young men walked behind the Senator's carriage and cheered all the way.

Upon arriving at their lodgings in the evening they stationed themselves at the window and looked out upon the illuminated scene. Dick, finding his emotions too strong to be restrained, took his trombone and entertained a great crowd for hours with all the national airs he knew.



CHAPTER XLV.

THE PRIVATE OPINION OF THE DOCTOR ABOUT FOREIGN TRAVEL.—BUTTONS STILL MEETS WITH AFFLICTIONS.

"The Italians, of at any rate the people of Florence, have just about as much cuteness as you will find anywhere."

Such was the dictum of the Senator in a conversation with his companions after rejoining them at the hotel. They had much to ask; he had much to tell. Never had he been more critical, more approbative. He felt now that he thoroughly understood the Italian question, and expressed himself in accordance with his consciousness.

"Nothing does a feller so much good," said he, "as mixing in all grades of society. It won't ever do to confine our observation to the lower class. We must mingle with the upper crust, who are the leaders of the people."

"Unfortunately," said Buttons, "we are not all Senators, so we have to do the best we can with our limited opportunities."

They had been in Florence long enough, and now the general desire was to go on. Mr. Figgs and the Doctor had greatly surprised the Senator by informing him that they did not intend to go any further.

And why not?

"Well, for my own part," said Mr. Figgs, "the discomforts of travel are altogether too great. It would not be so bad in the winter, but think how horribly hot it is. What is my condition? That of a man slowly suffocating. Think how fat I am. Even if I had the enthusiasm of Dick, or the fun of Buttons, my fat would force me to leave. Can you pretend to be a friend of mine and still urge me to go further? And suppose we passed over into Austrian territory. Perhaps we might be unmolested, but it is doubtful. Suppose, for the sake of argument, that we were arrested and detained. Imagine us—imagine me shut up in a room—or worse, a cell—in the month of July in midsummer, in the hottest part of this burning fiery furnace of a country! What would be left of me at the end of a week, or at the end of even one day? What? A grease spot! A grease spot! Not a bit more, by Jingo!"



After this speech, which was for him one of extraordinary length and vigor, Mr. Figgs fell exhausted into his chair.

"But you, Doctor," said the Senator, seeing that Mr. Figgs was beyond the reach of persuasion—"you—what reason is there for you to leave? You are young, strong, and certainly not fat."

"No, thank heaven! it is not the heat, or the fear of being suffocated in an Austrian dungeon that influences me."

"What, is the reason?"

"These confounded disturbances," said the Doctor languidly.

"Disturbances?"

"Yes. I hear that the road between this and Bologna swarms with vagabonds. Several diligences have been robbed. I heard a story which shows this state of things. A band of men entered the theatre of a small town along the road while the inhabitants were witnessing the play. At first the spectators thought it was part of the performance. They were soon undeceived. The men drew up in line in front of the stage and levelled their pieces. Then fastening the doors, they sent a number of men around through the house to plunder the whole audience. Not content with this they made the authorities of the town pay a heavy ransom."

"Some one has been humbugging you, Doctor," said Buttons.

"I had it from good authority," said the Doctor, calmly. "These fellows call themselves Revolutionists, and the peasantry sympathize with them."

"Well, if we meet with them there will be a little additional excitement."

"Yes, and the loss of our watches and money."

"We can carry our money where they won't find it, and our bills of exchange are all right, you know."

"I think none of you will accuse me of want of courage. If I met these fellows you know very well that I would go in for fighting them. But what I do object to is the infernal bother of being stopped, detained, or perhaps sent back. Then if any of us got wounded we would be laid up for a month or so. That's what I object to. If I had to do it it would be different, but I see no necessity."

"You surely want to see Lombardy?"

"No, I don't."

"Not Bologna?"

"No."

"Ferrara?"

"No."

"Do you mean to say that you don't want to see Venice and Milan?"

"Haven't the remotest desire to see either of the places. I merely wish to get back again to Paris. It's about the best place I've seen yet, except, of course, my native city, Philadelphia. That I think is without an equal. However, our minds are made up. We don't wish to change your plans—in fact, we never thought it possible. We are going to take the steamer at Leghorn for Marseilles, and go on to Paris."

"Well, Doctor," said Dick, "will you do me one favor before you go?"

"With pleasure. What is it?"

"Sell me your pistol."

"I can't sell it," said the Doctor. "It was a present to me. But I will be happy to lend it to you till we meet again in Paris. We will be sure to meet there in a couple of months at the furthest."

The Doctor took out his pistol and handed it to Dick, who thankfully received it.

"Oh, Buttons," said the Senator, suddenly, "I have good news for you. I ought to have told you before."

"Good news? what?"

"I saw the Spaniards."

"The Spaniards!" cried Buttons, eagerly, starting up. "Where did you see them? When? Where are they? I have scoured the whole town."

"I saw them at a very crowded assembly at the Countess's. There was such a scrouging that I could not get near them. The three were there. The little Don and his two sisters."

"And don't you know any thing about them?"

"Not a hooter, except something that the Countess told me. I think she said that they were staying at the villa of a friend of hers."

"A friend? Oh, confound it all! What shall I do?"

"The villa is out of town."

"That's the reason why I never could see them. Confound it all, what shall I do?"

"Buttons," said the Senator, gravely, "I am truly sorry to see a young man like you so infatuated about foreign women. Do not be offended, I mean it kindly. She may be a Jesuit in disguise; who knows? And why will you put yourself to grief about a little black-eyed gal that don't know a word of English? Believe me, New England is wide, and has ten thousand better gals than ever she began to be. If you will get in love wait till you get home and fall in love like a Christian, a Republican, and a Man."

But the Senator's words had no effect. Buttons sat for a few moments lost in thought. At length he rose and quietly left the room. It was about nine in the morning when he left. It was about nine in the evening when he returned. He looked dusty, fatigued, fagged, and dejected. He had a long story to tell and was quite communicative. The substance of it was this: On leaving the hotel he had gone at once to La Cica's residence, and had requested permission to see her. He could not till twelve. He wandered about and called again at that hour. She was very amiable, especially on learning that he was a friend of the Senator, after whom she asked with deep interest. Nothing could exceed her affability. She told him all that she knew about the Spaniards. They were stopping at the villa of a certain friend of hers whom she named. It was ten miles from the city. The friend had brought them to the assembly. It was but for a moment that she had seen them. She wished for his sake that she had learned more about them. She trusted that he would succeed in his earnest search. She should think that they might still be in Florence, and if he went out at once he might see them. Was this his first visit to Florence? How perfectly he had the Tuscan accent; and why had he not accompanied his friend the Senator to her salon? But it would be impossible to repeat all that La Cica said.



Buttons went out to the villa at once; but to his extreme disgust found that the Spaniards, had left on the preceding day for Bologna. He drove about the country for some distance, rested his horses, and took a long walk, after which he returned.

Their departure for Bologna on the following morning was a settled thing. The diligence started early. They had pity on the flesh of Figgs and the spirit of the Doctor. So they bade them good-bye on the evening before retiring.



CHAPTER XLVI.

A MEMORABLE DRIVE.—NIGHT.—THE BRIGANDS ONCE MORE.—GARIBALDI'S NAME.—THE FIRE.—THE IRON BAR.—THE MAN FROM THE GRANITE STATE AND HIS TWO BOYS.

"The great beauty of this pistol is a little improvement that I have not seen before."

And Dick proceeded to explain.

"Here is the chamber with the six cavities loaded. Now, you see, when you wish, you touch this spring and out pops the butt."

"Well?"

"Very well. Here I have another chamber with six cartridges: It's loaded, the cartridges are covered with copper and have detonating powder at one end. As quick as lightning I put this on, and there you have the pistol ready to be fired again six times."

"So you have twelve shots?"

"Yes."

"And cartridges to spare?"

"The Doctor gave me all that he had, about sixty, I should think."

"You have enough to face a whole army—"

"Precisely—and in my coat-pocket."

This conversation took place in the banquette of the diligence that conveyed Dick, Buttons, and the Senator from Florence to Bologna. A long part of the journey had been passed over. They were among the mountains.

"Do you expect to use that?" asked the Senator, carelessly.

"I do."

"You believe these stories then?"

"Yes; don't you?"

"Certainly."

"So do I," said Buttons. "I could not get a pistol; but I got this from an acquaintance."

And he drew from his pocket an enormous bowie-knife.

"Bowie-knives are no good," said the Senator. "Perhaps they may do if you want to assassinate; but for nothing else. You can't defend yourself. I never liked it. It's not American. It's not the direct result of our free institutions."

"What have you then?"

"This," said the Senator.

And he lifted up a crow-bar from the front of the coach. Brandishing it in the air as easily as an ordinary man would swing a walking-stick. He looked calmly at his astonished companions.

"You see," said he, "there are several reasons why this is the best sort of weapon for me. A short knife is no use. A sword is no good, for I don't know the sword exercise. A gun is worthless; I would fire it off once and then have to use it as a club. It would then be apt to break. That would be disagreeable—especially in the middle of a fight. A stick or club of any kind would be open to the same objection. What, then, is the weapon for me? Look at me. I am big, strong, and active. I have no skill. I am brute strength. So a club is my only weapon—a club that won't break. Say iron, then. There you have it."

And the Senator swung the ponderous bar around in a way that showed the wisdom of his choice.

"You are about right," said Buttons. "I venture to say you'll do as much mischief with that as Dick will with his pistol. Perhaps more. As for me, I don't expect to do much. Still, if the worst comes, I'll try to do what I can."

"We may not have to use them," said the Senator. "Who are below?"

"Below?"

"In the coach?"

"Italians."

"Women?"

"No, all men. Two priests, three shop-keeper-looking persons, and a soldier."

"Ah! Why, we ought to be comparatively safe."

"Oh, our number is not any thing. The country is in a state of anarchy. Miserable devils of half-starved Italians swarm along the road, and they will try to make hay while the sun shines. I have no doubt we will be stopped half a dozen times before we get to Bologna."

"I should think," said the Senator, indignantly, "that if these chaps undertake to govern the country—these republican chaps—they had ought to govern it. What kind of a way is this to leave helpless travellers at the mercy of cut-throats and assassins?"

"They think," said Buttons, "that their first duty is to secure independence, and after that they will promote order."

"The Florentines are a fine people—a people of remarkable cuteness and penetration; but it seems to me that they are taking things easy as far as fighting is concerned. They don't send their soldiers to the war, do they?"

"Well, no, I suppose they think their army may be needed nearer home. The Grand Duke has long arms yet; and knows how to bribe."

By this time they were among the mountain forests where the scenery was grander, the air cooler, the sky darker, than before. It was late in the day, and every mile increased the wildness of the landscape and the thickness of the gloom. Further and further, on they went till at least they came to a winding-place where the road ended at a gully over which there was a bridge. On the bridge was a barricade. They did not see it until they had made a turn where the road wound, where at once the scene burst on their view.

The leaders reared, the postillions swore, the driver snapped his whip furiously. The passengers in "coupe," "rotonde," and "interieure" popped out their heads, the passengers on the "banquette" stared, until at last, just as the postillions were dismounting to reconnoitre, twelve figures rose up from behind the barricade, indistinct in the gloom, and bringing their rifles to their shoulders took aim.

The driver yelled, the postillions shouted, the passengers shrieked. The three men in the banquette prepared for a fight. Suddenly a loud voice was heard from behind. They looked. A number of men stood there, and several more were leaping out from the thick woods on the right. They were surrounded. At length one of the men came forward from behind.

"You are at our mercy," said he. "Whoever gives up his money may go free. Whoever resists dies. Do you hear?"

Meanwhile the three men in the banquette had piled some trunks around, and prepared to resist till the last extremity. Dick was to fire; Buttons to keep each spare butt loaded; the Senator to use his crow-bar on the heads of any assailants. They waited in silence. They heard the brigands rummaging through the coach below, the prayers of the passengers, their appeals for pity, their groans at being compelled to give up every thing.

"The cowards don't deserve pity!" cried the Senator. "There are enough to get up a good resistance. We'll show fight, anyhow!"



Scarcely had he spoke when three or four heads appeared above the edge of the coach.

"Haste!—your money!" said one.

"Stop!" said Buttons. "This gentleman is the American Plenipotentiary Extraordinary, who has just come from Florence, and is on his way to communicate with Garibaldi."

"Garibaldi!" cried the man, in a tone of deep respect.

"Yes," said Buttons, who had not miscalculated the effect of that mighty name. "If you harm us or plunder us you will have to settle your account with Garibaldi—that's all!"

The man was silent. Then he leaped down, and in another moment another man came.

"Which is the American Plenipotentiary Extraordinary?"

"He," said Buttons, pointing to the Senator.

"Ah! I know him. It is the same. I saw him at his reception in Florence, and helped to pull his carriage."

The Senator calmly eyed the brigand, who had respectfully taken off his hat.

"So you are going to communicate with Garibaldi at once. Go in peace! Gentlemen every one of us fought under Garibaldi at Rome. Ten years ago he disbanded a large number of us among these mountains. I have the honor to inform you that ever since that time I have got my living out of the public, especially those in the service of the Government. You are different. I like you because you are Americans. I like you still better because you are friends of Garibaldi. Go in peace! When you see the General tell him Giuglio Malvi sends his respects."

And the man left them. In about a quarter of an hour the barricade was removed, and the passengers resumed their seats with lighter purses but heavier hearts. The diligence started, and once more went thundering along the mountain road.

"I don't believe we've seen the last of these scoundrels yet," said Buttons.

"Nor I," said Dick.

A general conversation followed. It was late, and but few things were visible along the road. About two hours passed away without any occurrence.

"Look!" cried Dick, suddenly.

They looked.

About a quarter of a mile ahead a deep red glow arose above the forest, illumining the sky. The windings of the road prevented them from seeing the cause of it. The driver was startled, but evidently thought it was no more dangerous to go on than to stop. So he lashed up his horses and set them off at a furious gallop. The rumble of the ponderous wheels shut out all other sounds. As they advanced the light grew more vivid.

"I shouldn't wonder," said the Senator, "if we have another barricade here. Be ready, boys! We won't get off so easily this time."

The other two said not a word. On, and on. The report of a gun suddenly roused all. The driver lashed his horses. The postillions took the butts of their riding-whips and pelted the animals. The road took a turn, and, passing this a strange scene burst upon their sight.

A wide, open space on the road-side, a collection of beams across the road, the shadowy forms of about thirty men, and the whole scene dimly lighted by a smouldering fire. As it blazed up a little the smoke rolled off and they saw as overturned carriage, two horses tied to a tree, and two men with their hands bound behind them lying on the ground.

A voice rang out through the stillness which for a moment followed the sudden stoppage of the coach at the barrier. There came a wail from the frightened passengers within—cries for mercy—piteous entreaties.

"Silence, fools!" roared the same voice, which seemed to be that of the leader.

"Wait! wait!" said the Senator to his companions. "Let me give the word."

A crowd of men advanced to the diligence, and as they left the fire Buttons saw three figures left behind—two women and a man. They did not move. But suddenly a loud shriek burst from one of the women. At the shriek Buttons trembled.

"The Spaniards! It is! I know the voice! My God!"

In an instant Buttons was down on the ground and in the midst of the crowd of brigands who surrounded the coach.

Bang! bang! bang! It was not the guns of the brigands, but Dick's pistol that now spoke, and its report was the signal of death to three men who rolled upon the ground in their last agonies. As the third report burst forth the Senator hurled himself down upon the heads of those below. The action of Buttons had broken up all their plans, rendered parley impossible, and left nothing for them to do but to follow him and save him. The brigands rushed at them with a yell of fury.

"Death to them! Death to them all! No quarter!"

"Help!" cried Buttons. "Passengers, we are armed! We can save ourselves!"

But the passengers, having already lost their money, now feared to lose their lives. Not one responded. All about the coach the scene became one of terrible confusion. Guns were fired, blows fell in every direction. The darkness, but faintly illuminated by the fitful firelight, prevented the brigands from distinguishing their enemies very clearly—a circumstance which favored the little band of Americans.

The brigands fired at the coach, and tried to break open the doors. Inside the coach the passengers, frantic with fear, sought to make their voices heard amid the uproar. They begged for mercy; they declared they had no money; they had already been robbed; they would give all that was left; they would surrender if only their lives were spared.

"And, oh! good Americans, yield, yield, or we all die!"

"Americans?" screamed several passionate voices. "Death to the Americans! Death to all foreigners!"

These bandits were unlike the last.

Seated in the banquette Dick surveyed the scene, while himself concealed from view. Calmly he picked out man after man and fired. As they tried to climb up the diligence, or to force open the door, they fell back howling. One man had the door partly broken open by furious blows with the butt of his gun. Dick fired. The ball entered his arm. He shrieked with rage. With his other arm he seized his gun, and again his blows fell crashing. In another instant a ball passed into his brain.

"Two shots wasted on one man! Too much!" muttered Dick; and taking aim again he fired at a fellow who was just leaping up the other side. The wretch fell cursing.

Again! again! again! Swiftly Dick's shots flashed around. He had now but one left in his pistol. Hurriedly he filled the spare chamber with six cartridges, and taking out the other he filled it and placed it in again. He looked down.



There was the Senator. More than twenty men surrounded him, firing, swearing, striking, shrieking, rushing forward, trying to tear him from his post. For he had planted himself against the fore-part of the diligence, and the mighty arm whose strength had been so proved at Perugia was now descending again with irresistible force upon the heads of his assailants. All this was the work of but a few minutes. Buttons could not be seen. Dick's preparations were made. For a moment he waited for a favorable chance to get down. He could not stay up there any longer. He must stand by the Senator.

There stood the Senator, his giant form towering up amidst the melee, his muscular arms wielding the enormous iron bar, his astonishing strength increased tenfold by the excitement of the fight. He never spoke a word.

One after another the brigands went down before the awful descent of that iron bar. They clung together; they yelled in fury; they threw themselves en masse against the Senator. He met them as a rock meets a hundred waves. The remorseless iron bar fell only with redoubled fury. They raised their clubbed muskets in the air and struck at him. One sweep of the iron bar and the muskets were dashed out of their hands, broken or bent, to the ground. They fired, but from their wild excitement their aim was useless. In the darkness they struck at one another. One by one the number of his assailants lessened—they grew more furious but less bold. They fell back a little; but the Senator advanced as they retired, guarding his own retreat, but still swinging his iron bar with undiminished strength. The prostrate forms of a dozen men lay around. Again they rushed at him. The voice of their leader encouraged them and shamed their fears. He was a stoat, powerful man, armed with a knife and a gun.



"Cowards! kill this one! This is the one! All the rest will yield if we kill him. Forward!"

That moment Dick leaped to the ground. The next instant the brigands leaped upon them. The two were lost in the crowd. Twelve reports, one after the other, rang into the air. Dick did not fire till the muzzle of his pistol was against his enemy's breast. The darkness, now deeper than ever, prevented him from being distinctly seen by the furious crowd, who thought only of the Senator. But now the fire shooting up brightly at the sudden breath of a strong wind threw a lurid light upon the scene.

There stood Dick, his clothes torn, his face covered with blood, his last charge gone. There stood the Senator, his face blackened with smoke and dust, and red with blood, his colossal form erect, and still the ponderous bar swung on high to fall as terribly as ever. Before him were eight men. Dick saw it all in an instant. He screamed to the passengers in the diligence:

"There are only eight left! Come! Help us take them prisoners! Haste!"

The cowards in the diligence saw how things were. They plucked up courage, and at the call of Dick jumped out. The leader of the brigands was before Dick with uplifted rifle. Dick flung his pistol at his head. The brigand drew back and felled Dick senseless to the ground. The next moment the Senator's arm descended, and, with his head broken by the blow, the robber fell dead.

As though the fall of Dick had given him fresh fury, the Senator sprang after the others. Blow after blow fell. They were struck down helplessly as they ran. At this moment the passengers, snatching up the arms of the prostrate bandits, assaulted those who yet remained. They fled. The Senator pursued—long enough to give each one a parting blow hard enough to make him remember it for a month. When he returned the passengers were gathering around the coach, with the driver and postillions, who had thus far hidden themselves, and were eagerly looking at the dead.

"Off!" cried the Senator, in an awful voice—"Off; you white-livered sneaks! Let me find my two boys!"



CHAPTER XLVII.

BAD BRUISES, BUT GOOD MUSES.—THE HONORABLE SCABS OF DICK.—A KNOWLEDGE OF BONES.

The Senator searched long and anxiously among the fallen bandits for those whom he affectionately called his "boys." Dick was first found. He was senseless.

The Senator carried him to the fire. He saw two ladies and a gentleman standing there. Hurriedly he called on them and pointed to Dick. The gentleman raised his arms. They were bound tightly. The ladies also were secured in a similar manner. The Senator quickly cut the cords from the gentleman, who in his turn snatched the knife and freed the ladies, and then went to care for Dick.

The Senator then ran back to seek for Buttons.

The gentleman flung a quantity of dry brush on the fire, which at once blazed up and threw a bright light over the scene. Meanwhile the passengers were looking anxiously around as though they dreaded a new attack. Some of them had been wounded inside the coach and were groaning and cursing.

The Senator searched for a long time in vain. At last at the bottom of a heap of fallen brigands, whom the Senator had knocked over, he found Buttons. His face and clothes were covered with blood, his forehead was blackened as though by an explosion, his arm was broken and hung loosely as the Senator lifted him up. For a moment he thought that it was all over with him.

He carried him toward the fire. The appearance of the young man was terrible. He beckoned to one of the ladies. The lady approached. One look at the young man and the next instant, with a heart-rending moan, she flung herself on her knees by his side.

"The Spaniard!" said the Senator, recognizing her for the first time. "Ah! he'll be taken care of then."

There was a brook near by, and he hurried there for water. There was nothing to carry it in, so he took his beaver hat and filled it. Returning, he dashed it vigorously in Buttons's face. A faint sigh, a gasp, and the young man feebly opened his eyes. Intense pain forced a groan from him. In the hasty glance that he threw around he saw the face of Ida Francia as she bent over him bathing his brow, her face pale as death, her hand trembling, and her eyes filled with tears. The sight seemed to alleviate his pain. A faint smile crossed his lips. He half raised himself toward her.

"I've found you at last," he said, and that was all.

At this abrupt address a burning flush passed over the face and neck of the young girl. She bent down her head. Her tears flowed faster than ever.

"Don't speak," she said; "you are in too much pain."

She was right, for the next moment Buttons fell back exhausted.

The Senator drew a flask from his pocket and motioned to the young girl to give some to Buttons; and then, thinking that the attention of the Senorita would be far better than his, he hurried away to Dick.

So well had he been treated by the Don (whom the reader has of course already recognized) that he was now sitting up, leaning against the driver of the diligence, who was making amends for his cowardice during the fight by kind attention to Dick after it was over.

"My dear boy, I saw you had no bones broken," said the Senator, "and knew you were all right; so I devoted my first attention to Buttons. How do you feel?"

"Better," said Dick, pressing the honest hand which the Senator held out. "Better; but how is Buttons?"

"Recovering. But he is terribly bruised, and his arm is broken."

"His arm broken! Poor Buttons, what'll he do?"

"Well, my boy, I'll try what I can do. I've set an arm before now. In our region a necessary part of a good education was settin' bones."

Dick was wounded in several places. Leaving the Don to attend to him the Senator took his knife and hurriedly made some splints. Then getting his valise, he tore up two or three of his shirts. Armed with these he returned to Buttons. The Senorita saw the preparations, and, weeping bitterly, she retired.

"Your arm is broken, my poor lad," said the Senator. "Will you let me fix it for you? I can do it."

"Can you? Oh, then, I am all right! I was afraid I would have to wait till I got to Bologna."

"It would be a pretty bad arm by the time you got there, I guess," said the Senator. "But come—no time must be lost."

His simple preparations were soon made. Buttons saw that he knew what he was about. A few moments of excessive pain, which forced ill-suppressed moans from the sufferer, and the work was done.

After taking a sip from the flask both Buttons and Dick felt very much stronger. On questioning the driver they found that Bologna was not more than twenty miles away. The passengers were busily engaged in removing the barricade. It was decided that an immediate departure was absolutely necessary. At the suggestion of Dick, the driver, postillions, and passengers armed themselves with guns of the fallen brigands.

The severest wound which Dick had was on his head, which had been almost laid open by a terrific blow from the gun of the robber chief. He had also wounds on different parts of his body. Buttons had more. These the Senator bound up with such skill that he declared himself ready to resume his journey. Upon this the Don insisted on taking him into his own carriage. Buttons did not refuse.

At length they all started, the diligence ahead, the Don following. On the way the Don told Buttons how he had fared on the road. He had left Florence in a hired carriage the day before the diligence had left. He had heard nothing of the dangers of the road, and suspected nothing. Shortly after entering the mountain district they had been stopped and robbed of all their money. Still he kept on, thinking that there was no further danger. To his horror they were stopped again at the bridge, where the brigands, vexed at not getting any money, took all their baggage and let them go. They went on fearfully, every moment dreading some new misadventure. At length their worst fears were realized. At the place where the fight had occurred they were stopped and dragged from their carriage. The brigands were savage at not getting any plunder, and swore they would hold them prisoners till they procured a ransom, which they fixed at three thousand piastres. This was about four in the afternoon. They overturned the coach, kindled a fire, and waited for the diligence. They knew the rest.

Buttons, seated next to Ida Francia, forgot his sufferings. Meanwhile Dick and the Senator resumed their old seats on the banquette. After a while the Senator relapsed into a fit of musing, and Dick fell asleep.

Morning dawned and found them on the plain once more, only a few miles from Bologna. Far ahead they saw the lofty Leaning Tower that forms so conspicuous an object in the fine old city. Dick awaked, and on looking at the Senator was shocked to see him very pale, with an expression of pain. He hurriedly asked the cause.

"Why the fact is, after the excitement of fightin' and slaughterin' and seein' to you chaps was over I found that I was covered with wounds. One of my fingers is broken. I have three bullet wounds in my left arm, one in my right, a stab of a dirk in my right thigh, and a terrible bruise on my left knee. I think that some fellow must have passed a dagger through my left foot, for there is a cut in the leather, my shoe is full of blood and it hurts dreadful. It's my opinion that the Dodge Club will be laid up in Bologny for a fortnight.—Hallo!"

The Senator had heard a cry behind, and looked out. Something startled him. Dick looked also.

The Don's carriage was in confusion. The two Senoritas were standing up in the carriage wringing their hands. The Don was supporting Buttons in his arms. He had fainted a second time.



CHAPTER XLVIII.

SUFFERING AND SENTIMENT AT BOLOGNA.—MOONSHINE.—BEST BALM FOR WOUNDS.

They all put up at the same hotel. Buttons was carried in senseless, and it was long before he revived. The Senator and Dick were quite exhausted—stiff with fatigue, stiff with wounds.

There was one thing, however, which made their present situation more endurable. The war in Lombardy made farther progress impossible. They could not be permitted to pass the borders into Venetia. Even if they had been perfectly well they would have been compelled to wait there for a time.

The city was in a ferment. The delight which the citizens felt at their new-found freedom was mingled with a dash of anxiety about the result of the war. For, in spite of Solferino, it was probable that the tide of victory would be hurled back from the Quadrilateral. Still they kept up their spirits; and the joy of their hearts found vent in songs, music, processions. Roman candles, Te Deums, sky-rockets, volleys of cannon, masses, public meetings, patriotic songs, speeches, tri-colors, and Italian versions of "The Marseillaise."

In a short time the Senator was almost as well as ever. Not so Dick. After struggling heroically for the first day against his pain he succumbed, and on the morning of the second was unable to leave his bed.

The Senator would not leave him. The kind attention which he had once before shown in Rome was now repeated. He spent nearly all his time in Dick's room, talking to him when he was awake, and looking at him when asleep. Dick was touched to the heart.



The Senator thought that, without exception, Bologna was the best Italian city that he had seen. It had a solid look. The people were not such everlasting fools as the Neapolitans, the Romans, and the Florentines, who thought that the highest end of life was to make pictures and listen to music. They devoted their energies to an article of nourishment which was calculated to benefit the world. He alluded to the famous Bologna Sausage, and he put it to Dick seriously, whether the manufacture of a sausage which was so eminently adapted to sustain life was not a far nobler thing than the production of useless pictures for the pampered tastes of a bloated aristocracy.

Meanwhile Buttons fared differently. If he had been more afflicted he was now more blessed. The Don seemed to think that the sufferings of Buttons were caused by himself, or, at any rate, by the eagerness of the young man to come to the assistance of his sisters. He felt grateful accordingly, and spared no pain to give him assistance and relief. He procured the best medical advice in the city. For several days the poor fellow lay in a very dangerous condition, hovering between life and death. His wounds were numerous and severe, and the excitement afterward, with the fatigue of the ride, had made his situation worse. But a strong constitution was on his side, and he at length was able to leave his bed and his room.