at basking themselves on a bench in front of the
Dogana, with their muskets and bayonets glittering in the sun. They were
lads of about eighteen, of decidedly low stature, of square build, and
strongly muscular. They looked in capital condition, and gave every sign
that the air of Lombardy agreed with them, and that they had had their
own share at least of its corn and wine. They wore blue caps, gray
duffle greatcoats like those used by our Highlanders, light blue
pantaloons fitting closely their thick short leg, and boots which rose
above the ankle, and laced in front. The prevailing expression on their
broad swarthy faces was not ferocity, but stolidity. Their eyes were
dull, and contrasted strikingly with the dark fiery glances of the
children of the land. They seemed men of appetites rather than passions;
and, if guilty of cruel deeds, were likely to be so from the dull, cold,
unreflecting ferocity of the bull-dog, rather than from the warm
impulsive instincts of the nobler animals. In stature and feature they
were very much the barbarian, and were admirably fitted for being what
they were,--the tools of the despot. No wonder that the _ideal_ Italian
abominates the _Croat_.

The Dogana! So soon! 'Twas but a few miles on the other side of the
Ticino that we passed through this ordeal. But perhaps the river,
glorious as it looks, flowing from the democratic hills of the Swiss,
may have infected us with political pravity; so here again we must
undergo the search, and that not a mere _pro forma_ one. The _diligence_
vomits forth, at all its mouths, trunks, carpet-bags, and packages,
encased, some in velvet, some in fir-deals, and some in brown paper. The
multifarious heap was carried into the Dogana, and its various articles
unroped, unlocked, and their contents scattered about. One might have
thought that a great fair was about to begin, or that a great Industrial
Exhibition was to be opened on the banks of the Ticino. The hunt was
especially for books,--bad books, which England will perversely print,
and Englishmen perversely read. My little stock was collected, bound
together with a cord, and sent in to the chief douanier, who sat,
Radamanthus-like, in an inner apartment, to judge books, papers, and
persons. There is nothing there, thought I, to which even an Austrian
official can take exception. Soon I was summoned to follow my little
library. The man examined the collection volume by volume. At last he
lighted on a