reserved force depicted on every line of it.
In the mien and carriage we had seen realized all that we had read and
heard of the air of one born to command.

Our hero wore the characteristic red shirt and gray trousers, and,
thrown over them, a short gray cloak faced with red. When without the
cloak, there might be seen, hanging upon the back, and fastened around
the throat, the party-colored kerchief usually appertaining to priestly
vestments.

Returning to Naples, and sitting that night at our window, with the most
beautiful of bays before us, we treasure up for perpetual recollection
the picture of Garibaldi at head-quarters.

GARIBALDI AT POMPEII.

It is Sunday, the 21st of October. We have to-day observed the people,
in the worst quarters of the city as well as in the best, casting their
ballots in an orderly and quiet manner, under the supervision of the
National Guard, for Victor Emmanuel as their ruler. To-morrow we have
set apart for exploring Pompeii, little dreaming what awaits us there.
Our friend, General J--n, of the British Army, learning that there is no
likelihood of active operations at "the front," proposes to join us in
our excursion.

We are seated in the restaurant at the foot of the acclivity which
leads to the exhumed city, when suddenly Antonio appears and exclaims,
"Garibaldi!" We look in the direction he indicates, and, in an avenue
leading from the railway, we behold the Patriot-Soldier of Italy
advancing toward us, accompanied by the Countess Pallavicini, the wife
of the Prodictator of Naples, and attended by General Turr, with several
others of his staff. We go out to meet them. General J--n, a warm
admirer of Garibaldi, gives him a cordial greeting, and presents us as
an American. We say a few words expressive of the sympathy entertained
by the American people for the cause of Italy and its apostle. He whom
we thus address, in his reply, professes his happiness in enjoying the
good wishes of Americans, and, gracefully turning to our friend, adds,
"I am grateful also for the sympathy of the English." The party then
pass on, and we are left with the glowing thought that we have grasped
the hand of Garibaldi.

Half an hour later, we are absorbed in examining one of the structures
of what was once Pompeii, when suddenly we hear martial music. We follow
the direction of the sound, and presently find ourselves in the ancient
forum. In the centre of the inclosure is a military band pl