ns reported of him by writers I do not believe a syllable. He
speaks very little; and, luckily for him, that little only with those on
whose integrity he can rely not to repeat him.

Cavour, who knew men thoroughly, and studied them just as closely as he
studied events, understood at once that Garibaldi was the man he wanted.
He needed one who should move the national heart--who, sprung from the
people himself, and imbued with all the instincts of his class, should
yet not dissever the cause of liberty from the cause of monarchy. To
attach Garibaldi to the throne was no hard task. The King, who led the
van of his army, was an idol made for such worship as Garibaldi's. The
monarch who could carry a knapsack and a heavy rifle over the cliffs
of Monte Rosa from sunrise to sunset, and take his meal of hard bread
before he "turned in" at night in a shepherd's shieling, was a King
after the bold buccaneer's own heart.

To what end inveigh against the luxuries of a court, its wasteful
splendours, or its costly extravagance, with such an example? This
strong-sinewed, big-boned, unpoetical King has been the hardest nut ever
republicanism had to crack!

It might be possible to overrate the services Garibaldi has rendered
to Italy--it would be totally impossible to exaggerate those he has
rendered the Monarchy; and out of Garibaldi's devotion to Victor
Emmanuel has sprung that hearty, honest, manly appreciation of the King
which the Italians unquestionably display. A merely political head of
the State, though he were gifted with the highest order of capacity,
would have disappeared altogether from view in the sun-splendour of
Garibaldi's exploits; not so the King Victor Emmanuel, who only shone
the brighter in the reflected blaze of the hero who was so proud to
serve him.

Yet for all that friendship, and all the acts that grew out of it,
natural and spontaneous as they are, one great mind was needed to guide,
direct, encourage, or restrain. It was Cavour who, behind the scenes,
pulled all the wires; and these heroes--heroes they were too--were but
his puppets.

Cavour died, and then came Aspromonte.

If any other man than Garibaldi had taken the present moment to make
a visit--an almost ostentatious visit--to Mazzini, it might be a grave
question how far all the warm enthusiasm of this popular reception could
be justified. Garibaldi is, however, the one man in Europe from whom
no one expects anything but impulsive action.