for the stormy trouble of the hour in which he first saw the light-none the worse for his uneasy cradle on the saddle-bow-and none the worse for the scrimmage of last Saturday, when he led on the 9th to the rescue at Beccezza. His frame, apparently, is most athletic; his bearing erect and commanding. His dark hair and eyes suggest the creole blood: the impression is increased by bronzed and almost swarthy features. They say he is utterly intrepid-so much, at all events, his whole appearance suggests. Some would say there is too much of the bandit-chief in that defiant, almost reckless air; and truly he looks the ideal of a brigand of the nobler breed; but this is more than balanced by the thoroughly good natured smile on his lip, and by the extreme gallantry and openness of his whole bearing. He looked up to someone who spoke to him from an open window. "Ricciotti," said G- -, as I observed a very youthful figure in the uniform of the Guides, who began to talk to Menotti from the open window. Nothing could be more marked than the contrast between the brothers. Ricciotti looks even younger than he is. His youthful features and bright expression are the type of amiability and frank good nature, and speak of a courage as enthusiastic as his brother's, though perhaps less commanding. Admirers of Garibaldi would probably expect to find something out of the common in his offspring; and I don't think their appearance would disappoint even the highest of such expectations. IX. THE OUTPOSTS. slightest movement on the part of the enemy. The outpost is at a little hamlet, to which leads a path diverging upwards from the main road. We reach it in five minutes. Of late stray shot and shell more than once flew over these houses and ploughed up the gardens. The villagers still seem scared, and fluttered, like fowls after the swoop of a hawk. Their suspense is natural: any moment a gun may boom forth, saying that in half-an-hour or less bayonet and bullet may be plying their bloody work in this quiet street. A tremulous old man begs us to come into his garden and see where a bomb tore his fruit-trees, and furrowed his maize and potatoplots. But we pass on. This village, like the rest, has its little central piazza or "place." On one side all the able-bodied males of the population seem to be drawn up. They are silent, expectant, and some look rather sullen. The aged padré paces up and down among them. Opposite is the hall of the petty municipality : in this a large archway opens into a sort of vestibule, dark, ample, and cool. Just inside the archs' shade sit a circle of officers, silent too, and expectant. Outside two chargers are held by Tyrolese peasants, who, with large hazel boughs, assiduously flick away the flies that settle on the animals in their charge. A strange, listening silence pervades the place: the officers glance keenly, and frequently, upwards, in the direction of the old grey church. What are they looking at? Carry your eye just over the foot of the church, and on towards the more distant mountains. There is the blue smoke; there is the look-out's eyrie; there is the bivouac of red shirts. A weird, invisible link of mute intelligence seems to traverse the still air between that curling smoke and this silent square. A momentary expectation of some signal, of some announcement, sudden and brief, yet of unmistakeable import, rules the straining eye, the listening ear, the suspended breath. But here "amateurs" are only tolerated by an extreme stretch of courtesy, which we should be sorry to trespass on: so we leave the village and stroll back to Condino. The anticipated attack has not come off yet; but we can walk up the road to the outposts. Twenty minutes will take us there. On each side of the road are bivouacs, more contracted and compact than those previously described a great proportion of the men drawn up in line, but standing at ease. Soon we come upon a Heavy clouds are gathering as we return. couple of 24-pounders-beautiful brass-guns, In fine weather the climate in these mountains and rifled. They command a long, straight is delicious, though fiery-hot in midday. Fine piece of road in front, and look very business-weather hitherto we have had, and that is vastly like. We walk on: sentinels are posted at in favour of campaigning. But to-night prointervals of about a hundred yards. No one, mises to be of a rougher humour. The clouds except officers of a certain rank, passes them begin to hide the mountain-tops; but soon they without an order. We pass an Albergo, silent, gather up their misty skirts, and hang high. deserted. Its owners have been scared away by overhead in compact and gloomy masses. The the skirmishing at Condino, and the firing of storm threatens till nightfall; as we seek our yesterday. With our glasses we sweep the quarters it bursts in full fury. mountains on either side, and once or twice detect the red dots creeping slowly up a mountain path. A column of smoke directs our attention to a still higher bluff, that must overlook Lardaro itself, and command the whole country round and beyond. There we can make out a bivouac of red shirts. It is the look-out, par excellence, and from that airy, Alpine 'specula," lynx-like eyes are watching for the "Think of those poor fellows on the hill!" says Das from our window we watch the blue flashes, that at intervals disclose the mighty mountain outlines towards Lardaro and Trent. Suddenly, after one brilliant moment, a single red star seems to shine through the night from some rift in the clouds. Ah! it is the bivouacfire of the scouts. There it is, where, next moment, the lightning gives to full view the bold 66 outline of the bluff. There they are, without shelter-perhaps short of food and drink. The rain continues to descend heavily, but the lone red star still gleams like a meteor through the gloom. Pile on wood and heath, brave hearts!" Ah! it sinks-it is gone! No: "Viva Italia!" It glows again, red and strong. Another burst of thunder shakes the house, and a perfect waterspout seems to resound upon the roof. Anxiously we look forth the red star no longer streams through the darkness. We gaze and gaze again it rises no more. In soaking wet and darkness must gentle and plebeian, hale and feeble, crouch or stand through the night, with a doubtful prospect of breakfast in the morning, and a fair chance of subsequent The armistice is arranged, and for that and other reasons some of us (for the present at least) must say good-bye to the camp. No carriage to be had! After much research appears a long, light dray, drawn by a mule. Put the baggage in the middle; sit, stand, lie, or whatever you can, on and around it. D. -'s faithful Milanese displaces the driver, who lacks energy, and is sent to ride behind. The Lombard's tongue is even more persuasive than the stick he flourishes; and we rattle down the road at a fair speed, and with lots of excitement from the mule's heels, and from collisions actual or anticipated. Once more Condino, Storo, Caffaro, and its frontier bridge, Rocca d'Anfo, and the glassy lake. At Vestone we get supper and a better carriage, and journey on through the still moonlight. Morning dawns: Brescia once more receives us-Brescia, with its colonnades, ample and cool, its great fountains at every corner, with their huge basins. Our excursion is over. See! as we turn into this square, the marble statue of Italia meets our eyes, fresh from the sculptor's hand, dazzling white in the cold morning air. Her right hand grasps her spear, her left rests upon her shield; the rays of the rising sun illuminate the turretted crown upon her uplifted brow. THE DANDELION. BY JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. Dear common flower, that grow'st beside the way Fringing the dusty road with harmless gold; First pledge of blithesome May, Which children pluck, and full of pride, behold, High-hearted buccaneers, o'erjoyed that they An El Dorado in the grass have found, Which not the rich earth's ample round May match in wealth-thou art more dear to me Than all the prouder summer-blooms may be. Gold such as thine ne'er drew the Spanish prow Of age, to rob the lover's heart of ease. 'Tis the spring's largess, which she scatters now To rich and poor alike with lavish hand, Though most hearts never understand To take it at God's value, but pass by The offered wealth with unrewarded eye. Thou art my Tropics and mine Italy; To look at thee unlocks a warmer clime; The eyes thou givest me Are in the heart, and heed not space or time; Not in mid-June, the golden-cuirassed bee Feels a more summer-like, warm ravishment, In the white lily's breezy tent, His conquered Sybaris, than I, when first From the dark green thy yellow circles burst. Then think I of deep shadows on the grass- The gleaming rushes lean a thousand ways; Of leaves that slumber in a cloudy mass, Or whiten in the wind-or waters blue That from the distance sparkle through Some woodland gap-and of a sky above Where one white cloud like a stray lamb doth move. My childhood's earliest thoughts are linked with thee: Beside the door, sang clearly all day long; How like a prodigal doth Nature seem, When thou, for all thy gold, so common art! Thou teachest me to deem More sacredly of every human heart, And with a child's undoubting wisdom look THE MAN WITHOUT A COUNTRY. I suppose that very few casual readers of the New York Herald of August 13th, 1863, observed, in an obscure corner, among the Deaths," the announcement, "NOLAN.-Died on board U. S. Corvette Levant, lat. 2° 11' S., long. 131° W., on the 11th of May, PHILIP NOLAN. I happened to observe it, because I was stranded at the old Mission-House in Mackinac, waiting for a Lake-Superior steamer, which did did not choose to come, and I was devouring, to the very stubble, all the current literature I could get hold of, even down to the deaths and marriages in the Herald. My memory for names and people is good, and the reader will see, as he goes on, that I had reason enough to remember Philip Nolan. There are hundreds of readers who would have paused at that announcemennt, if the officer of the Levant who reported it had chosen to make it thus:Died, May 11th, THE MAN WITHOUT A COUNTRY." For it was as "The Man without a Country" that poor Philip Nolan had generally been known by the officers who had him in charge during some fifty years, as, indeed, by all the men who sailed under them. I dare say there is many a man who has taken wine with him once a fortnight, in a three years' cruise, who never knew that his name was "Nolan," or whether the poor wretch had any name at all. There can now be no possible harm in telling this poor creature's story. Reason enough there has been till now, ever since Madison's Administration went out in 1817, for very strict secrecy, the secrecy of honour itself, among the gentlemen of the navy who have had Nolan in successive charge. And certainly it speaks well for the esprit de corps of the profession and the personal honour of its members, that to the press this man's story has been wholly unknown-and, I think, to the country at large also. I have reason to think, from some investigations I made in the Naval Archives when I was attached to the Bureau of Construction, that every official report relating to him was burnt when Ross burned the public buildings at Washington. One of the Tuckers, or possibly one of the Watsons, had Nolan in charge at the end of the war; and when, on returning from his cruise, he reported at Washington to one of the Crowninshields-who was in the Navy Department when he came home-he found that the Department ignored the whole business. Whether they really knew nothing about it, or whether it was a "Non mi ricordo,' determined on as a piece of policy, I do not know. But this I do know that since 1817, and possibly before, no naval officer has mentioned Nolan in his report of a cruise. But, as I say, there is no need of secrecy any longer. And now the poor creature is dead, it seems to me worth while to tell a little of his story, by way of showing what it is to be A MAN WITHOUT A COUNTRY. Philip Nolan was as fine a young officer as there was in the "Legion of the West," as the western division of our army was then called. When Aaron Burr made his first dashing expedition down to New Orleans in 1805, at Fort Massac, or somewhere above on the river, he met, as the devil would have it, this gay, dashing, bright young fellow, at some dinner-party, I think. Burr marked him, talked to him, walked with him, took him a day or two's voyage in his flat-boat, and, in short, fascinated him. For the next year barrack-life was very tame to poor Nolan. He occasionally availed of the permission the great man had given him to write to him. Long, high-worded, stilted letters the poor boy wrote and re-wrote and copied. But never a line did he have in reply from the gay deceiver. The other boys in the garrison sneered at him, because he sacrificed in this unrequited affection for a politician the time which they devoted to Monongahela, sledge, and high-low-jack. Bourbon, euchre, and poker were still unknown. But one day Nolan had his revenge. This time Burr came down the river, not as an attorney seeking a place for his office, but as a disguised conqueror. He had defeated I know not how many districtattorneys; he had dined at I know not how many public dinners; he had been heralded at I know not how many Weekly Arguses; and it was rumoured that he had an army behind him and an empire before him. It was a great dayhis arrival-to poor Nolan. Burr he had not been at the fort an hour before he sent for him. That evening he asked Nolan to take him out in his skiff, to show him a canebrake or a cottonwood tree, as he said-really to seduce him; and by the time the sail was over, Nolan was enlisted body and soul. From that time, though he did not yet know it, he lived as A MAN WITHOUT A COUNTRY. What Burr meant to do I know no more than you, dear reader. It is none of our business just now. Only when the grand catastrophe came, and Jefferson and the House of Virginia of that day undertook to break on the wheel all the possible Clarences of the then House of York, by the great treason-trial at Richmond, some of the lesser fry in that distant Mississippi Valley, which was further from us than Puget's Sound is to-day, introduced the 'Prisoner, hear the sentence of the Court. The Court decides, subject to the approval of the President, that you never hear the name of the United States again." Nolan laughed. But nobody else laughed. Old Morgan was too solemn, and the whole room was hushed dead as night for a minute. Even Nolan lost his swagger in a moment. Then Morgan added "Mr. Marshal, take the prisoner to Orleans in an armed boat, and deliver him to the naval commander there." The marshal gave his orders, and the prisoner was taken out of court. "Mr. Marshal," continued old Morgan, "see that no one mentions the United States to the prisoner. Mr. Marshal, make my respects to Lieutenant Mitchell, at Orleans, and request him to order that no one mentions the United States to the prisoner while he is on board ship. You will receive your written orders from the officer on duty here this evening. The court is adjourned without day." I have always supposed that Colonel Morgan himself took the proceedings of the court to Washington City, and explained them to Mr. Jefferson. Certain it is that the President approved them-certain, that is, if I may believe the men who say they have seen his signature. Before the Nautilus got round from New Orleans to the Northern Atlantic coast with the prisoner on board, the sentence had been approved, and he was a man without a country. I suppose he did not know how the words shocked old Colonel Morgan, who was holding the court. Half the officers who sat in it had served through the Revolution, and their lives, not to say their necks, had been risked for the very idea which he so cavalierly cursed in his madness. He, on his part, had grown up in the West of those days, in the midst of "Spanish plot," "Orleans plot," and all the rest. He had been educated on a plantation, where the finest company was a Spanish officer or a French merchant from Orleans. His education, such as it was, had been perfected in commercial expeditions to Vera Cruz, and I think he told me his father once hired an Englishman to be a private tutor for a winter on the plantation. He had spent half his youth with an older brother, hunting horses in Texas; and, in a word, to him "United States" was scarcely a reality. Yet he had been fed by "United States," for all the years since he had been in the army. He had sworn on his faith as a Christian to be true to "United States." It was "United States" which gave him the uniform he wore, and the sword by his side. Nay, my poor Nolan, it was only because "United States" had picked you out first as one of her own confidential men of honour, that "A. Burr" cared for you a straw-perhaps it was Tingey or Shaw, though I think more than for the flat-boat men who sailed his ark for him. I do not excuse Nolan; I only explain to the reader why he damned his country, and wished he might never hear her name again. He never did hear her name but once again. From that moment, September 23, 1807, till the day he died, May 11, 1863, he never heard her name again. For that half century and more he was a man without a country. Old Morgan, as I said, was terribly shocked. If Nolan had compared George Washington to Benedict Arnold, or had cried, "God save King George," Morgan would not have felt worse. He called the court into his private room, and returned in fifteen minutes, with a face like a sheet, to say The plan then adopted was substantially the same which was necessarily followed ever after. Perhaps it was suggested by the necessity of sending him by water from Fort Adams and Orleans. The Secretary of the Navy-it must have been the first Crowninshield, though he is a man I do not remember-was requested to put Nolan on board a Government vessel bound on a long cruise, and to direct that he should be only so far confined there as to make it certain that he never saw or heard of the country. We had few long cruises then, and the navy was very much out of favour; and as almost all of this story is traditional, as I have explained, I do not know certainly what his first cruise was. But the commander to whom he was entrusted it was one of the younger men-we are all old enough now-regulated the etiquette and the precautions of the affair, and according to his scheme they were carried out, I suppose, till Nolan died. When I was second officer of the Intrepid, some thirty years after, I saw the original paper of instructions. I have been sorry ever since that I did. not copy the whole of it. It ran, however, much in this way : "Washington" (with the date, which must have been late in 1807.) "SIR,-You will receive from Lt. Neale the person of Philip Nolan, late a lieutenant in the United States Army. 66 This person on his trial by court-martial ex pressed with an oath the wish that he might never believe the theory was that the sight of his hear of the United States again.' "The Court sentenced him to have his wish fulfilled. "For the present, the execution of the order is intrusted by the President to this department. "You will take the prisoner on board your ship, and keep him there wirh such precautions as shall prevent his escape. "You will provide him with such quarters, rations, and clothing as would be proper for an officer of his late rank, if he were a passenger on your vessel on the business of his Government. "The gentlemen on board will make any arrangements agreeable to themselves regarding his society. He is to be exposed to no indignity of any kind, nor is he ever unnecessarily to be reminded that he is a prisoner. "But under no circumstances is he ever to hear of his country or to see any information regarding it; and you will specially caution all the officers under your command to take care that, in the various indulgences which may be granted, this rule, in which his punishment is involved, shall not be broken. "It is the intention of the Government that he shall never again see the country which he has disowned. Before the end of your cruise you will receive orders which will give effect to this intention. Respectfully yours, 66 "W. SOUTHARD, for the Secretary of the Navy." If I had only preserved the whole of this paper, there would be no break in the beginning of my sketch of this story. For Captain Shaw, if it was he, handed it to his successor in the charge, and he to his, and I suppose the commander of the Levant has it to-day as his authority for keeping this man in this mild custody. The rule adopted on board the ships on which I have met "the man without a country" was, I think, transmitted from the beginning. No mess liked to have him permanently, because his presence cut off all talk of home or of the prospect of return, of politics or letters, of peace or of war-cut off more than half the talk men like to have at sea. But it was always thought too hard that he should never meet the rest of us, except to touch hats, and we finally sank into one system. He was not permitted to talk with the men unless an officer was by. With officers he had unrestrained intercourse, as far as they and he chose. But he grew shy, though he had favourites: I was one. Then the captain always asked him to dinner on Monday. Every mess in succession took up the invitation in its turn. According to the size of the ship, you had him at your mess more or less often at dinner. His breakfast he ate in his own stateroom-he always had a state-room-which was where a sentinel, or somebody on the watch, could see the door. And whatever else he ate or drank he ate or drank alone. Sometimes, when the marines or sailors had any special jollifica tion, they were permitted to invite "PlainButtons," as they called him. Then Nolan was sent with some officer, and the men were forbidden to speak of home while he was there. I punishment did them good. They called him "Plain-Buttons" because, while he always chose to wear a regulation army uniform, he was not permitted to wear the army button, for the reason that it bore either the initials or the insignia of the country he had disowned. I remember, soon after I joined the navy, I was on shore with some of the older officers from our ship and from the Brandywine, which we had met at Alexandria. We had leave to make a party and go up to Cairo and the Pyramids. As we jogged along (you went on donkeys then) some of the gentlemen (we boys called them "Dons," but the phrase was long since changed) fell to talking about Nolan, and someone told the system which was adopted from the first about his books and other reading. As he was seldom permitted to go on shore, even though the vessel lay in port for months, his time, at the best, hung heavy; and everybody was permitted to lend him books, if they were not published in America and made no allusion to it. These were common enough in the old days, when people in the other hemisphere talked of the United States as little as we do of Paraguay. He had almost all the foreign papers that came into the ship, sooner or later, only somebody must go over them first, and cut out any advertisement or stray paragraph that alluded to America. This was a little cruel sometimes, when the back of what was cut out might be as innocent as Hesiod. Right in the midst of one of Napoleon's battles, or one of Canning's speeches, poor Nolan would find a great hole, because on the back of the page of that paper there had been an advertisement of a packet for New York, or a scrap from the President's message. I say this was the first time I ever heard of this plan, which afterwards I had enough, and more enough, to do with. I remember it because poor Phillips, who was of the party, as soon as the allusion to reading was made, told a story of something which happened at the Cape of Good Hope on Nolan's first voyage; and it is the only thing I ever knew of that voyage. They had touched at the Cape, and had done the civil thing with the English admiral and the fleet, and then, leaving for a long cruise up the Indian Ocean, Phillips had borrowed a lot of English books from an officer, which in those days, as indeed in these, was quite a windfall. Among them, as the devil would order, was the "Lay of the Last Minstrel," which they had all of them heard of, but which most of them had never seen. I think it could not have been published long. Well, nobody thought there could be any risk of anything national in that, though Phillips swore old Shaw had cut out the "Tempest" from Shakspeare before he let Nolan have it, because he said "the Bermudas ought to be ours, and, by Jove, should be one day!" So Nolan was permitted to join the circle one afternoon when a lot of them sat on deck smoking and reading aloud. People do not do such things so often now; but when I was than |