The porter, an old Albanian Greek, who trembled between fear of disobeying his master’s orders and offending a knight of Malta—an order lately so formidable—slowly undid the bolts and chains; imploring, in his curious dialect, that we would soften the wrath of the Cavalier Galdino, and save his shoulders from the scurlada. Until the French invasion, the resident Feudatories of Calabria, Apulia, &c. maintained the feudal system with all its iron tyranny; but since the frightful war of extermination, waged in these provinces by General Manhes, and the peace of 1815, it does not exist in any of the Italian states: except, I believe, the island of Sardinia. Between the tyranny and oppression of the barons and their armed followers—with whom on various pleas they garrisoned their castles and villas—the dues or tithes of the numerous priesthood and the outrages of the brigands, the situation of the peaceful portion of the mountaineers was not very enviable. "Which of ye dared to fire upon us? and by whose order?" asked Castelermo, laying his hand on his sword, and surveying the culprits with a stern eye. There was no reply. "Cowards! do you hear me?" "Cavaliero Marco," said one fellow coming forward hat in hand, after a long pause, "I trust we know our creed better than to molest any man who wears upon his breast the cross of Malta. But, indeed, it was no other than excellenza himself who fired the shot; and let him answer for it." "The villain!" I exclaimed, leaping from my horse. "Dio mi guardi! the deed was none of ours, Signor Marco." "Who are you, that seem so well acquainted with my name?" "A poor rogue of Amendolia, signor, by name Baptistello Varro. I cannot presume to think you can recollect me, though I had the honour to serve with you, under your uncle the Cardinal Huffo, while his eminence was yet a true man to Italy and the Holy Faith. You remember the siege of Altamurra on the plains of Apulia: you saved my life there. Ah! what a leaguer that was! His eminence built altars where other men would have had batteries, and besprinkled our cannon so plentifully with holy water that they often hung fire. I owe you a life, signor; and an Italian never forgets either a friend or a foe." "Well, Master Baptistello, although I have no remembrance of those things, I doubt not you are an honest fellow; but the sooner you change leaders the better. Quit this inhospitable den to-morrow, and join the corps of the Free Calabri at Crotona. But, meanwhile, lead us to this ungracious lord of yours. The shot he fired shall cost him dear, or I am not—lead on, Basta!" and with his usual exclamation, he cut short what he meant to have said.