I know not whether those men are worthy of the name of inspired poets; but so wonderful is their talent for versification, that some of the better class of them have been known to produce, ex-tempore, a five-act tragedy, and an epic, divided into cantos and having a regular plot, characters and dialogues: all maintained in octave-syllabic rhyme. I had often encountered them in Sicily, where, by the wayside and among the mountains, their songs had cheered the tedium of many a long march, and had bestowed many a ducat upon them; regarding the wanderers as representatives of the ancient troubadours or minnesingers, once so common over the whole of Europe: but the modern minstrel we encountered at Reggio provoked me extremely. "Benissimo!"’ cried he, while coins of every description showered from all quarters into the high crown of his inverted hat. "The illustrious cavalier has given me a gallant theme: Madonna aid me to do it justice! Signori, you will hear a story of the brave English captain, who took the castle of Scylla for King Ferdinand, and so gained the love of a fair Italian signora." "Bravissimo!" cried the men, and the women clapped their hands exultingly. Castelermo glanced at me with a droll smile, and we both burst into a fit of laughter. "Impossible! the fellow cannot mean me!" said I. "You shall hear. Ah! the prelude—hear him—excellent! He excels Andrea Marone in verse; and our fair Gorilla, the gifted peasant girl of Pistoia, who, amid the roar of a hundred cannon, was crowned queen of the gentle art at Rome, could not finger the mandolin more lightly, or with better taste. Basta! he should make his fortune!" Imagine my surprise, on hearing the improvisatore give forth, extempore, to his eager, silent, and gaping audience, a song or poem of some thirty or forty long verses, in very tolerable _ottiva rima_, descriptive of the siege and storm of Scylla, in which, under the name of Claudio Dundazo, I was continually mentioned in a strain of most extravagant compliment, as the _valoroso capitano_, and most gallant _cavaliere_ in the world. What annoyed me most, was that the name of Bianca d’Alfieri had not escaped the minstrel; who made her the heroine of his impudent epic. "Oh! Castelermo—by the Lord! this is too ridiculous. I care not about myself; but Bianca’s name to be used thus, for amusing the rabble of Reggio!" said I, starting up. "How the proud girl’s cheek would flush, if she knew of this! You gave him the theme." "The theme, merely.—Hush!" added the knight, detaining me, as the improvisatore concluded, describing our joyous marriage in a splendid cathedral, with incense burning, bells ringing, and priests praying. After a grand invocation of all the saints—to whom he described us as vowing several pounds of excellent wax candle, whilst a magnificent petticoat was promised to Our Lady of Burello—the bard concluded: once more he inverted his hat; into which we each threw our mite.