Piedmont is not loved in the South. There is not a trait in the Piedmontese character which has not its antitype in the Neapolitan; and they whose object it was to exhibit the sub-Alpine Italian in the most unfavourable colours, could not lack opportunity to do so. The severities practised towards the brigands—which were not always, nor could they be, exercised with discrimination—furnished ample occasion for these attacks. Many of these assumed a Garibaldian, or even Mazzinian tone, and affected indignation at cruelties of which the people—the _caro popolo_—were always the victims. One of the chief brigands, Chiavone, pretended to imitate Joseph Garibaldi; and in dress, costume, and a certain bold, frank manner, assumed to represent the great popular leader. Amongst his followers he counted Frenchmen, Spaniards, Germans, Belgians, and, it is said, Irish. One of these foreigners was a man of high rank and ancient lineage, Count Alfred de Trazégnies—a near relative of M. de Merode’s: he was taken prisoner and shot. Another was the famous Borjès, from whom was taken the instructions given him by General Clary, and, more interesting still, a journal written in his own hand. Though his “instructions” are full of grandiloquent descriptions of battalions and squadrons and batteries—horse, foot, and dragoons—with exact directions given as to the promotions, the staff appointments, the commissariat,—let us hear how he himself describes the first steps of his enterprise. Having with great difficulty succeeded in obtaining about twenty muskets at Malta, he saw himself in some embarrassment as to getting away from the island, where intimations as to his project were already about. He succeeded, however, in getting on board of a small coasting vessel with his officers, and landed after a two days’ voyage at Brancaleone. “The shore,” he says, “was totally deserted, no trace of habitation to be seen; and, directed at last by the glimmer of a solitary light, we came upon the hut of a shepherd, who received us kindly and hospitably. The next day he guided us to the little town of Precacore, where we were met by the curate, and amidst cries of Viva Francesco Secondo conducted into the Piazza. I was cheered by this,” says he, “and deemed it a lucky augury. About twenty peasants enrolled themselves here under my command, and we moved on to Caraffa, where I was told a friendly welcome awaited me. On passing, however, near St Agata, a company of the mobilised National Guard, about sixty in number, opened a sharp fire on us, and my new recruits took to their heels, leaving me alone with my officers. Sustained, however, by a strong position, we held our own for an hour and a half, after which a deputation from Caraffa came to offer me the hospitality of that city—an offer I was fortunate enough to refuse, for another and far more serious ambuscade was prepared for me there.”