After luncheon—or breakfast—we found that such luggage as we had need of was piled up outside the house, and on the top of it lay Billy Russell’s rifle-case. When Garibaldi saw it, he asked Billy whether he would like to go off for an afternoon’s sport. He would find the island overrun with wild goats, from which indeed it took its name, and if he was in luck might get a shot at a wild donkey. Years ago some donkeys had been turned loose and had bred and multiplied, so that ass-stalking had now become a chief sport of the island. Billy was delighted, unpacked the case and put together the rifle, which became the object of the most eager curiosity on the part of the secretary and the other retainers. They petted it and patted it and stroked it as lovers, with the unctuous pleasure that a company of fiddlers might feel in caressing the back and belly of a rare Cremona violin. They prayed that before he started its owner would allow them to try it. Of course he consented, a target of some sort was quickly rigged up, and the secretary had the first shot. He made a bull’s eye. “Un prete!” he shouted with lusty joy—a priest! The others caught up the cry, and when they took their turn with the rifle, each successful shot was hailed with the same exultant applause, “Un prete! un prete! ancora un prete!” Garibaldi, who was standing by, shrugged his shoulders, and, turning to me with a smile, said, “Sont-ils assez enfants?” They really were like children, rather naughty children, whose naughtiness is often so amusing that their elders cannot help laughing with, not at, them. So Billy went off shouldering his rifle, as keen as a boy, burning to stalk a jackass or bring down a goat. I wonder whether anywhere else in Europe there exists such a sport; in Caprera itself, since the Italian Government has purchased the island, it is probably by this time a thing of the past. [Illustration: GARIBALDI’S INSCRIPTION FOR THE PRINT OF HIS PORTRAIT WHICH HE PRESENTED TO THE AUTHOR]