'He was; but oh! so unfortunately, last Sunday, father went out to see his cousin John, who lives near Ponte Mole, and has a garden there, and Beppo went with him; but the dear little fellow is so fond of fruit, that he ate a pint of raw horse-beans!' 'Of all the fruit!' shouted Caper. '_Si, signore_, it's splendid; but it gave Beppo the colic next day, and when he went to Signore Enrico's studio to pose for Cupid, he twisted and wrenched around so with pain, that Signore Enrico told him he looked more like a little devil than a small love; and when Beppo told him what fruit he had been eating, Signore Enrico bid him clear out for a savage that he was, and told him to go and learn to eat them boiled before he came back again.' 'I will speak to the Signore Enrico, and have him employ him again,' said Rocjean. 'Oh! I wish you would, for the Signore Enrico was very good to Beppo; besides, his studio is a perfect palace for cigar-stumps, which Beppo used to pick up and sell--that is, all those he and father didn't smoke in their pipes.' 'Make a sketch, Caper,' said Rocjean, 'of Cupid filling up his quiver with cigar-stumps, while he holds one between his teeth. There's a model love for you! Now, give Rita those two pauls you promised her, and let her go. _Adio_!' GIULIA DI SEGNI. (_Lines found written on the back of a sketch in Caper's portfolio._) By Roman watch-tower, on the mountaintop, We stood, at sunset, gazing like the eagles From their cloud-eyrie, o'er the broad Campagna, To the Albanian hills, which boldly rose, Bathed in a flood of red and pearly light. Far off, and fading in the coming night, Lay the Abruzzi, where the pale, white walls Of towns gleamed faintly on their purple sides. The evening air was tremulous with sounds: The thrilling chirp of insects, twittering birds, Barking of shepherds' fierce, white, Roman dogs; While from the narrow path, far down below, We heard a mournful rondinella ring, Sung by a home-returning mountaineer. Then, as the daylight slowly climbed the hills, And the soft wind breathed music to their steps, O'er the old Roman watch-tower marched the stars, In their bright legions--conquerors of night-- Shedding from silver armor shining light; As once the Roman legions, ages past, Marched on to conquest o'er the Latin way, Gleaming, white-stoned, so far beneath our gaze.