"The traditions of the Neapolitan government are hereditary perjury. The new king, almost to prove the legitimacy of his descent, is preparing to perjure himself; and, in order to qualify himself for the task of forswearing himself, he must first swear. It is with that view that he declares himself ready to swear constitutions and alliances. His object in proposing an alliance with the king's government is obvious. He is only meditating the reconquest of Sicily. These are the old fox-like wiles of the Neapolitan government. As these have thrice availed them, they hope, even now, from the same arts, to attain the same results. But if these are very clearly the intentions of the government of Naples, there is also no doubt but the government of the king—of that king who for the last twelve years has held aloft the banner of Italian nationality, will never desert his post, never will associate itself with a faith-breaking government, a government by the nature of its very institutions an implacable foe to Italian regeneration." The following is an extract from the letter of an English lady in Florence: "The details that have reached here, through both private and public information, of the horrible sufferings endured by the Sicilians, are enough to account for the fiendish hatred excited by the Neapolitans, whose conduct to the unfortunate islanders is almost a repetition of the frightful barbarities of the Indians during the late war, for neither sex, age, nor innocence, are any protection against the perpetration of the most awful atrocities. It is beyond belief that, in the nineteenth century, in a Christian part of Europe, there have been scenes enacted within the last few months that renew the days of the Inquisition. A gentleman, residing in Florence, has received intelligence of his family in Sicily, giving details of the sufferings of his brother, who was subjected to a 'torture' that even surpassed all the refined cruelty that was ever imagined by Ximenes and his inquisitorial establishment, having been chained to a copper chair, under the seat of which was lighted a charcoal fire! This is only one of the many incidents that have taken place—incidents that make the cheek grow pale, even to hear of. No wonder there has been such a burst of enthusiasm throughout all Europe for Garibaldi and his noble expedition. Every civilized land has echoed the bell which has been tolled in Italy for the annihilation of despotism. There has not been raised one sympathetic voice to cry to Francis of Naples, 'Hear it not Duncan, for it summons thee' to join the circle of deposed tyrants that have sought asylums within such short distances of each other, imitating the instinct of the featherly tribe, who only seek society with companions of the same color."