“I reached in my mental narrative that epoch when poor Jacob Smith died. I was then about thirteen--a little more than thirteen; and I mourned sincerely for him. Frequently did I visit his grave in the beautiful cemetery where he was buried; and often--often as I wandered on the bank of the clear and broad Ferretti, down to whose chrystal margin that cemetery stretched,--often did I marvel who that departed youth was--and what secret tie might have linked him to Mr. Hatfield! Years passed rapidly away,--years unmarked by any incident on which my mind need pause to ponder: I grew up--happy, gay, and seldom thinking of the past. The bright and shining future--decked with all the glorious and golden hues which a sanguine imagination could devise--was ever the topic of my thoughts. Oh! well do I recollect that when between eighteen and nineteen years of age, I began to comprehend the affairs of the great world--to study well the political condition of nations--and to observe that the State of Castelcicala languished under the tyranny of the Grand Duke Angelo. Then I longed to become a hero--to have an army at my command--to achieve the independence, not only of Castelcicala, but of all Italy. These aspirations continued until I became an enthusiast in the cause of freedom; and though of English birth, yet deeply--sincerely did I sympathise with the generous-hearted Castelcicalans, when the treachery and despotism of the Grand Duke Angelo called a mighty Austrian army into the State, to besiege and overawe the capital! But Providence suddenly sent a champion to rescue a fine country and a noble people from the power of the invaders. No Castelcicalan native--no Italian patriot watched the career of Richard Markham with so much anxiety, such burning hope, and such deep suspense as I! When I heard those persons who were his best-wishers in their hearts, shake their heads and declare that the Constitutional Cause could not possibly succeed with so youthful a leader and such slender resources, I thought otherwise:--yes--I thought otherwise--because I wished otherwise. Then as victory after victory marked the progress of the hero--Estella, Piacere, and Abrantani giving their names to the triumphs of the Constitutional Army,--I longed--Oh! I longed to fly into the presence of the conqueror, and implore him to permit me to wield a sword in the same cause. But we were then prisoners as it were within the walls of Montoni, which was besieged by the Austrians; and while all was dismay--confusion--and terror around, I alone seemed to entertain a conviction as to the result. Nor was I mistaken: the Constitutional Army, under the command of Richard Markham, advanced to raise the siege--and beneath the walls of Montoni was fought the most sanguinary action of modern times. From morning’s dawn till the evening, lasted that terrific encounter;--but at eight o’clock on that evening the capital was delivered. Yet why