["December 9, 1820. I open my letter to tell you a fact, which will show the state of this country better than I can. The commandant of the troops is _now_ lying _dead_ in my house. He was shot at a little past eight o'clock, about two hundred paces from my door. I was putting on my great coat to visit Madame la Comtessa G., when I heard the shot. On coming into the hall, I found all my servants on the balcony, exclaiming that a man was murdered. I immediately ran down, calling on Tita (the bravest of them) to follow me. The rest wanted to hinder us from going, as it is the custom for everybody here, it seems, to run away from 'the stricken deer.' ... we found him lying on his back, almost, if not quite, dead, with five wounds; one in the heart, two in the stomach, one in the finger, and the other in the arm. Some soldiers cocked their guns, and wanted to hinder me from passing. However, we passed, and I found Diego, the adjutant, crying over him like a child--a surgeon, who said nothing of his profession--a priest, sobbing a frightened prayer--and the commandant, all this time, on his back, on the hard, cold pavement, without light or assistance, or anything around him but confusion and dismay. As nobody could, or would, do anything but howl and pray, and as no one would stir a finger to move him, for fear of consequences, I lost my patience--made my servant and a couple of the mob take up the body--sent off two soldiers to the guard--despatched Diego to the Cardinal with the news, and had him carried upstairs into my own quarters. But it was too late--he was gone.... I had him partly stripped--made the surgeon examine him, and examined him myself. He had been shot by cut balls or slugs. I felt one of the slugs, which had gone through him, all but the skin.... He only said, 'O Dio!' and 'Gesu!' two or three times, and appeared to have suffered little. Poor fellow! he was a brave officer; but had made himself much disliked by the people."--Letter to Moore, December 9, 1820, _Letters,_ 1901, v. 133. The commandant's name was Del Pinto (_Life,_ p. 472).] [ex] ---- _so I had_ _Him borne, as soon's I could, up several pair_ _Of stairs--and looked to,----But why should I add_ _More circumstances?_----.--[MS.] [ey] _And now as silent as an unstrung drum_.--[MS.] {229}[280] The light and elegant wherries plying about the quays of Constantinople are so called. {230}[281] [_Ilderim, a Syrian Tale_, by Henry Gally Knight, was published in 1816; _Phrosyne, a Grecian Tale_, and _Alashtar, an Arabian Tale_, in 1817. Moore's _Lalla Kookh_ also appeared in 1817.] [282] [St. Bartholomew was "discoriate, and flayed quick" (_Golden Legend_, 1900, v. 43).] [ez] _We from impalement_----.--[MS.]