A relative of Paoli's--a simple country girl of the Tommasi family--took me into the house. Everything in it wears the stamp of humble peasant life. You mount a steep wooden stair to the mean rooms, in which Paoli's wooden table and wooden seat still stand. With joy, I saw myself in the little chamber in which Pasquale was born; my emotions on this spot were more lively and more agreeable than in the birth-chamber of Napoleon. Once more that fine face, with its classic, grave, and dignified features, rose before me, and along with it the forms of a noble father and a heroic brother. In this little room Pasquale came to the world in April of the year 1724. His mother was Dionisia Valentina, an excellent woman from a village near Ponte Nuovo--the spot so fatal to her son. His father, Hyacinth, we know already. He had been a physician, and became general of the Corsicans along with Ceccaldi and Giafferi. He was distinguished by exalted virtues, and was worthy of the renown that attaches to his name as the father of two such sons. Hyacinth had great oratorical powers, and some reputation as a poet. Amid the din of arms those powerful spirits had still time and genial force enough to rise free above the actual circumstances of their condition, and sing war-hymns, like Tyrtæus. Here is a sonnet addressed by Hyacinth to the brave Giafferi, after the battle of Borgo:-- "To crown unconquer'd Cyrnus' hero-son, See death descend, and destiny bend low; Vanquish'd Ligurians, by their sighs of wo, Swelling fame's trumpet with a louder tone. Scarce was the passage of the Golo won, Than in their fort of strength he storm'd the foe. Perils, superior numbers scorning so, Vict'ry still follow'd where his arms had shone. Chosen by Cyrnus, fate the choice approved, Trusting the mighty conflict to his sword, Which Europe rose to watch, and watching stands. By that sword's flash, e'en fate itself is moved; Thankless Liguria has its stroke deplored, While Cyrnus takes her sceptre from his hands." Such men are as if moulded of Greek bronze. They are the men of Plutarch, and resemble Aristides, Epaminondas, and Timoleon. They could resign themselves to privation, and sacrifice their interests and their lives; they were simple, sincere, stout-hearted citizens of their country. They had become great by facts, not by theories, and the high nobility of their principles had a basis, positive and real, in their actions and experiences. If we are to express the entire nature of these men in one word, that word is Virtue, and they were worthy of virtue's fairest reward--Freedom.