him. You do not understand him
now. But you will read of his deeds, you will constantly hear him
spoken of in the course of your life; and gradually, as you grow
up, his image will grow before you; when you become a man, you will
behold him as a giant; and when you are no longer in the world,
when your sons' sons and those who shall be born from them are no
longer among the living, the generations will still behold on high
his luminous head as a redeemer of the peoples, crowned by the
names of his victories as with a circlet of stars; and the brow and
the soul of every Italian will beam when he utters his name.

THY FATHER.

THE ARMY.

Sunday, 11th.

The National Festival Day. Postponed for a week on
account of the death of Garibaldi.

We have been to the Piazza Castello, to see the review of soldiers, who
defiled before the commandant of the army corps, between two vast lines
of people. As they marched past to the sound of flourishes from trumpets
and bands, my father pointed out to me the Corps and the glories of the
banners. First, the pupils of the Academy, those who will become
officers in the Engineers and the Artillery, about three hundred in
number, dressed in black, passed with the bold and easy elegance of
students and soldiers. After them defiled the infantry, the brigade of
Aosta, which fought at Goito and at San Martino, and the Bergamo
brigade, which fought at Castelfidardo, four regiments of them, company
after company, thousands of red aiguillettes, which seemed like so many
double and very long garlands of blood-colored flowers, extended and
agitated from the two ends, and borne athwart the crowd. After the
infantry, the soldiers of the Mining Corps advanced,--the workingmen of
war, with their plumes of black horse-tails, and their crimson bands;
and while these were passing, we beheld advancing behind them hundreds
of long, straight plumes, which rose above the heads of the spectators;
they were the mountaineers, the defenders of the portals of Italy, all
tall, rosy, and stalwart, with hats of Calabrian fashion, and revers of
a beautiful, bright green, the color of the grass on their native
mountains. The mountaineers were still marching past, when a quiver ran
through the crowd, and the _bersaglieri_, the old twelfth battalion, the
first who entered Rome through the breach at the Porta Pia, bronzed,
alert, brisk, with fluttering plu