s is probably done to take away from
its skulking lawless character, and to give it something of a military
air in the eyes of the common people; or perhaps to catch by outward
dash and show the fancies of the young men of the villages. These
dresses or costumes are often rich and fanciful. Some wear jackets and
breeches of bright colors, richly embroidered; broad belts of cloth; or
sashes of silk net; broad, high-crowned hats, decorated with feathers
of variously-colored ribbands, and silk nets for the hair.

"Many of the robbers are peasants who follow ordinary occupations in
the villages for a part of the year, and take to the mountains for the
rest. Some only go out for a season, as it were, on a hunting
expedition, and then resume the dress and habits of common life. Many
of the young men of the villages take to this kind of life occasionally
from a mere love of adventure, the wild wandering spirit of youth and
the contagion of bad example; but it is remarked that they can never
after brook a long continuance in settled life. They get fond of the
unbounded freedom and rude license they enjoy; and there is something
in this wild mountain life checquered by adventure and peril, that is
wonderfully fascinating, independent of the gratification of cupidity
by the plunder of the wealthy traveller."

Here the improvvisatore was interrupted by a lively Neapolitan lawyer.
"Your mention of the younger robbers," said he, "puts me in mind of an
adventure of a learned doctor, a friend of mine, which happened in this
very neighborhood."

A wish was of course expressed to hear the adventure of the doctor by
all except the improvvisatore, who, being fond of talking and of
hearing himself talk, and accustomed moreover to harangue without
interruption, looked rather annoyed at being checked when in full
career.

The Neapolitan, however, took no notice of his chagrin, but related The
following anecdote.

THE ADVENTURE OF THE LITTLE ANTIQUARY.

My friend the doctor was a thorough antiquary: a little, rusty, musty
Old fellow, always groping among ruins. He relished a building as you
Englishmen relish a cheese, the more mouldy and crumbling it was, the
more it was to his taste. A shell of an old nameless temple, or the
cracked walls of a broken-down amphitheatre, would throw him into
raptures; and he took more delight in these crusts and cheese parings
of antiquity than in the best-conditioned, modern edifice.

He had