latter's memory. I felt I had struck upon
something characteristically Italian. The father, the mother, the
speeches, the procession, the beauties of the scene at the last
ceremony in the graveyard, the watch-fires on the mountains--of all
these not a word more was spoken. Until the moment that we separated in
Rome itself, we were entertained with anecdotes concerning this officer
of the Bersaglieri.

It seemed that as a boy he had served with Garibaldi, and had shown
such promise that his father's friends had thought it worth while to
send him to a military academy. As was the case with so many Italians
in those days, he was entrusted with a command before he had passed his
final examination; but as he speedily distinguished himself, he had not
long to wait before obtaining his regular commission. One act of daring
made his name known all over Italy, even before he had served in
battle. He was out with a reconnoitring party, and chanced to be making
his way, unaccompanied by any of his companions, to the summit of a
wooded hill; when through the thicket, he saw a horse; then, catching
sight of another, he drew nearer, and discovered a travelling carriage,
and, finally, perceived a little group of persons--a lady and two
servants--encamped in the long grass. He immediately recognised the
lady; for, some days previously, she had driven up to the Italian
advanced guard, and sought refuge from the enemy, of whom she professed
great alarm. She had been allowed to pass through the lines; but
instead of continuing her journey, she had evidently found her way back
to this retreat by another route, and was now resting there with her
attendants. The horses looked as if they had received severe treatment,
and had been driven furiously all through the night; it was evident
they could go no further without rest. All this Mansana took in at a
glance.

It was a Sunday morning. The Italian troops were resting on the march;
mass had just been celebrated, and the men were at breakfast, when the
outposts suddenly saw young Mansana galloping towards them, carry a
lady before him and with two riderless horses secured to his
saddle-girth. The lady was a spy from the enemy's camp; her two
attendants--officers of the enemy's force--were lying wounded in the
forest. The lady was promptly recognised, and Mansana's "evviva" was
echoed and re-echoed by a thousand voices. The camp was immediately
broken up, as it was more than likely that the e