Blackwood\'s Edinburgh Magazine, No. CCCXXXII. by Various

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Ignacio's first impulse, on discovering the absence of his four-footed
companion, was to return to the cottage; but the risk in so doing was
extreme, and as he felt certain his guide would take care of the dog,
and that he should get it at some future day, he resolved to pursue his
journey. Meantime the night became darker and darker--thick clouds had
gathered, and hung low--there was no longer the slightest trace or
indication of a path, and the darkness preventing him from finding
certain landmarks he had been told to observe, he was obliged to walk on
nearly at hazard, and soon became aware he had lost his way. To add to
his difficulties, the low growlings of distant thunder were heard, and
some large drops of rain fell. A violent storm was evidently
approaching, and Ignacio quickened his pace in hopes of finding some
shelter before it came on, resolving to wait at all risks till daylight
before continuing his route, lest he should run, as it were, blindfolded
into the very dangers he wished to avoid. A sort of cliff or wall of
rock he had for some time had on his left hand, now suddenly ended, and
a scene burst on his view which to him was commonplace enough, but would
have appeared somewhat strange to a person unaccustomed to such sights.
The mountain, which had been steep and difficult to descend, now began
to slope more gradually as it approached nearer its base. On a sort of
shelving plateau of great extent, a number of charcoal-burners had
established themselves, and, as the most expeditious way of clearing the
ground, had set light in various places to the brushwood and furze that
clothed this part of the mountain. To prevent, however, the
conflagration from extending too far, they had previously, with their
axes, cleared rings of several feet wide around the places to which they
set fire. The bushes and furze they rooted up were thrown into the
centre, and increased the blaze. In this manner the entire mountain
side, of which several hundred acres were overlooked from the spot where
Ignacio stood, appeared dotted with brilliant fiery spots of some fifty
feet in diameter, the more distant ones assuming a lurid blood-red look,
seen through the fog and mist that had now gathered over the mountain.
Ignacio approached the nearest of the fires, lighted close to a crag
that almost overhung it, and that offered a sufficient shelter from the
rain which had begun to descend in torrents. Throwing himself on the
ground with his feet towards the flames, he endeavoured to get a little
sleep, of which he stood much in need. But it was in vain. The situation
in which he found himself suggested thoughts that he was unable to drive
away. Gradually a sort of phantasmagoria passed before his "mind's eye,"
wherein the various events of his life, which, although a short one, had
not the less been sadly eventful, were represented in vivid colours. He
thought of his childhood, spent in the sunny _vegas_ of Andalusia--of
the companions of his military studies, high-spirited free-hearted lads,
of whom some had achieved honours and fame, but by far the greater part
had died on the battle-field--the smoke of the bivouac fire, the merry
laugh of the _insouciant_ soldier--the din and excitement of the
fight--the exultation of victory, and the well-won and highly relished
pleasures of the garrison town after severe duty in the field;--the
graceful form of Gertrudis now flitted across the picture--her jetty
hair braided over her pure white forehead, the light of her swimming
"eye, that mocked her coal-black veil," flashing from under the
mantilla. Her father, with his portly figure and good-humoured
countenance, was beside her. They smiled at Ignacio, and seemed to
beckon to him. So life-like was the illusion of his fancy, he could
almost have sprung forward to join them. But again there was a change. A
large and handsome room, a well-covered table--all the appliances of
modern luxury--plate and crystal sparkling in the brilliant lights--a
happy cheerful party surrounding the board. Alas, for the tragedy played
on this stage! The hand of the spoiler was there--blood and womens'
screams, dishevelled hair and men's deep oaths, the wild and broken
accents of despair, the coarse jest and ferocious exultation of
gratified brutality. And then all was dark and gloomy as a winter's
night, and through the darkness was seen a grave-stone, shadowy and
spectral, and a man still young, but with heart crushed and hopes
blighted, lying prostrate before it, his breast heaving with convulsive
sobs of agony, until at length he rose and moved sadly away, to become
an exile and a wanderer in a foreign land.

Maddened by these reflections, Ignacio started to his feet, and was
about to rush out into the storm, and fly, he knew not whither, from his
own thoughts, when he suddenly became aware of the presence of a man
within a few yards of him. The projecting crag, under which he had
sought a shelter, extended all along one side of the fire. In one corner
an angle of the rock threw a deep shadow, in which Ignacio now stood,
and was thus enabled, without being seen himself, to observe the
new-comer, who seated himself on a block of stone close to the fire. As
he did so, the flame, which had been deadened by the rain, again burned
up brightly, and threw a strong light on the features of the stranger.
They were those of _El Sangrador_.

With stealthy pace, and trembling at every step, lest his prey should
take the alarm, and even yet escape him, Ignacio stole towards his
mortal foe. The noise of the storm, that still raged furiously, enabled
him to get within five paces of him without being heard. He then halted,
and silently cocking a pistol, remained for some time motionless as a
statue. Now that his revenge was within his grasp, he hesitated to take
it, not from any relenting weakness, but because the speedy death it was
in his power to give, appeared an inadequate punishment--a paltry
vengeance. Had he seen his enemy torn by wild horses, or broken on the
wheel, his burning thirst for revenge would hardly have been slaked; and
an easy, painless death by knife or bullet, he looked upon as a boon
rather than a punishment. An end was put to his hesitation by the
Carlist himself, who, either tormented by an evil conscience, or
oppressed by one of those unaccountable and mysterious presentiments
that sometimes warn us of impending danger, became restless, cast uneasy
glances about him, and at last, turning round, found himself face to
face with Ignacio. Almost before he recognized him, a hand was on his
collar, and the muzzle of a pistol crammed into his ear. The click of
the lock was heard, but no discharge ensued. The rain had damped the
powder. Before Ignacio could draw his other pistol, the Carlist grappled
him fiercely, and a terrible struggle commenced. Their feet soon slipped
upon the wet rock, and they fell, still grasping each other's throats,
foaming with rage, and hate, and desperation. The fire, now nearly out,
afforded little light for the contest; but as they rolled over the
smouldering embers, clouds of sparks arose, their clothes and hair were
burned, and their faces scorched by the heat. The Carlist was unarmed,
save with a clasp-knife, which, being in his pocket, was useless to him;
for had he ventured to remove one hand from the struggle even for a
moment, he would have given his antagonist a fatal advantage. At length
the contest seemed about to terminate in favour of Ignacio. He got his
enemy under, and knelt upon his breast, while, with a charred,
half-burned branch which he found at hand, he dealt furious blows upon
his head. Half-blinded by the smoke and heat, and by his own blood, the
Carlist felt the sickness of death coming over him. By a last effort he
slipped one hand, which was now at liberty, into his pocket, and
immediately withdrawing it, raised it to his mouth. His teeth grated
upon the blade of the knife as he opened it, and the next instant
Ignacio, with a long deep sob, rolled over among the ashes. The Carlist
rose painfully and with difficulty into a sitting posture, and with a
grim smile gazed upon his enemy, whose eyes were glazing, and features
settling into the rigidity of death. But the conqueror's triumph was
short-lived. A deep bark was heard, and a moment afterwards a wolf-dog,
drenched with mud and rain, leaped into the middle of the embers.
Placing his black muzzle on Ignacio's face, he gave a long deep howl,
which was succeeded by a growl like that of a lion, as he sprang upon
the Carlist.

The morning after the storm, when the charcoal-burners returned to their
fires, they found two dead bodies amidst the ashes. One of them had a
stab in his breast, which had caused his death. The other was
frightfully disfigured, and bore marks of the fangs of some savage
animal. In that wild district, the skirmishing-ground of smugglers and
_douaniers_, the mountaineers think little of such occurrences. A hole
was dug, the bodies thrown into it; and a cross, rudely cut upon the
rock, alone marks the spot where the midnight conflict took place.

* * * * *

MEMORANDUMS OF A MONTH'S TOUR IN SICILY.

LEAVING NAPLES.

STEAM-BOATIANA.

The _Francesco Primo_ was to leave the harbour at ten o'clock. Better
acquaintance with Mediterannean _pyroscaphs_, as they call themselves,
whose axle-trees turn not except when the police pleases, ought to have
led us to all the latitude of uncertainty; but when two hours and more
had elapsed with all the passengers aboard, we began to suppose some
extraordinary cause for so long a detention. A deputation is accordingly
dispatched to the captain, which brings back an abrupt reply, that he is
not going _yet_; and that it is for him and the proprietors to be
dissatisfied, who are wasting steam, while we are only losing patience.
It shortly transpired that he was under Government orders, and would not
proceed for another hour at _least_, nor even then, unless he received
permission from the minister of police. The affair now looked serious.
We must have some _carbonaro_ on board, who was, in due time, to be
arrested; and no further doubt could remain of this, when, that other
hour being past, we saw a longboat leaving shore, with two officers and
six stout rowers, who soon brought her under our bow. What can it be?
The senior epaulet rises in the boat--the second follows his
example--both are on deck; the captain, hitherto unseen, now comes
forward with alacrity, and, stretching forward _both_ his hands,
receives with profound reverence a thin, square enclosure, with an
immense seal attached to it, and retires to put it in a place of safety.
The uniforms disappear over the side of the vessel--the paddles begin to
paw the water--we swing round--and in a few seconds our prow points for
the _Sorrentine_ coast, and we are on our watery way to _Sicily_. What,
then, had detained us? It is always very provoking to have a miserable
solution of a promising mystery! We were on the exact spot for a new
edition of some "_Verbosa et grandis Epistola_" from the tyrants of the
land; and so it was, but only not _from_ Capreae or Tiberius this time.
Yes! The actual cause of the delay of a great steam-boat, full of
passengers, for three hours, attended, among other melancholy results,
with that of exciting the choler of a new-made cardinal, was a _letter_
that the Queen of Naples, who had probably overslept herself, had
occasion to write to the king on conjugal affairs!--his majesty having
left her majesty only the day before, to show himself to his loving
subjects at Palermo. Hem! Campania _felix_! If we were known to be
inditing this unreverential passage, and its disloyal apostrophe, we
should, no doubt, be invited to leave "Campania the happy" at a day's
notice; whereas our comfort is, that this day three months it is quite
possible that it will have been read in Bengal!

We are now in the middle of the Bay of Naples; the spot from which
panoramas have been so often sketched on that noble elevation, the deck
of a lofty ship, swinging on her cables. What numberless sites of
unparallelled interest are hence visible to the newly arrived and
insatiable stranger! _Misenum, Baiae, Puteoli, Gaurus, Vesuvius,
Herculaneum, Pompeii_! But the office of the cicerone here cannot--alas
for Britain!--be confined to the old classics, or the mere indication of
places whose very _names_ are things to _conjure with_! In America, we
converse with nature only, whose voice is in her woods and waterfalls;
but, in our threadbare Europe, all _sites_ are _historical_, and chiefly
in one sad sense--for Waterloo only brings up the rear of fields
illustrated by the wholesale destruction of mankind! In the position
which we now occupy, volumes might be written--ay, and _have been
written_.

Look at that proud, impregnable Castle of St Elmo, culminating over all
Naples! Look at those sea-washed fortresses which guard the entrance of
her harbour! The garrisons of those strong places having, in the year
1799, from the turn of public affairs, judged it expedient to capitulate
to Ferdinand and his allies, on conditions which should leave their
honour without blemish, and assure their own safety and that of the
city; and this capitulation having been solemnly accepted and ratified
by _Cardinal Ruffo, as the king's legate and plenipotentiary_, by the
late _Sir Edward Foote_, as acting commodore of the British force, and
by the representatives of _two European governments_, officially
residing in the revolutionized city, and the surrender of the forts
having accordingly taken place, it came to pass, in an evil hour, that
Lord Nelson, entering the bay as commander-_in-chief_, took upon himself
the odious responsibility of rescinding the British guarantee, and of
supporting Ferdinand, powerless but through him, in his refusal to hold
himself bound by a convention made _by his own viceroy_!--thus
delivering over the defenceless city to its own implacable sovereign.
Then came a political persecution unknown in the annals of mankind;
till, _hebetes lasso lictore secures_, even Naples could bear no more!
The noblest blood and the most distinguished talent were no protection
at the bar of a special tribunal, with a low-born monster at its head,
not surpassed in its atrocities by the revolutionary tyrants of Paris
and of Lyons. The ships shared the infamy; the venerable and noble
Caraccioli, seventy-five years of age, himself an admiral, was the first
_piaculum_! Summarily condemned by a court-martial _held on board
Nelson's flag-ship_, he was executed like a felon, and cast overboard
from a Neapolitan frigate floating on the same anchorage, and subject to
the same authority!

But Nelson's star was then in the ascendant; the presence and notorious
influence of Emma Hamilton in these frightful transactions, was
unaccountably connived at by the British nation. The officer who has
been a party to a convention, which his commander-in-chief thinks proper
not only to disapprove but to violate, must inevitably suffer in that
fame and popularity which our public services so justly cherish. And in
the state of men's passions during that memorable war, _so that it were
against the French, a successful_ commander-in-chief could do no wrong!
Yet here, probably, the matter would have rested; but when, nine years
afterwards, _Stanier Clarke_ so little appreciated the duty of a
biographer as to relate a transaction susceptible of no excuse, in terms
unjustified by the facts, and sought to render his hero _immaculate_ at
the _expense of others_, the excellent officer whose feelings and
character had been so cruelly sacrificed, felt himself compelled at last
to publish his "Vindication," judicious in every thing but _the title_.
He most properly printed the _Convention itself_ in the original words,
and with all the signatures it bore. Such works, however, even when the
affairs they refer to are _recent_, are never read but by _friends_--or
_enemies_. A late atonement was made by William IV. in conferring on Sir
Edward Foote a titular distinction, which the public heed not; but the
tables are now turned, and Europe, taught by Cuoco, Coletta, and by
Botta, the great historian of Italy, has irrevocably closed this _great
account_. The name of Foote is recorded in all their pages in terms
which, had he seen them, might well have consoled him for the past;
while the last and most popular biographer of Nelson (Southey) feels
himself compelled to admit, and the frank admission does him infinite
honour, that this is a passage of his hero's life which the muse of
history "must _record with sorrow and with shame_."

But the sea spray is dashing splendidly on our bows--we are clearing
Capri, and have, as we pass it, a fine view of that high and precipitous
rock, thinking of Tiberius and the soothsayer Thrasyllus, and of all the
monstrous scenes which those unapproachable cliffs concealed from the
indignation even of a Roman world. But twilight was already coming on,
and the city and the coast were gradually withdrawn from the
panorama--dark night came rushing over the deep, an Italian summer's
night, and yet with no stars or moon; meanwhile steadily rides our
vessel along the Calabrian waters, confident alike of her strength and
her bearings, which we soon left her to pursue, and went down to see
what the cabin and the company promised below. And thus the hours passed
away; and when the suspended lamp began to burn dimly under the
skylight, and grey morning found stealthy admittance through the cabin
windows, although we had been unable to sleep, the anticipation of all
the marvels we were to see in Sicily had answered the purpose of a
night's rest, and sent us active and alert on deck to fresh air and the
rising sun. Nor were we a moment too soon. A large flotilla of little
boats manoeuvring between two of larger size, placed to defend the space
destined for their operations, were now in the full activity of the
thunny and spada fishery; and a most picturesque rock, right over our
bow, proved to be no other than _Monte Pelegrino_, at the foot of which
lay Palermo and our breakfast--in short, after a voyage of little more
than a summer's night, we are again on _terra firma_, if that name can
be given to volcanic soils, and long before noon are actively engaged in
perambulating the streets of the Sicilian capital of the _faecunda
Panormos_.

Among the most striking peculiarities of the interior or street views,
presented to the stranger's eye at Palermo, are its very unusually
situated convents, buildings which, even in cities, are commonly and
naturally in _retirement_; but here, in whichever of the most public
ways you walk, a number of extraordinary trellised balconies are
observed on the upper stories of almost every large house, while
business and bustle of all kinds are transacted as usual in the street
below. You may well be surprised to see the nunnery over the _Marchande
de Modes_! The unhappy inmates thus tormented by the sight and sound of
worldly activity, have not in Palermo even the solace of a garden; and
if these places of more than usual mortification have any connexion with
the world without, it is by an under-ground passage to some church in
the neighbourhood! Thither repair the poor victims of superstition to
warble _Aves_ to the Virgin behind their screens, and then back again to
their monotonous cloister. There are twenty-four nunneries in the city
of Palermo alone, each containing from thirty to sixty women, and there
are as many monasteries! With open doors like coffee-houses, full upon
the street, are placed at Palermo innumerable _consulting shops_ of so
many _lawyers_; the earliest to begin business, the last to close, you
may have the luxury of law at any hour of the day till bedtime. Nay,
your Sicilian lawyer, unlike the lazy tradesman who puts up his shutters
and sleeps from twelve to four, takes no _siesta_; his _atra janua
lilis_ is always open, and there sit the _firm_, one listening to a
client, another smoking a cigar, a third chatting with an acquaintance
over his coffee or the newspaper. Scarcely less mischievous than these
sowers of dissension, is the _barber-surgeon_, who still flourishes in
Trinacria. The bleeding arm over the peruke shop is often to be seen in
Rome and Naples; but at Palermo almost at every third house, you read
_Salassatore_ over a half-naked figure in wood or canvass, erect like
Seneca in his bath, or monumentally recumbent, the blood spouting, like
so many Tritons, from twenty orifices at once. Led by professional
curiosity, we enter one of these open doors; and, desiring the ordinary
service of the razor, and intending to ask some questions
parenthetically touching the double craft, we have scarcely occupied the
chair, when a smart youth comes up with a razor and a lancet, and
quietly asks "_Which_?" Why, surely he could not think of _bleeding_ us
without a warrant for our needing it. "_Eperche? Adesso vi le diro
subito_--Why not? I'll tell you whether you want it without a
doctor,"--feeling for our pulse. "_Non c'e male_--not so much amiss,"
pursued the functionary; "but a few ounces bleeding would do you _no
harm_! Your hand is hot, it must be _several months_ since you were last
bled!" "A year." "Too long: you should be bled, at your age, at least
_twice a-year_ if you would keep your health!" "What amount of depletion
did he recommend?" "_Depende--di sei a dieci oncie_," at which portion
of the dialogue our mouth was shut to all further interrogations by a
copious supply of soap-suds, and now he became the tonsor only, and
declares against the mode in which we have our hair cut: "They have cut
your hair, Signor, _a condannato_--nobody adopts the toilette of the
guillotine now; it should have been left to grow in front _a la Plutus_,
or have been long at the sides _a la Nazarene_, which is the mode most
of our Sicilian gentlemen prefer." We were about to rise, wash, and
depart, but an impediment is offered by the artist. "_Non l'ho_
raffinato _ancora, Signor, bisogna_ raffinarlo _un poco_!" and before we
could arrive at the occult meaning of _raffinare_, his fingers were
exploring very technically and very disagreeably the whole surface over
which his razor had travelled, and a number of supplementary scrapings
were only stopped by an impatient _basta_ of the victim. _Still_ he was
unwilling to part with us. _Would_ we like, now that we are on the spot,
to _lose a few ounces of blood_ before he takes a stranger in hand, (who
is waiting for the one or other operation;) and, as we most positively
declined, he turned to the latter to ask him whether he was come for his
"_piccolo salassio di sei oncie_." "_Gia_!" said Signor Antonio, taking
off his coat, and sitting down with as much _sangfroid_ as if he were
going to take his breakfast. "Can you shave _me_?" asks a third party,
standing at the door. "_Adesso_," after I have _bled_ this gentleman.
Such are all the _interiors_ where _Salassatore_ is written over the
door; they bleed and they shave indifferently, and doing either, talk of
the last _take_ of _thunny_, the _opera_ that has been or is to be, and
the meagre skimmings of their permitted newspaper, _which_ begins
probably with the advertisement of a church ceremony, and ends always
with a charade--for our subscribers!!

CHURCHES.

The clergy are wealthy, the bishop's salary is 18,000 scudi, and many of
the convents are very opulent; but there is scarcely one of the churches
which you care to visit twice. Most of them are disgraced by vulgar
ornaments, in which respect they surpass even the worst specimens at
Naples! Gilt stucco, cut and stamped into flowery compartments, shows
off like a huge twelfth cake! but the _Matrice_ or _Duomo_, and the
Saracenic _Chapel of the Palazzo Reale_, and the cathedral of
_Monreale_, four miles beyond the town, are noble exceptions; these in
their several ways are all interesting, both within and without. The old
Siculo-Norman archway of _Monreale_, and its fine bronze gates crusted
with a beautiful hard polished _coin-like patina_, would repay the
excursion, even were the interior less fine. Here we have columns from
whose high architraves the Gothic arch springs vigorously; walls
perfectly covered with old Byzantine mosaics; a roof of marvellous
lightness, and almost modern elegance; still the critic, who is bound by
_metier_ to find fault with violated canons, will, we must own, be at no
loss for a text in the church of Monreale--a building which is, however,
of sufficient importance in ecclesiastical architecture to have been
designed, measured, and engraved, in whole and in part, in a splendid
volume, published in folio, by the Duke of Serra di Falco.

VISIT TO THE GARDEN OF THE DUKE OF SERRA DI FALCO, NEAR PALERMO.

After a delicious half hour's drive through country lanes hedged with
cactus, aloes, and pomegranates, we find ourselves in front of a small
villa distant about two miles from the sea. As to the house, many an
English gentleman, in very moderate circumstances, has a far better; but
on passing the archway of this Sicilian country-box into its garden, two
trees, which must be astonished at finding themselves out of
Brazil--trees of surpassing beauty--are seen on a crimson carpet of
their own fallen petals, mixed with a copious effusion of their seeds,
like coral. At the northern extremity of Italy (Turin) this _Erythinia
corallodendron_ is only a small stunted shrub; nor is it much bigger at
Naples, where it grows under cover. Six years in the _open air_ have in
Sicily _produced_ the tree before you: it is, in fact, larger than most
of our fruit-bearers. We next recognise an agreeable acquaintance,
formed two years ago, in the _Neapolis Japonicus_; it bears a delicate
fruit, of the size of a plum, whose yellow, freckled skin contains such
a nectar-like juice that the pine-apple itself scarcely excels it. Our
fellow-passenger, the infallible voice of a new-made cardinal of the
warlike name of Schwarzenburg, who tasted it here, as he told us, for
the first time, has already pronounced a similar opinion, and no
dissentients being heard, the Japan medlar passed with acclamation. The
_Buggibellia spectabilis_ of New Holland, calls you to look at his pink
_blossoms_, which are no other than his leaves in masquerade. We grub
up, on the gardener's hint and permission, some of the _Cameris
humilis_, to whose filamentous radicles are attached certain little
grains, of great sweetness and flavour. The banana-tree, "_Musa
paradisaica_," which, cooped in our low hot-houses at home, breaks its
neck, and might well break its heart, as its annual growth is resisted
by the inexorable glass dome, is here no prisoner but an acclimated
denizen of sun and air. The _Cactus Opuntiae_, or Indian fig, is here for
vulgar tastes; and the _Cactus cochinellifera_ for the Luculluses of the
day, who could afford to pay for its rearing. The small _sneezing
plant_, a vegetable smelling-bottle, is still employed in headach by the
common people of Sicily, who bruise the leaves and sniff their pungency:
its vulgar name, _malupertusu_, is the corruption of Marum del Cortuso,
as we find it in the ancient herbal of Durante. The _Ferula communis_ or
_Saracinisca_, a legacy left to the Sicilian pedagogues by their eastern
lords, is sold in fagots at the green-grocers, and fulfils the
scholastic office of _birch_; and, being more elastic, must be pleasant
to _flog with_. We recommend it to _head masters_. The _sumac_, _Rhus
coriaria_, is not only to be seen here, but every where else in Sicily;
and they say there is a daily exportation of one thousand sacks of its
ground leaves. The ancients knew it well, and employed it for giving a
flavour to their meat, as they do now in Nubia and Egypt, according to
Durante, who deems its many virtues deserving of Latin verse. We smell
pepper!--a graceful shrub, whose slender twigs stand pencilled out like
sea-weed spread upon paper; and the _Schinus mollis_, a leaf of which we
have gathered ignorantly, is the source of the smell. We strew some
leaves on the basin of a neighbouring fountain, and amuse ourselves by
seeing them swim about as if they were bewitched, parting at the same
time with a whitish fluid, which, spreading on the surface of the water,
gives it an iridescent hue. The _Fuchsia arborescens_ of Japan flowers
here, they say, every month, just as we see him in all his pink
luxuriance, and makes himself quite at home; and here is that little
blue vegetable butterfly, the _Polygala_! Who can overlook his _winged_
petals, peeping out of their myrtle-looking bower? Then the
_geraniums_!--not potted, as in Covent-Garden, or the _Marche aux
Fleurs_, but forming vast parti-coloured _hedgerows_, giving to every
pathway its own _particular flower and perfume_; so that a connoisseur
might be taken blindfold and declare where each kind grew. _Hedges of
geranium seven feet high_! Think of that, ye _Dicksons_ and
nursery-ground men about _Brompton_ and the _King's Road_! The stalks a
mass of real ligneous matter, fit for the turner's lathe if it were but
hard enough. A small mound enables us to look about us more at large;
and now we discern the stately _bamboo_, thicker than your arm, and tall
as a small mast; and the _sugar-cane_, formerly cultivated for his
juice, but now looking as if he were ill-used and neglected. His
biography (but as it is not _auto_-biography, and written with his own
_reed_, there may be some mistake) is remarkable. Soon after the
annexation of Sicily to Spain in 1420, he was carried from Syracuse into
Spanish captivity; he then escaped to Madeira and the Canaries, and at
length saved himself in the West Indies. The _pistachia_ is also here,
with its five-partite sessile leaf, like a dwarf walnut; the capsule
holding the nut containing at present only a white germ, which it will
require four months more to bring to nutty maturity. The _manna_-tree is
very like an _alder_ in its general character, but thicker in its stem,
and bears the cicatrices of last year's _ill treatment_; its wounds,
however, will not bleed afresh now; but towards August the _salassatore_
of trees will run his steel into its limbs, taking care to place under
the bleeding orifices leaves from the _cactus_ hedge hard by to serve as
recipients, and drain its juices till it faints.

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