ruccio tried to reanimate his troops, but fell covered with wounds.

Then the Medicean general, Orsini, asked him, "Will you surrender?" "No!" answered Ferruccio, with a tremendous cry, and rose up bleeding to continue the hopeless fray. A Spaniard took him prisoner, but his old foe, Maramaldo, claiming him as his captive in right of revenge, dragged him away, and on the doorstep of the house opposite the church plunged his sword into Ferruccio's throat. The dying hero exclaimed, "Oh, vile Maramaldo, to kill a dead man!" and then, reaching an imperial standard, which he had taken in the battle, wrapped it round his limbs and died. And so the tyrant's flag served as shroud to the last hero of the Republic! The field where the battle took place is called the "Campo di Ferro" (field of iron) to this day, and many are the ancient weapons turned up from time to time by the ploughshare.

After the Antiquary's story, we look with double interest at the old stone, dated 1530, which bears Ferruccio's name. This is on the right side of the church, where they say that once, in making some reparations, a skeleton was found, which now reposes under the high altar. A grand new Latin inscription was placed under the portico in 1843, but we like the simple old one best :

Qui

COMBATTENDO PER LA PATRIA MORI,
FRANCESCO FERRUCCI,

A Di 3 Agosto, 1530.

The guide tells us that several pieces of old armour found here are preserved in the house.

Demanding permission from the stylish villeggianti, we are shown into a dining-room, where a woman shows us three rusty halberds, one of which is handsomely worked. Having seen these, she, with great state, brings forth a visitors' book, in which we are requested to write our names. The Antiquary thinks the museum is not worth the trouble. Aunt Louisa proposes to write:,

"Old halberds three

Were shown to me,
Naught else I see.

Signed Louie T—."

But time is passing. In half an hour we must start; and to carry back three sketch-books without a memorial of the place would be too absurd after having brought them so far.

Two of the party forthwith settle down to draw the church; and the elegant villeggianti politely supply the artists with chairs and themselves with unwonted amusement for a time.

"The mother" trots off down the village and

M

across the bridge, the Antiquary following her, to catch a sunset view of Gavinana from the other side of the ravine. Here she is still when the other two friends take their homeward way down the rugged road, leaving the Antiquary to follow with her in the carriage. It is already sunset, and a two hours' drive is in prospect, so the mother reluctantly packs up her paints and joins her spouse in the chaise. But why goes the amiable pony so uneasily? Why does he slide farther into the shafts till they drop towards the ground like ploughshares, and the carriage is nearly on his back? Why, indeed! The man who volunteered to take the harness off was not equal to the task of putting it on again, and the Antiquary descending finds his steed entirely loose between the shafts. The task of re-harnessing him is a difficult one, even to those who understand the intricacies of harness, for he is so very small that the straps intended for a larger horse have to be shortened and wound about into cunning little loops and knots to make them fit him. A kindly contadino appears on the scene, and the placid pony's toilet is soon satisfactorily made. The party proceed as rapidly as circumstances permit, arriving at home by brilliant moonlight about two hours later.

CHAPTER XXIII.

WITCHCRAFT.

August 1.- Harry's "friend and brother," the bearded Pietro, is ill, and great consternation reigns in the cottage which he rules. Not all the united feminine entreaties of the family-mother, wife, and three pretty daughters-can induce him to call in a doctor. Meanwhile, the fever and headache grow worse daily, till he is quite prostrate on his bed, and his family stand wringing their hands. At length they call "the signora" into council, and she goes to see the sick man, and gets an insight into nineteenth century witchcraft! She gently urges the necessity of calling in a doctor. Pietro replies: "I never see that doctors do any good. He'll come and tell me to take a pill or two, and go away with his five francs, leaving me just where I was before. No, no; if I am worse again to-day, I'll just send for the old woman: she did me a sight of good yesterday." SIGNORA.-" Old woman?

PIETRO.-"Yes; an old woman of Piteglio. It seems ridiculous to talk of, but the way that glass she put on my head drew out all the fever and pain was wonderful!"

Pietro's second daughter, Estere with the almond eyes, who stood with her hands clasped round the post of his bed, reiterated like an echo, "Yes, it does seem wonderful!"

SIGNORA (all eagerness).-"A glass on your head?

Oh, do tell me all about it."

PIETRO (speaking in calm and serious earnestness)." How she did it, I can't tell. What she did was just this: she took a tumbler of water, and, covering it with a handkerchief, turned it upside down on the top of my head as I sat upright."

SIGNORA." And did you not get wet?" PIETRO.-"Niente affatto (nothing of the kind). There it stayed for two hours, without any one holding it, and it drew up all my fever and headache till the water boiled and bubbled with the male (suffering) that was going into it; and it is a fact, it took all the illness out of me. As a proof, see how much better I am to-day."

SIGNORA (trying to account for it on matterof-fact principles).-"Ah, the water kept the hand kerchief cool, and so it relieved the brain. Why not try it again to-day by yourselves?"