GARIBALDI.
[To THE EDITOR OF THE "SPECTATOR."] Sim—The tidings of the death of the hero of our time only reached me three days ago, in this grove of palms. If you have not heard the following little story of his life during that portion of it which he passed in South America, you will be glad to hear it now. He had left the Atlantic, and had come to the Pacific side of the continent, to gain a peaceful living as the master of a ba]inder of fifteen tons. In this small vessel of one mast he carried flour, fruits, and vegetables from Chili to the ports of Bolivia and Peru, to sell in small quantities—in short, he kept a grocer's shop at sea—for the supply of all kinds of customers. He was also a carrier of precious things between Valparaiso and Callao, the port of Lima. I have seen many of his bills of lading, signed "Giuseppe Garibaldi," for pictures and sums of money transmitted from one port to another. If I re- member well, the name of the bander was ' La Anita.' One evening he was seated in the marble corridor which ran in front, of Morin's Hotel, in Lima, drinking coffee and talking with his friend, St. Arnaud, who was a French refugee and teacher of music, on the functions of music ; and he said, among other things, that all such rubbish as the operas of Lucrezia Borgia, .17 Trovatore, Liz Traviata, and others, were a disgrace to music. He used some very strong expressions about women of a certain reputation, and of the men who had told their infamous story in music. At this point there came to our table a butterfly Frenchman, in yellow-kid gloves, a large Havannah cigar, a bright, shining hat from Paris, and a walking-cane containing a dagger. The Frenchman, who knew St. Arnaud, took part in the conversation, and made some observations about women generally which drew from Garibaldi the request that he would not repeat those observations. The poor fool, not knowing whom ho had to deal with, repeated his folly, and added one or two common-place sayings ; on which our sailor visitor, in his red shirt and a most sweet smile on his lips, told him to "sew up his mouth," or "he would box his ears." The offensive things were repeated. Garibaldi quietly rose and went to carry out his fatherly threat, on which the French fool drew the dagger from his stick. The stick was seized by Gari- baldi, and used unsparingly on the poor Frenchman's shins, who wont away in search of a friend. The friend soon after appeared, and delivered a formal challenge to the man in the red shirt, who exclaimed, " Very well; I, then, have the choice of weapons. Tell your friend to bring his sword-stick. He shall take the iron, I the wood ; and I promise him this, that I will only flog him on the back." Of course, it soon became known to the French butterfly who the man in the red shirt was, and, of course, the foolish fellow was spared a thrashing. A short while afterwards, Garibaldi suddenly left the west coast. A fortnight later it was well known for what reason. The Church authorities in Lima opened a public subscription, calling upon all faithful :souls to send money to Rome, for the help and succour of the Pope. The Italians in Lima opened a subscription for Gari- baldi. In one month there was collected from the faithful, who had been addressed from every church door in the city, the sum -of seven dollars for his Holiness ; and in the same time, for the last of the heroes there was collected eighty thousand dollars. I am not sure if the seven dollars were sent to Rome, but every
• cent of the eighty thousand was carried by the English mail to
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