offered, and then the mob had gained the stairs, and swept, with shouts of vengeance, into the state apartments. The duke was in his writing closet, preparing reluctantly to yield to the popular clamour, and rescind the objectionable imposts. He had no suspicion how far the animosity against Spain extended, and how vain would be any effort on his part to subdue the clamour by concession. He fondly imagined that he had but to step forth to receive respectful attention; that he had but to state the abolition of the taxes to be the most popular man in Naples. That one of the vulgar herd should usurp his authority, dwell as a prince in the land, and sway the destiny of the country, was to him a thing impossible. He was signing the official document, abolishing the imposts, when the people broke into the palace. Still he was resolved to meet them, and accordingly went forth. The scene he beheld startled, if it did not terrify him. Hundreds of angry, maddened, desperate men were struggling forward, a dozen voices called him by his name, a dozen knives were raised against him—there was no time for parley. He retreated, was pursued; but knowing the arrangements of the palace better than those who followed him and yelled for blood, he effected his escape to a side entrance, where a carriage was in waiting to convey him to a place of security-the church of St. Louis. As the carriage emerged from the gate into a narrow thoroughfare, some stragglers saw the face of the governor and raised the alarm. The rioters were immediately in pursuit; but fortunately the asylum was reached before the mob could effect their purpose. Once within the church the governor supposed himself to be secure, and threw himself before the altar in gratitude. But he was mistaken; the angry multitude were bent on his destruction, and it was clear that those who meant murder would not hesitate at sacrilege. His only chance of safety was that of reaching the fort of Castel Nuovo, and in that he was happily successful. Howling vengeance at their disappointment the rioters paraded the city in different bands; some robbing the shops of the armourers and spoiling the stores of the wealthier merchants, others stripped all the government offices, and others broke open the gaols and strengthened their ranks by all those who, justly or unjustly, were within their walls. The market-place was their chief centre, and there towards the close of the day great multitudes assembled and were harangued by Genovino the oracle. It was he who pointed out the necessity for maintaining order, for elevating some one commanding genius to the chief place in the State; he who intimated that no man was so well qualified for this position as Thomas Aniello-the fisherman poor in purse but rich in patriotism, ignobly born, but with a noble soul-an uncrowned king, but one upon whose brow the diadem would be well placed. The multitude listened with rapture to the declamation of the orator. They felt themselves complimented in all the praises of their companion-it was the apotheosis of poverty-the triumph of sans culottes. So they shouted for Masaniello until they were hoarse, and swore by all the saints in and out of the calendar that he should be their prince. Knowing nothing of all this, his poor wife Marie waited for him anxiously at their humble home at Amalfi, and her heart was troubled, as she feared that he might again have assorted with the demagogues of Naples. In the drama that was being played out in Naples, there was one man -a man whose features Vischer the painter has rendered familiar—more powerful than all others. Behind the illustrious persons who by cunning and courage, by force and fraud, were disputing possession of Naples; behind Duke Arcos who had cancelled the last privilege and pocketed the last crown of the Italians; behind Genovino who was thwarting the duke; behind Masaniello who had ruined the farmer-generals and made fruit cheap; behind the Marquis Châtillon who was playing Masaniello against the duke, and the duke against Masaniello-in order that he might win his beloved, and give Naples to Henry of Guise-was a man more potent than them all-he was a poor rascal, Giuseppe Basilo by name, and rat catcher by profession. In his picture he is represented as a man of middle age, of crabbed, peevish aspect, but with an expression more simple than wicked; his eyes large and prominent, his ears thick and fat, his nose flat, his lips full, shaded by a heavy moustache, his chin covered by a short ragged beard. He wears a rough hairy cap on his head, his clothes are those of squalid poverty; he has a knife at his girdle and a box, attached to a leather strap, on which are two shields, one of them emblazoned with a dagger between four stars. On his shoulder is a rat; in his hand he holds some infallible rat destroyer; to his right stands a dog, to his left a boy holding a pole surmounted by a cage, from which dead rats are pendant. Throughout the anarchy which followed the outbreak under Masaniello this man was the true king of Naples. To the people he was the humble rat catcher, ready at any time to rid their houses of vermin, charging but twenty scudi for the capture of ten rats. But to the government he was of more importance. For fifteen years he had been a spy-the most active agent of the police, the most useful instrument of administration. He carried his box of rats to all quarters of the city, and he was free of every house, great and small. To capture rats he must go everywhere, no staircase, no passage, no door must be closed against him; if rats were to be killed, the rat catcher must be permitted free access to his victims; this piece of skirting board must be removed; this cupboard must be ransacked; this private staircase must be opened. He was a wily fellow, this Giuseppe Basilo, with an excellent memory. No one feared him; he was counted as half imbecile; the lazzaroni looked down on him; but he was a Machiavelli in tatters. Intimately acquainted with all that was going on in the city-the plots and counter plots, he was able to inform the viceroy of the intention both of the wily French emissary and the simple fisherman. He waited on the viceroy only a few hours after the escape of his highness, and laid before him an exact account of all that had transpired, and of all that was likely to occur. In the meantime the rioters having completed the overthrow of the Government, and invested Masaniello with all the honours of the viceroy's office, sent messengers-duly authorised to expend what might be necessary to Amalfi, for the purpose of bringing the wife of Masaniello in triumph to Naples. The preparations for her reception were made in haste; but they were on a grand scale, and thousands waited her arrival on the shore. She never arrived. The vessel in which she was conveyed was captured by a Spanish cruizer, and the unfortunate woman was carried as a prisoner to Castel Nuovo. When Masaniello received this intelligence, his rage was unbounded, and he swore a bitter vengeance on the Spaniards. He kept his oath. There were not wanting those who hated the Spaniards, and who loved spoil. A list of victims was made out, and the Company of Death entrusted with the execution. In vain the more calm and reasonable among the revolutionists urged Masaniello to consider rather the future of Naples, than the gratification of private vengeance. He would listen to no one-hear no counsel but that of his own excited passion. It may suffice in this place to notice one of these terrible executions. The house was stormed, stripped of all moveables-furniture, pictures, glass, china, exotics, tapestry, everything from that of the nursery to that he who intimated that no man was so well qualified for this position as Thomas Aniello-the fisherman poor in purse but rich in patriotism, ignobly born, but with a noble soul-an uncrowned king, but one upon whose brow the diadem would be well placed. The multitude listened They felt themselves with rapture to the declamation of the orator. complimented in all the praises of their companion-it was the apotheosis of poverty-the triumph of sans culottes. So they shouted for Masaniello until they were hoarse, and swore by all the saints in and out of the calendar that he should be their prince. Knowing nothing of all this, his poor wife Marie waited for him anxiously at their humble home at Amalfi, and her heart was troubled, as she feared that he might again have assorted with the demagogues of Naples. In the drama that was being played out in Naples, there was one man -a man whose features Vischer the painter has rendered familiar—more powerful than all others. Behind the illustrious persons who by cunning and courage, by force and fraud, were disputing possession of Naples; behind Duke Arcos who had cancelled the last privilege and pocketed the last crown of the Italians; behind Genovino who was thwarting the duke; behind Masaniello who had ruined the farmer-generals and made fruit cheap; behind the Marquis Châtillon who was playing Masaniello against the duke, and the duke against Masaniello-in order that he might win his beloved, and give Naples to Henry of Guise-was a man more potent than them all-he was a poor rascal, Giuseppe Basilo by name, and rat catcher by profession. In his picture he is represented as a man of middle age, of crabbed, peevish aspect, but with an expression more simple than wicked; his eyes large and prominent, his ears thick and fat, his nose flat, his lips full, shaded by a heavy moustache, his chin covered by a short ragged beard. He wears a rough hairy cap on his head, his clothes are those of squalid poverty; he has a knife at his girdle and a box, attached to a leather strap, on which are two shields, one of them emblazoned with a dagger between four stars. On his shoulder is a rat; in his hand he holds some infallible rat destroyer; to his right stands a dog, to his left a boy holding a pole surmounted by a cage, from which dead rats are pendant. Throughout the anarchy which followed the outbreak under Masaniello this man was the true king of Naples. To the people he was the humble rat catcher, ready at any time to rid their houses of vermin, charging but twenty scudi for the capture of ten For fifteen rats. But to the government he was of more importance. years he had been a spy-the most active agent of the police, the most useful instrument of administration. He carried his box of rats to all quarters of the city, and he was free of every house, great and small. To capture rats he must go everywhere, no staircase, no passage, no door must be closed against him; if rats were to be killed, the rat catcher must be permitted free access to his victims; this piece of skirting board must be removed; this cupboard must be ransacked; this private staircase must be opened. He was a wily fellow, this Giuseppe Basilo, with an excellent memory. No one feared him; he was counted as half imbecile; the lazzaroni looked down on him; but he was a Machiavelli in tatters. Intimately acquainted with all that was going on in the city-the plots and counter plots, he was able to inform the viceroy of the intention both of the wily French emissary and the simple fisherman. He waited on the viceroy only a few hours after the escape of his highness, and laid before him an exact account of all that had transpired, and of all that was likely to occur. In the meantime the rioters having completed the overthrow of the Government, and invested Masaniello with all the honours of the viceroy's office, sent messengers-duly authorised to expend what might be necessary to Amalfi, for the purpose of bringing the wife of Masaniello in triumph to Naples. The preparations for her reception were made in haste; but they were on a grand scale, and thousands waited her arrival on the shore. She never arrived. The vessel in which she was conveyed was captured by a Spanish cruizer, and the unfortunate woman was carried as a prisoner to Castel Nuovo. When Masaniello received this intelligence, his rage was unbounded, and he swore a bitter vengeance on the Spaniards. He kept his oath. There were not wanting those who hated the Spaniards, and who loved spoil. A list of victims was made out, and the Company of Death entrusted with the execution. In vain the more calm and reasonable among the revolutionists urged Masaniello to consider rather the future of Naples, than the gratification of private vengeance. He would listen to no one-hear no counsel but that of his own excited passion. It may suffice in this place to notice one of these terrible executions. The house was stormed, stripped of all moveables-furniture, pictures, glass, china, exotics, tapestry, everything from that of the nursery to that |