Scarcely have we parted with these new-found friends of kindred blood and common language, when we are provided with another companion.  An Italian officer asks a seat with us to Caserta.  Our letter of introduction to General Orsini being shown to him, he volunteers to assist us in attaining our object, that of seeing the hero of Italy.  At five, we are before the palace of Caserta, now a barrack, and the head-quarters of the Commander-in-Chief.  The building is one of great size and beauty of architecture.  A lofty arch, sustained by elegant and massive marble pillars, bisects the structure, and on either side one may pass from the archway into open areas of spacious dimensions, from which lead passages to the various offices.  We approach a very splendid marble staircase leading to the state apartments.  A sentinel forbids us to pass.  This is, then, perhaps, the part of the building occupied by the Commander-in-Chief.  Not so.  The state apartments are unoccupied, and are kept sacred from intrusion, as the property of the nation to which they are to belong.  Garibaldi’s apartments are among the humblest in the palace.  We go on to the end of the archway, and see, stretching as far as the eye can reach, the Royal Drive, leading through a fine avenue of trees, and reminding us of the “Long Walk” at Windsor Castle.  Retracing our steps, and crossing one of the court-yards, we ascend a modest staircase, and are in the antechamber of the apartments of the Commander-in-Chief.  There are sentinels at the outer door, others at the first landing, and a guard of honor, armed with halberds, in the antechamber.  Our courteous companion, by virtue of his official rank, has passed us without difficulty by the sentries, and quits us to discharge the duty which brought him to Caserta.

We are now eagerly expectant of the arrival of him whose face we have so long sought The hour is at hand when he joins his military family at an unostentatious and very frugal dinner.  In about half an hour there is a sudden cessation in the hum of conversation, the guard is ordered to stand to arms, and in a moment more, amid profound silence, Garibaldi has passed through the antechamber, leaving the place, as it were, pervaded by his presence.  We had beheld an erect form, of rather low stature, but broad and compact, a lofty brow, a composed and thoughtful face, with decision and reserved force depicted on every line of it.  In the mien and carriage we had seen realized all that we had read and heard of the air of one born to command.

Our hero wore the characteristic red shirt and gray trousers, and, thrown over them, a short gray cloak faced with red.  When without the cloak, there might be seen, hanging upon the back, and fastened around the throat, the party-colored kerchief usually appertaining to priestly vestments.

Returning to Naples, and sitting that night at our window, with the most beautiful of bays before us, we treasure up for perpetual recollection the picture of Garibaldi at head-quarters.