The distant encampment of the band was disturbed by the firing of the Bizarro’s carabine at midnight.  They ran through the woods to seek the captain, but finding him lifeless and headless, they became so much surprised that many of them surrendered to the government, and relinquished their trade, and the band of Bizarro, as it lived by his ingenuity, broke up by his death.

A story is told nearly as horrible as the above, respecting the cruelty of this bandit, which seems to entitle him to be called one of the most odious wretches of his name.  A French officer, who had been active in the pursuit of him, fell into his hands, and was made to die [the death] of Marsyas or Saint Polycarp—­that is, the period being the middle of summer, he was flayed alive, and, being smeared with honey, was exposed to all the intolerable insects of a southern sky.  The corps were also informed where they might find their officer if they thought proper to send for him.  As more than two days elapsed before the wretched man was found, nothing save his miserable relics could be discovered.

I do not warrant these stories, but such are told currently.

[Tour from Naples to Rome], April 16.—­Having remained several months at Naples, we resolved to take a tour to Rome during the Holy Week and view the ecclesiastical shows which take place, although diminished in splendour by the Pope’s poverty.  So on the 15th we set out from Naples, my children unwell.  We passed through the Champ de Mars,[522] and so on by the Terra di Lavoro, a rich and fertile country, and breakfasted at St. Agatha, a wretched place, but we had a disagreeable experience.  I had purchased a travelling carriage, assured that it was English-built and all that.  However, when we were half a mile on our journey, a bush started and a wheel came off, but by dint of contrivances we fought our way back to Agatha, where we had a miserable lodging and wretched dinner.  The people were civil, however, and no bandits abroad, being kept in awe by the escort of the King of Westphalia,[523] who was on his road to Naples.  The wheel was effectually repaired, and at seven in the morning we started with some apprehension of suffering from crossing the very moist marshes called the Pontine Bogs, which lie between Naples and Rome.  This is not the time when these exhalations are most dangerous, though they seem to be safe at no time.  We remarked the celebrated Capua, which is distinguished into the new and old.  The new Capua is on the banks of the river Volturno, which conducts its waters into the moats.  It is still a place of some strength in modern war.  The approach to the old Capua is obstructed by an ancient bridge of a singular construction, and consists of a number of massive towers half ruined.  We did not pass very near to them, but the site seems very strong.  We passed Sinuessa or Sessa, an ancient Greek town, situated not far from shore.  The road from Naples to Capua resembles an orchard