STORY OF
THE YOUNG ROBBER.
I was born at the little town of Frosinone, which lies at the skirts of the Abruzzi. My father had made a little property in trade, and gave me some education, as he intended me for the church; but I had kept gay company too much to relish the cowl, so I grew up a loiterer about the place. I was a heedless fellow, a little quarrelsome on occasion, but goodhumoured in the main; so I made my way very well for a time, until I fell in love. There lived in our town a surveyor or land-bailiff of the puinee’s, who had a young daughter, a beautiful girl of sixteen: she was looked upon as something better than the common run of our towns-folk, and was kept almost entirely at home. I saw her occasionally, and became madly in love with her—she looked so fresh and tender, and so different from the sun-burned females to whom I had been accustomed.
As my father kept me in money, I always dressed well, and took all opportunities of showing myself off to advantage in the eyes of the little beauty. I used to see her
