CHAPTER V.

THE BOYS' JOURNEY.

HERE is many a true word spoken in jest ;"

"THE

and when Punch had said one day that he wished his aunt would take Ernest and himself

abroad some day with her, he had not an idea that such a thing could ever come to pass, and yet now she had actually asked permission to take her two little nephews on the continent with her for the five months of November, December, January, February, March; and the permission to do so had almost been granted.

They went to the sea-side for the long-summer holidays, and Ernest was out of doors a good deal,

and seemed to enjoy himself very much, but he came back no stronger than he went away, and here he was at the close of the summer, pale and weak, and languid, not eating like other boys, or running, or playing, but so often seeming tired, and the doctor, who said that there was nothing seriously the matter with Ernest, advised a long, thorough change, which he thought would benefit him more than all the medicine in the world, so Aunt Violet had asked permission to take Ernest, and Punch as a companion to him, to the south of France, and to Italy for the winter and first spring months; and their parents, although they could not bear to part with their boys for so long a time, and especially with Ernest, in his weak state, felt that it would be wrong to refuse so good and kind an offer; therefore, it was quickly decided that they were to go.

"I cannot imagine what ever poor granny will do without me," Punch said after all had been settled. Of course, father and mother, and Dabs, and little Violet, will miss us, but what granny will do without me I cannot think, for I'm such a comfort to her."

She'll miss you dreadfully, I expect," Ernest said, "for you're very useful to her."

"I'm quite her right-hand man," Punch answered, "and when she can't see to work, and I haven't anything particular to do, she always likes to have a chat with me."

"We shall have to write to her," Ernest said. "Yes, and if you learn to draw, you will have to send her some of your drawings."

"And poor father and mother will be awfully dull without us, I expect," Punch said; "but then they will have the little ones, and you know if you had been all right, we should have been away at school; so it's only a little farther, and a little longer time."

"A great deal farther," Ernest said, and then both boys drew long faces, for they were loving little fellows, and the thought of leaving father and mother, and dear old granny for a good half year, took off the colour from their promised pleasure.

But still the thought of going to France and Italy, was a beautiful one!

"Where would you rather go of any place in the Riviera, Punch?" Ernest then asked.

Both boys had carefully studied the map with their aunt, who had pointed out to them the Riviera di Ponenti, on the shore of the Mediterranean, several places in which she meant to visit, comprising as it does, the extreme south of France from Nice, to Genoa in Italy.

Punch looked at the map again.

"I'd rather go there, or there," he said, pointing to Nice and Genoa, the first and last places.

'Why?" asked Ernest, are they the prettiest?" "Garibaldi was born at Nice, in July 1807, and lived in Genoa," Punch replied, "and I consider

him a very great hero you know. He's one of my favourite heroes. In fact, Ernest," he went on, growing quite excited as he spoke: "if only we could go to one of those two places, I shouldn't have another wish, but if we do not go to Nice, I'd rather go to Italy than France, because I love the Italians."

"What do you know of them?" Ernest asked in astonishment.

"Well, Garibaldi was an Italian, and I like those Italian boys who come round singing, and such a number of those clever painters and men who made busts, and who are on Prince Consort's memorial, were Italians."

"I ought to like them for being painters," Ernest said.

“And then if we go to Italy we shall have such a nice long time in the train," Punch went on.

This was a great recommendation to him.

"I wonder, Ernest," Punch said a few minutes later, "if, when I am a man and married, my wife will be Mrs Punch."

Ernest burst out laughing.

"Not exactly," he answered, "she'll be Mrs Alexander Capel of course."

"She'll be much grander than me then," he said. Punch was such an odd boy, and what his little future wife had to do with talking about France and Italy Ernest could not make out, but so many

of the boy's sayings had no connection whatever with one another.

"I think the name Alexander Capel is a splendid one," Punch then said.

"Don't you think, Ernie, when I go to Italy I'd better be called Alexander

or Alick and drop the Punch now."

"I like Punch," was the answer,

"Then, as we're going for you, of course I must go on being it, but I don't think Garibaldi would have liked a name like that very much; do you?"

Perhaps not, but great men have nicknames sometimes, and if people love them when they say the names, I expect they like them very much, and I like Punch for you better than any name there could be, and so does mother."

"Of

"Then that settles it," the child replied. course what mother likes best settles it at once." "You know, Punch," Ernest then said, suddenly remembering, "we are going to Italy and to the very last place in France, Menton."

"I thought it was Mentone," Punch said, "we learnt that pronunciation at school."

"Aunt Violet says that it's always called Menton now, and that that's how the station's spelt, because when the French took the two provinces of Savoy and Nice from the Italians, the names of the places in them were made French instead of Italian, and as the "e" made it sound Italian they took that off."

"What a shame," said Punch, "I like it with the