"How?" muttered the fox, without
loosening his hold.

"Why, there's a castagna bradagliano,
for example;* say castagna bradagliano."

The fox muttered "castagna bradagliano"
between his teeth.

"You must open your mouth to
pronounce it well. Cas–ta–gna brada–gliano."

The fox suddenly opened his mouth,
and the cock flew away and perched upon
one of those very horse–chestnuts.

So the fox vowed he would never catch
a red cock again.

*Horse–chestnut

    BONFIRES, BEACONS, AND

                  SIGNALS.

A "BLAZE of triumph," such as no theatrical
manager ever ventured upon, shone
over Malvern on the 10th of January, 1856.
The town, although fashionable and
prosperous, had been without gaslights until
that day. Malvern rises early, trudges up
the noble hill that backs the town, drinks
water at a clear spring, inhales the breeze
from the summit, descends to breakfast,
passes a sober, active day, and retires to
bed early at night; it is a water–drinking,
health–seeking place, where late hours
are regarded as something naughty. Thus
it was, we suppose, that gas remained to a
later date unknown at Malvern than in most
other English towns of equal size. The gas
was laid on, and the townsmen resolved
to make a bonfire to celebrate the event.
The bonfire was made; and advantage was
taken of the occasion to ascertain how far
its light would serve as a beacon.
Malvern Hill, more than a thousand feet
high, is called the Worcestershire beacon,
and has a sister elevation known as the
Herefordshire beacon, situated four or five
miles distant. There can be little doubt
that beacon fires were in the old days
occasionally kindled on these hills. The
Malvern inhabitants, desirous of ascertaining
to how great a distance their holiday
bonfire would throw its beams, chose a
committee, subscribed funds, and opened
communications with various persons in all the
surrounding counties.

A huge pile was erected, of materials
carried up in waggons from the town.
These materials comprised four hundred
and fifty faggots, five cords of wood,
four loads of old hop–poles, two loads of
furze, twelve poplar trees, two tons of coal,
one barrel of naphtha, two barrels of tar,
and twelve empty tar barrels—a very
feast for Pluto himself. A heap was built
up to a height of about thirty feet, and
thirty feet diameter at the base. In the
centre was a cone of hop–poles; outside
was a truncated cone of poplar trees; and
between the two were placed the faggots,
wood, furze, coal, naphtha, tar, and tar
barrels. Numbers of persons volunteered
to take up positions on elevated spots, in
various counties, on a day and hour named.
Being winter time, the air was not so clear
as could be wished; a little snow fell, and
a gusty wind blew fiercely on the top of the
Worcestershire beacon. Nevertheless, a
goodly number of the inhabitants of
Malvern formed themselves into a
procession, and marched up the hill after dusk.
Torches were plentiful, but as the wind
blew them all out, the latter part of the
ascent was made in darkness. On a given
signal, twelve magnificent rockets were
sent off, and then the beacon was kindled
—crackling and flaming and smoking until
all the combustible substances were ignited.

When letters came to be received on the
next day or two, it was found that the
bonfire had been seen or that persons believed
they had seen it from the following among
other places: Ledbury, seven miles distant;
Robin Hood Hill in Gloucestershire, twenty–
three miles; Dudley Castle, twenty–six
miles; a hill near Leamington, thirty–seven
miles; Burton–on–Trent, forty miles; the
Wrekin, forty–two miles; Lansdown Hill at
Bath, fifty–three miles; the eminence near
Weston–super–Mare, sixty miles; Bardon
Hill, sixty miles; Nuffield Common in
Oxfordshire, seventy–three miles; and
Snowdon, one hundred and five miles. We
cannot help thinking that many of these
instances must have been deceptive; the
glare of an iron–furnace at a few miles
distance might easily have been mistaken for
the beacon in several of the above–named
positions. As for Snowdon, the chance of
success was indeed small. Mr. Hamer, a
successful Snowdon explorer residing at
Caernarvon, made a night ascent in the
midst of ice, snow, and wind; and, after
overcoming many difficulties, reached the
top, whence he saw (or persuaded himself
he saw) "a very, very faint light" towards
the south–east. It was afterwards decided
that the coal was a mistake, in producing
more smoke and heat than light, and
rendering the totality of the flame less
visible than it otherwise might have been.
Even the Worcester people found the
redness of the light to be very dull. It is not
uncharitable to suppose that in the majority