result, in ignominious back turning. Ship
must go about; and by precious dispensation of
metropolitan police, economical alike of time
and distance, must plunge again into seven
times Seven Dials, thread many more alleys,
making for a line of approach directly
opposite. From the cabin steerage, or inside,
I protest loudly against this outrageous
violation of the common carriage route regulations
and canons as to the direction of
horses' heads; against the monstrous axiom
that we who come from the east, and approach
lawfully by the eastern streets, must be dragged
violently from our course, and sent beating up a
dark ocean of streets, to get round and make
the more western approaches. Apollo, far-
darting god, keeps his halls cheerfully alight
and blazing with a bright effulgence. Peep
round the corner, and you will catch a glimpse
of dull sad-looking Tiber, rolling by with a
steady look, inviting sullenly to suicide. Flavus
Tiber rolls under the very stage; the great
Bastion of the Angel rises like a mountain just
over the way; and the shivering stone sentries
of the bridge are, as usual, out on their cheerless
duty. I have a certain compassion for
those ill-used calcareous privates, who have a
sad time of it, and suffer under an unjust
dispensation compared with their brethren, who
reside under shelter; and I miss the delicious
theatrical organisation with which our French
neighbours so effectually encumber the entrance
to their theatres; that running the gauntlet of
some half a dozen successive "administrations"
of sallow gentlemen, who sit four together
behind bars, and play at cards with you. We have
none of this pleasant entanglement. Little red-
limbed sentry of the Fortieth directs us into
this—we may call it so, for want of a better
name—this locksmith's shop, where it seems to
me I can find a key of any size or dimension.
The power of the keys is, indeed, here developed
to an extraordinary degree, hanging in
monstrous bunches, like wall fruit on a well-laden
tree, and with two gardeners-in-chief, in black
silk caps, such as old gentlemen are partial to,
sitting among the keys and plucking the
produce. That mysterious nightcap economy,
suggesting general epidemic and chronic prevalence
of cold in the head, will develop itself later.
That metal fruit handed to you will be "Open,
sesame!" to a little cabinet or box, to be yours
to have and to hold for the night, with all the
rights and profits thereunto appertaining.

Now, are fluttering up the marble staircase
the cloaked and hooded figures, the scarlet
gipsies, and floating, rustling gossamer miscellany
which flood such temples. High this
spacious hall, marble-paved and arched, where is
store of ices and general refreshment, where
protecting garments suffer impoundment, and
where wandering men collect, and the lost sheep
is sure to be found: here I see magniloquent
inscription in golden letters, barbarously grand
and self-glorifying. It is in the great Roman
character reserved for such boastings, and I
almost expect to read that some conqueror
—redux—come home again, that is—and
hostibus debellatis—the foeman being utterly and
disgracefully worsted—erected this temple—
hanc ædem—to Juno Victrix. Instead, I read
a haughty reminder to all such lieges as come
that way (having duly discharged the tariff at
the door), that Dux Torlonia, Duke of
Bracciano and other localities, Marchio de——(say
of the Pontine Marshes), built this temple, and
restored the same—restituit. We must be thankful,
and appreciate the favour. We shall be
reminded presently of other obligations owing
to this nobleman.

More golden inscriptions. This gallery to
the right is labelled magnificently ORDINE DE'
NOBILI—the Noblemen's Tier! There is here
something touching on the rigid Indian supremacy
of caste: distinction which fear has borne,
and will bear fruit, in many a nobleman's tear.
A remark not more melancholy in its prophetic
character than in its feeble humour. Poor
commoners and ordinary gentry must take the stair,
and ascend a flight or so higher; and a familiar
in a black silk nightcap being summoned, flings
wide the narrow cell numbered "undeci." We
draw chairs to the front, and look round on
Apollo's theatre.

Much like Old Drury in size and general
bearings, but painted in a dull, a sad-coloured
stone, which gives it a cheerless and almost
penitential character. There is no blaze of
gilding, no delicate bride-cake confectionery of
white and gold, as in the famous London tabernacle,
which rises where the fruits and flowers
are sold—no rich warmth of crimson and gold,
such as glows upon the walls of the Parisian
house with almost a dining-room comfort—it is
in darkness almost Cimmerian, and a single
chandelier in the clouds pours down a feeble
and insufficient radiance. With the absence of
all those cheerful adjuncts of warmth, colour,
gold, light, and decoration, an insupportable
melancholy creeps over the well-ordered mind,
which is thus brought to a suitable tone for
solemn and penitential exercises. By judicious
alteration, and a tap of the decorator's wand, it
might burst into a splendid theatre.

Then might it serve for a yet more glorious
apotheosis of the Banker-Duke. We have already
passed humbly beneath his arch triumphal, where
is the glorifying inscription to the chief whose
conquests are by moneys. This is my opera, it
proclaims, my pit, my boxes, my stage. Plebs
Populusque Romanus, come and be recreated;
but at the same time be thankful, know to whom
you owe these delights! And lest should you
forget, in transitu between the arch triumphal
and boxes, cast your eyes an instant upon your
neighbour's light cane-chair; so shall you be
kept in a state of suitable recollection. And,
indeed, as I look round on our little cabin furniture,
I do find that we are supplied with eight
such seats, each garnished conspicuously with a
ducal coronet, and a flowing round text T. The
same letter, with the same head ornament, is
artfully worked at corners of arches and such
suitable places. The very air is charged with