Papato." Vast and comprehensive subjects
which would seem to exhaust these nice
questions, and each offered at the humble figure of
twopence-halfpenny! I come next day by this
familiar corner, and find that the wall is still
there, but the papers are gone; at least they are
hidden away under a fresh company of clean
glistening sheets, displaying an entirely novel
and appetising (for such as love the aliment)
titles. Now I read it " II Congresso e il Papa"
(this poor name is sadly buffeted in the dust of
the conflict), and M. Villemain's brochure done
out of his heavy French into heavier Italian.
A distinguished nobleman belonging to our
country, I see, has been glorified by a similar
compliment: and "Debate in the English
Parliament da Milor Normanby," swells the
crowded ruck of these lighter squibs. As each
day succeeds, so does a fresh shower come
fluttering down from the clouds; and as each
day closes, so is it absorbed into that
waste-paper limbo reserved for pamphlets, and
newspapers, and playbills. Doctors of law, canons,
lawyers, prelates, all descend into the arena and
ignite their little squibs. Populus rushes and
buys with avidity, and has the whole niceties
of that intricate question expounded for the small
charge of five halfpennies.

Wandering up and down through these Roman
thoroughfares, in which there is inexhaustible
entertainment, I hail a decently stocked shop
with a certain thankfulness. It is a species of
spring in the desert, even though it be but
a poor tenth-class article, stuck with
different little table ornaments of the Palais
Royal make, only sadly dimmed and of the
pattern the season before last. In such a miscellany
there are not many things likely to make you
start, yet when I see three little yellow busts in
a line looking at me steadfastly from the window
of one emporium, I do own to such an emotion.
There is nothing in the fact of three yellow
busts in a line looking out of a window, but
when the centre one proves to be an exact por-
trait of his Holiness Pius the Ninth, and the
one on the right his excommunicated Majesty
Victor Emmanuel, and the one on the left the
eldest but sadly undutiful son of the Church,
Napoleon the Third, the combination becomes
suggestive and most significant. I pass and
repass the same establishment pretty often, and
always find the Holy Father supported by this
Royal Peachum and Lockit. I wonder is this
exposition a mere stupidity on the part of the
innocent proprietor, or a bit of sly satire fitted
to the crisis? More surprising still, where are
the Argus-eyed? where Manteucci, chief of the
thief-takers, to forbid this unlawful collocation?

It was thought that when the late Signor
Lablache passed away, Doctor Dulcamara, with
elixirs, nostrums, and carriage, retired from
business. I am very glad to see that this is not
the case. For, coming round by that space in
front of the Pantheon, whose dark pillars look
as though they had been smoked black by fire,
I come upon Doctor Dulcamara, aloft upon his
quaint machine, half carriage, half caravan, and,
by his lusty voice, full of strength and spirits.
Neither have the gaping rustics retired from
business, for here they are gathered,
open-mouthed, greedy, stolid, and purchasing briskly.
The doctor wears his bright charlatan's robes
of office, and is assisted by a theatrical-looking
young lady, who may be his daughter, but may
more reasonably be presumed to be his slave,
for I should take the doctor to be Eastern in his
tastes and habits. I draw near, and am
delighted with his harangue. It is irresistible.
His little bottles go off like wildfire. I draw
near and hear him say: " Friends! Signori and
Signore! Might I not have been rich, powerful,
flourishing, at this moment, great in the courts
and in the palaces? but I scorned them all!"
(Orator flings back his arm with much heat and
violence.) "I preferred—ay, ten thousand
times preferred" (orator now crouching low
like a cat, and running on hurriedly in a low
guttural and mysterious tone) "the gratification
of alleviating the sorrows of my fellow-creatures,
soothing their woes, bearing health, life, and
consolation to the sick-bed of the poor and
suffering!  ' (Climax is emphasised by a tremendous
thump on his breast, and a burst of applause
encourages the production of such noble
sentiments. Wiping his brow, orator proceeds.)
"Has not" (this is spoken very slowly and
impressively) "non ha il impero di le Francesi"
(pause)—" di TUTTI le Francesi " (protracted
pause, while rustic visages lengthen visibly at
the awful name), " did he not ofter with his own
hand— colla sua mano" (pause, rustics breathless),
"offer to pin on my own breast le
magnificente decorazione of the Legion of Honour?
Did not the Empress of the Russias—of all the
Russias? did not the Grand Seignior the
Sultan—-" (I do not catch the magnificent
offers made by those august persons.) " Ecco!
Behold! See! Look on the precious papers!"
(And he drags from his breast a bundle of greasy
parchments with seals dangling from them.)
"Ma non! Never! never! never!" (This is
spoken with the vehemence of virtue and
self-abnegation. The parchments are flung back
contemptuously into an omnibus.) "I have it
here" (thumping his breast violently) " what
repays me for all!" And as I walk away, I see
that the young lady assistant can scarcely meet
the demand for the efficacious bottles.

This little alley takes me away from Doctor
Dulcamara, round by the soot-coloured
Pantheon, which some way fits into its place as
familiarly and as practically as does the Bank of
England or the General Post Office, and leads
me up to the great hostelry, which is, sub
tutelâ- under the protection - of the Goddess of
Wisdom, and is christened Minerva. From
Pantheon to Minerva is not so outrageous a
leap; but it is hard to fathom what special
affinity binds that wise divinity to hotel-keeping.
Had she, indeed, sprung armed from the stomach,
not the brain, of Jupiter—- but it is not so
written. Unexplained, too, the mysterious law
thai, seems to draw under its roof, clergymen of
all climes and countries, but of one denomination