to convince me that the immense majority of the
people had accepted the new order of things,
heart and soul, and that rich and poor were
alike full of hope that a brighter and better era
than Italy had ever known was dawning throughout
the country. Everywhere industry seemed
to be springing up into healthy vigour, old
rubbish, moral and material, to be swept away
by the sudden touch of improvement, and
populations long inert to be awakening into active
and intelligent life. Nor could I endure—however
I might respect Oooke's convictions—that
he should regard me as a willing instrument in
thwarting and impeding the march of Italian
regeneration.

"Still, my heart smote me at the idea that I
might give pain to my kindly fellow-country-man,
to whom I was indebted for much attention
since my arrival in Rome, and I broke the
awkward silence that ensued by some expressions
of regret that I should be obliged to refuse
the desired service—expressions clumsily
worded, I am sure, but none the less sincere.

Crooke took the refusal very well indeed. I
could see that he was hurt, but he bore the
disappointment better than I had expected, wrung
my hand, said that he " fully entered into my
feelings," begged I would allow the subject to
drop, and, after gazing out of the window for a
minute or two, began to converse on other
topics with more than his usual fluency of
speech and lightness of spirit. Nor did he
again allude to the unlucky subject of the
contraband correspondence.

However ardent a sight-seer may be, his
researches are necessarily limited to the period of
daylight, and, even at Rome, the Coliseum is
the only lion which can well be explored by the
help of torches or the moon. It was summer,
and the Opera company had quitted the city,
while the foreign residents, and most of the
Romans who possessed country-houses, were
away. But there were a good many palaces
still tenanted, and Crooke was very kind in
introducing me to his numerous Italian acquaintance.
My evenings would have been dull
enough, spent in the empty sala of my hotel,
but for this thoughtful attention on the part of
my former chum. As it was, I was " presented"
in the drawing-rooms of several of the
Roman nobility, at whose houses Crooke was
intimate, and was hospitably made welcome at
the frequent "receptions" of sundry ladies of
rank.

A reading and rowing man at College, a
working curate afterwards, and third master
elect of St. Winnipeg's, I had no experience of
London fashionable life, and the little I had
heard of it had by no means caused me to aspire
to an initiation into its social inanities. I dare
say the society of the Roman grandees, into
which, under Crooke's auspices, I was admitted,
was sufficiently tiresome and stupid, but, at any
rate, it was thoroughly new to me, and had a
sort of picturesque dulness and gloom about it.
The great shadowy rooms, with priceless pictures
on the walls, peerless marbles, cabinets
of gems, and costly heirlooms of all kinds, the
cumbrous furniture, carpetless floors, and frescoed
walls, all seen by the dim light of a few
sorry candles, pleased my fancy much. There
was an illustration of national life and Old World
modes of thought in everything around, even in
the scanty and cheap refreshments, a few cakes,
a few glasses of syrup or lemonade, a little of
the common wine of the country, a collation for
which eighteenpence would have paid amply,
served on monstrous silver trays by domestics
in shabby but gorgeous liveries. And the calm,
portly marchionesses, with their fans, their
black silk and old lace, their diamonds, good-
humoured stolidity, and soft voices, were a
study in themselves. And so were the snuffy
old counts—there seemed to be few or no young
people at these parties—with their decorations,
quaint politeness, and solemn manner of playing
trictrac.

Perhaps part of the charm of these curious
réunions was due to sheer vanity on my part,
for, as Crooke took care to inform me that an
Englishman was very seldom admitted into the
dingy but magnificent saloons of which, with
him for my Mentor, I was free, I could not help
piquing myself on my rare good fortune. " What
a capital subject of conversation," thought I,
"my sojourn in Rome, and the opportunities I
have had of seeing how Romans really live and
amuse themselves, would hereafter prove." And
I found time to write long descriptions of life
and society in Rome to a correspondent who
was pretty certain to consider my account as a
masterpiece of all that was graphic and diverting.
It was when the period allotted for my
stay began to dwindle until the hours might be
counted, that my old companion proposed to
present me at a house the threshold of which I
had not yet crossed.

"It is—don't be shocked—a cardinal's palace,
that of Cardinal Campobasso, the ablest scholar,
and most judicious collector of antique statuary
and mosaics in all Italy. His Eminence has
fine taste, and his noble fortune enables him to
gratify it without stint. You are not afraid,
are you, to be the guest of a cardinal? I'll
pledge myself that no one shall make even an
effort to win you to our way of thinking."

Crooke went on to tell me that the Cardinal,
who was one of the richest prelates in Italy, and
was, among other things, archbishop of the
wealthy Neapolitan diocese of Foggia, was just
then absent from Rome, attending to his
archiepiscopal duties. But the honours of his palazzo
were admirably well done by his sister. His
sister and his niece, the latter of whom, a young
widow, was reckoned among the most beautiful
women in Rome. They had a reception on that
evening, and Crooke had asked and obtained
permission to present me. For the first time I
demurred. It was Thursday, and a hot and
breezeless day, and I had been racing through
picture-galleries for the last time, had inspected
the wonderful cabinets of the Doria collection
since lunch, and was knocked up and weary. As
for Crooke, nothing seemed to tire him. But