they have tramped by, let us turn and examine
the shops.

What a number of libraries! The works
exhibited in the windows and at the doors
are, for the most part, theological; and the
itinerant print merchant, who sits outside
across the pavement, is certain to show a
rich stock of saints and miracle-workers,
as well as a stray copy or so in oil of
some chef d'Å“uvre of the old masters. But
there are also books of more extended
interest than Dissertations on Interdicts,
Excommunications, and Comments on the
Fathers; particularly those which refer to
political questions. In every place there are
striking proofs that the Piedmontese believe
as strongly as ever in a united and
independent Italy. Not one of these book or
picture-shops which does not contain portraits
of Charles Albert, executed in different styles
to meet the purses of all classes. "Carlo AIberto
—Il vittima illustrimmo de l'Independenza
Italiana"—gazes out of those fine, thoughtful,
but over-speculative eyes from every second
window, as with arms folded across his massive
breast, he seems to ponder over the fate of his
beloved Italy; or, again, his giant form is
seen towering among his staff, as he dashes
on toward the squares of the ill-looking
Tedeschi. The love for the father extends to
the son, and almost equally numerous are the
portraits of the young Victor Emmanuel,
doing full justice to his eminently Celtic face,
his high cheek-bones, nose up-turned, and
enormous moustache and goat-like beard and
tuft. A propos, of this said beard and tuft—
the Emperor of Austria lately, by royal
ordinance, forbade any servant of the Crown
to let grow imperial or beard; and as the
King of Sardinia is distinguished for the
developement of these hirsute ornaments, it
was immediately taken for granted that the
order was directed against Piedmont, and
every Young Italy man, and every Sardinian,
to show their contempt for Austria,
immediately began to let tuft and beard grow,
and to very much suspect those who use a
razor on their chins. The King—his right
name is Victor Emmanuel Marie Albert Eugène
Ferdinand Thomas!—is most generally
represented sitting on a rock, smiling
defiantly on the Russian Bear, the Austrian
Eagle, and the French Cock, which are trying
to assail him;  while the waves which break
upon his seat are explained in some bad
verses below, to mean the Powers of
Darkness, which are broken against his
unconquerable resolve; but, in reality, he lives in a
very snug little palace, and is said to be
on better terms with some of the hostile
menagerie than his subjects would like, if
they knew the truth.

There are other portraits of popular heroes,
less known to fame. Much does it shame and
grieve me to think, that of one of them I never
heard before. Ugo Bassi must have been a
patriot of a very high order, however, for if
his history, as rendered by the Marionette
Company, was true, his life was passed in
making flying leaps at the King of Naples, till
that irritated potentate had him summarily
executed by an army of pendulous soldiers.
Ugo Bassi's likeness was everywhere, and
flourished much in the Café del Italia, or
della Mazzini, and the number of pipe-heads
his visage adorned must diffuse his name, in
time, all over Europe. After poking about
the book-shops—filled too, I regret to say, with
the worst literature of France, comfortably
placed 'twixt works of divinity—and
inspecting some of the old vellum-covered tomes
of middle-aged history, or of good classics
(and what glorious typography some of the
sixteenth and seventeenth century Italian
printers turned out!)—you pass a tobacco-
shop, offering nothing remarkable, but a good
collection of meerschaums and tobacco-bags,
with monks' heads as tops, the body of the
bag being made to represent those of
ecclesiastics on the largest scale of aldermanic
developement; a banker's, the proprietor of
which, according to the mysterious law
ruling such matters, being always the hairiest
man in the neighbourhood; an eating-house
festooned with strings of coloured sausages,
grey, red, and bright yellow, while within you
see the proprietor enveloped in a savoury
steam, busily superintending a battery of tin
saucepans; an albergo, with its attendant
coppersmith next door, working for the bare
life; a boot-maker's, where the whole
operations of the trade are carried on before
your eyes by a set of owl-like cordonniers;
then a whole batch of jewellers' shops in a
row, rich with cameos and lava ornaments,
but so wildly profuse in church ornaments as
to show that most of their trade is derived
from that source; then a chocolate-shop,
decorated by a full length of the proprietor,
represented in the act of making a very hard-
looking bargain with a negro merchant; a
baker's shop, with such delicate white rolls
and fancy rolls in the window, and a
tremendous crop of grissin bread—a sort of
crisp biscuity edible, made in lengths of a
yard, and about the thickness of your finger;
then—run past it for your life, if you would
not be saturated with garlic to the very core
—a vetturini eating-house, where the wild-
looking, wide-hatted, silver-buttoned drivers
are busily engaged disposing of the unsavoury
messes of a very dirty-handed Phillis; next,
several milliners' and ready made clothes'
shops, which have a family resemblance all
over the world; though I was rather astonished
at seeing a light pea-green dress-coat, with
velvet collar and cuffs, and cut steel buttons,
announced as "The mode of London," not
remembering that I had ever seen such a
garment in Moses' shop, or in the fancy
costumes displayed in tailors' windows as
fashions for 1852; more pipe-shops, cafés, cook-
shops, booksellers, book-stalls, print-shops;
then some cheap bazaars—mere off-shoots