has its Papal and its Royal Index
Expurgatorius; in this is it doubly armed, and
it is only by a special permission, superseding
the indices, that a private gentleman
can form a library containing some of
the best Italian classics. Even this permission
is a matter of favour, and perhaps, to
be obtained only by fat easy-going, home-
keeping men; men who worship the Assoluto
ed Adorato Padrone, or who have a strong,
spice of bigotry in them. To thinking, active,
liberal-minded persons, be assured it would
be refused. To prevent the admission of
moral poison into the kingdom, a learned
staff, presided over by a fat priest, hold their
head-quarters in the Custom-house, where
hundreds and thousands of books lie piled up
for examination, that never can, and never
will be examined, to the vast edification of a
highly moral government, and to the ruin of
many a poor bookseller. For, be it known,
the duty is paid always before confiscation,
and thus a double loss ensues. I have
had some experience of these affairs;
there are books which I have been enabled
to get out by means of the piastre, whilst
others are gone to their eternal rest in  that
land of oblivion. With regard to the prohibitions
against printing, there is a width, and
breadth, and simplicity about them truly
wonderful. A man must have a general permit
before he can entertain the idea of writing a
book. A censor is enforced upon him who has
a right of cutting, and slashing, and prohibiting
altogether. His manuscript printed, the
letter-press is compared and criticised; and not
until the censor-superior shall have stamped
his awful imprimatur will the crippled
bantling see the light. Of course, the
consequence is, that we have no need of steam-
presses in Naples; and that the printed mind
of the country is remarkable for its highly-
religious tone, some oceans of paper having
been consumed, within the last year, to the
glory and praise of the Adored and Absolute
Master and the Immaculate Mary. The
strongest precautions, however, are taken
against foreign journalism; but, lest the
Neapolitan mind be altogether unprovided
with political matters, a very dainty dish,
all the ingredients of which have been
well sifted, is prepared in the shape of
the " Journal of the Two Sicilies." Its leading
articles are eulogies of the Great King
Bomba, the Adored and Absolute Master,
more father than king. After soaring to these
vast heights, the reader is let down to a
Russian despatch, or to a tale of disasters suffered
by the allies, or to some faint praise of them.
Even matter such as this has been considered
almost dangerous, and one of the directions
contained in the public paper I have already
quoted is, " I order you to observe who they
are that are most constant in reading the
official journal; where they read them;
what ideas they form of the Eastern
question; what conversations they hold after the
reading of the journal in private and in
public; in what sense are taken the news
which are necessarily published; who
circulates, or foments the farther publication of
them."

I shall say nothing more to prove that the
Neapolitan is the best tended animal in the
fold of civilisation. A simple summary of
what he dare not do shall suffice. He
may not wear a wide-awake, or a plumed
hat, or one of a strange shape; he may
not wear a large or a long beard, or one
that meets under his chin, or an imperial; he
may not wear three colours, or one colour;
he may not read, except by special order of
his Holiness the Pope, or of the Adored and
Absolute Master; he may not print what has
not been thrice purged; nor look even at the
official journal, without a spy at his elbow to
watch the variety and amount of interest
which flicker over his face. "But at all
events, he may think ? " I asked of one of the
satellites of the system. " Think? Why,
there," said my respondent, "is the folly
and error of your countries. I never could
see any good in thinking. What is there to
think about, in a well-regulated country? As
to religion, your confessor will take charge of
that; and as to politics, they are no affair
of yours-- your Adored and Absolute Master
will arrange all that. Eat, drink, and
sleep, and fatten and die— so the Madonna
wills— but for Mercy's sake, don't think!"

A COUSIN IN NEED.

ON a dreary autumn day, more than a
hundred years ago, a heavy travelling-carriage
was slowly lumbering along the muddy road
from Potsdam to Berlin. Within it, was one
person only, who took no heed of the slowness
of the travelling: but, leaning back in a
corner, was arranging a multiplicity of papers
contained in a small portfolio, and making
notes in a pocket-book. Since he was dressed
in a plain dark military uniform, it was fair
to suppose that this gentleman belonged to
the Prussian army, but to which grade of it
nobody could determine, as all tokens of rank
had been avoided. A dreary November
evening was closing in; and, though the rain
had for a time ceased, yet dark masses of
clouds flying through the sky, gave warning
that a " weeping darkness " was at hand.
The road grew heavier and heavier— at least,
so it should have seemed to a foot traveller
who was ploughing his way through its mire;
and so, doubtless, it did seem to the carriage
horses, who at last floundered along so slowly
that the pedestrian whom they had
overtaken kept easily by the side of the coach—
though at a respectful distance, certainly,
after the first bucketful of mud that it
splashed over him. The gentleman inside
the coach, when he could see no longer, shut
up his portfolio, and returned the pocket-
book to its place in the breast lining of his