es of the travellers of the olden time--delicate, subtle, genial
spirits--what think you of conversations such as this? Surely you must
opine that your footmen knew Rome better, and talked more to the
purpose about it.

Across the table I hear a citizen of London town narrating to a
curious audience how he has to-day seen the two great lions of
Rome,--the Coliseum, and Cardinal Antonelli. The conclusion he arrives
at is, that the first is a very fine ruin, and the second a very
clever man.

A provincial dowager of the devotee class, is worth listening to. She
has toiled through the entire ceremonies of the Holy Week. She has
knelt close to the Pope, and declares his mode of giving the
Benediction the most sublime thing on earth. The good lady has spared
neither time nor money in order to carry home a choice collection of
_relics_. Among other objects of adoration she has a bone of St.
Perpetua, and a real bit of the real Cross. Not satisfied with these,
she is bent on obtaining the Pope's palm-branch, the very identical
palm-branch which his Holiness has carried in his own sacred hand.
This is with her a fixed idea, a positive question of salvation. The
poor old soul has not the smallest doubt, that this bit of stick will
open for her the gates of Paradise. She has made her request to a
priest, who will transmit it to a Monsignore, who will forward it to a
Cardinal. Her importunity and her simplicity will, doubtless, move
somebody. She will get the precious bough, and she is convinced that
when she arrives at home with it, all the devotees in the province
will burst with envy.

Among these batches of ridiculous travellers, you are certain to find
some ecclesiastics. Here is one from our own country. You have known
him in France. Does not he strike you as being somewhat changed? Not
in his looks, but his manner. Beneath the shadow of his own church
tower, in the midst of his own flock, he used to be the mildest, the
meekest, and most modest of parish priests. He bowed low to the Mayor,
and to the most microscopic of the authorities. At Rome, his hat seems
glued to his head. I almost think--Heaven forgive me!--it is a trifle
cocked. How jauntily his cassock is tucked up! How he struts along the
street! Is not his hand on his hip? Something very like it. The reason
of this change is as clear as the sun at noon. He is in a kingdom
governed by his own class. He inhales an atmosphere impregnated with
clerical pride and th