home only to be placed under the surveillance of
the police. A man who is forbidden to exercise the calling to which he
was bred, and whose sole privilege is that of dying of starvation in
his native land, is likely rather to regret his exile sometimes.

I was introduced to one of the fifty-nine privileged partakers of the
pontifical clemency. He is an advocate; at least he was until the day
when he obtained his pardon. He related to me the history of the
tolerably inoffensive part he had played in 1848; the hopes he had
founded on the amnesty; his despair when he found himself excluded
from it; some particulars of his life in exile, such, for instance, as
his having had recourse to giving lessons in Italian, like the
illustrious Manin, and so many others.

"I could have lived happily enough," he said,

"but one day the home-sickness laid my heart low; I felt
that I must see Italy, or die. My family took the necessary
steps, and it fortunately happened that we knew some one who
had interest with a Cardinal. The police dictated the
conditions of my return, and I accepted them without knowing
what they were. If they had told me I could not return
without cutting off my right arm, I would have cut it off.
The Pope signed my pardon, and then published my name in the
newspapers, so that none might be ignorant of his clemency.
But I am interdicted from resuming my practice at the Bar,
and a man can hardly gain a livelihood by teaching Italian
in a country where everybody speaks it."

As he concluded, the neighbouring church-bells began to sound the _Ave
Maria_. He turned pale, seized his hat, and rushed out of my room,
exclaiming, "I knew not it was so late! Should the police arrive at my
house before I can reach it, I am a lost man!"

His friends explained to me the cause of his sudden alarm: the poor
man is subject to the police regulation termed the _Precetto_.

He must always return to his abode at sunset, and he is then shut in
till the next morning. The police may force their way in at any time
during the night, for the purpose of ascertaining that he is there. He
cannot leave the city under any pretence whatever, even in broad day.
The slightest infraction of these rules exposes him to imprisonment,
or to a new exile.

The Pontifical States are full of men subject to the _Precetto_: some
are criminals who are watched in their homes, for want of prison