led Malta for centuries and
finally rendered a facile submission to General Bonaparte of the French
Republican army in 1798. Their fixing here cannot be called anything so
vigorous as their last stand; but, without specific reference to the
easy-chairs in their chapter-house, it may be fitly called their last
seat; and, if it is true that none of plebeian blood may enjoy the
order's privileges, the place will afford another of those satisfactions
which the best of all possible worlds is always offering its admirers.
Even if one were disposed to moralize the comfortable end of the poor
Knights harshly, one must admit that their view of Rome is one of the
unrivalled views, and that the glimpse of St. Peter's through the
key-hole of their garden-gate is little short of tin-rivalled. I could
not manage the glimpse myself, but I can testify to the unique character
of the avenue of clipped box and laurel which the key-hole also
commands. Lovers of the supernatural, of which I am the first, will like
to be reminded, or perhaps instructed, that the Church of the Priory
stands on the spot where Remus had a seance with the spiritual
authorities and was advised against building Rome where he proposed,
being shown only six vultures as against twelve that Romulus saw in
favor of his chosen site. The fact gave the Aventine Hill the fame of
bad luck, but any one may safely visit it now, after the long time that
has passed.

I do not, however, advise visiting it above any other place in Rome.
What I always say is, take your chances with any or every time or place;
you cannot fail of some impression which you will always like recurring
to as characteristically delightful. For instance, I once walked home
from the Piazza di Spagna with some carnival masks frolicking about me
through the sun-shotten golden dust of the delicious evening air, and I
had a pleasure from the experience which I shall never forget. It was as
rich as that I got from the rosy twilight in which I wandered homeward
another time from the Piazza di Venezia and found myself passing the
Fountain of Trevi, and lingered long there and would not throw my penny
into its waters because I knew I could not help coming back to Rome
anyhow. Yet another time I was driving through a certain piazza where
the peasants stand night long waiting to be hired by the proprietors who
come to find them there, and suddenly the piety of the Middle Ages stood
before me in the figure of the Bro