ion--there sat the most scientific beggar that the world has
ever seen.

He had watched the recent proceedings, and caught the glance of the
young men.

As they looked up his voice came clear and sonorous through the air:

"O most generous--0 most noble--O most illustrious youths--Draw near
--Look in pity upon the abject--Behold legless, armless, helpless, the
beggar Antonio forsaken of Heaven--For the love of the Virgin--For the
sake of the saints--In the name of humanity--Date me uno mezzo
baioccho--Sono poooocooooovero--Miseraaaaaaaaaabile--
Desperrrraaaaaaaado!"

CHAPTER XXIII.

THE MANIFOLD LIFE OF THE CAFE NUOVO, AND HOW THEY RECEIVED THE NEWS
ABOUT MAGENTA.--EXCITEMENT.--ENTHUSIASM.--TEARS.--EMBRACES.

All modern Rome lives in the Cafe Nuovo. It was once a palace. Lofty
ceilings, glittering walls, marble pavements, countless tables,
luxurious couches, immense mirrors, all dazzle the eye. The hubbub is
immense, the confusion overpowering.

The European mode of life is not bad. Lodgings in roomy apartments,
where one sleeps and attends to one's private affairs; meals
altogether at the cafe. There one invites one's friends. No delay with
dinner; no badly-cooked dishes; no stale or sour bread; no timid,
overworn wife trembling for the result of new experiments in
housekeeping. On the contrary, one has: prompt meals; exquisite food;
delicious bread; polite waiters; and happy wife, with plenty of
leisure at home to improve mind and adorn body.

The first visit which the Club paid to the Cafe Nuovo was an eventful
one. News had just been received of the great strife at Magenta. Every
one was wild. The two _Galignani's_ had been appropriated by two
Italians, who were surrounded by forty-seven frenzied Englishmen, all
eager to get hold of the papers. The Italians obligingly tried to read
the news. The wretched mangle which they made of the language, the
impatience, the excitement, and the perplexity of the audience,
combined with the splendid self-complacency of the readers, formed a
striking scene.

The Italians gathered in a vast crowd in one of the billiard-rooms,
where one of their number, mounted on a table, was reading with
terrific volubility, and still more terrific gesticulations, a
private letter from a friend at Milan.

"Bravo!" cried all present.

In pronouncing which word the Italians rolled the "r" so tumultuously
that the only audible sound was--

B-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-f-r-r-r-r-r-r-r