t places to wash them in.'

'I mean places to bathe one's self all over in.'

'_Mai!_ Never, never!' exclaimed the woman with horror; 'never! 'twould
give them the fever, kill them dead!'

Mr. Van Brick, of New-York, arriving in Rome early in the morning,
demanded of the porter at the hotel where he could find a _bagno_, or
place where he could get a bath. He was directed to go down the Babuino,
and at such a number he would find the establishment. Forgetting the
number before he was three steps from the hotel, he inquired of a man
who was driving a she-jackass to be milked, where the bath was. As he
spoke very little Italian, he had to make up by signs what he wanted in
words. The man, probably believing he wanted a church, and that his
motions signified being sprinkled with water, pointed to the Greek
church, and Van Brick, thinking it was a solemn-looking old _bagno_,
strode in, to his astonishment finding out as soon as he entered that he
was by no means in the right place. As he turned to go out, he saw an
amiable-looking young man, with a black cocked hat in his hand, and a
black serge shirt on that came down to his heels, and had a waist-band
drawing it in over his hips. He asked the young man, as well as he could
in Italian, where there was a _bagno_.

'The signore is English?' asked the youth in the black shirt.

'I want a bath,' said Van Brick, 'which way?'

'Have patience, signore. There are a great many English in Rome.'

'Farewell!' quoth Van Brick, turning on his heel, reflecting: 'That
youth talks too much; he does it to conceal his ignorance; he don't know
what a bath is.' Coming out of the church, he met a good-natured looking
Roman girl, without any bonnet, as usual, going along with a bottle of
wine and a loaf of bread.

'Can you tell me where the bath is?'

'_Chi lo sa_, signore.'

This CHI LO SA, or, 'who knows?' of the Romans, is a shaft that would
kill Paul Pry. It nearly throws an inquisitive man into convulsions. He
meets it at every turn. The simplest question is knocked to pieces by
it. So common is it for a Roman of the true _plebs_ breed to give you
this for an answer to almost every question, that Rocjean once won a hat
from Caper in this wise: they stood one evening in front of a grocer's
store, down by the Pantheon; it was brilliantly illuminated with
hundreds of candles, displaying piles of hams, cheese, butter, eggs,
etc., etc. Chandeliers constructed of egg-shells, where can