highest order of conversational agreeability."

"Monsignore is so polite as to promise us introductions at Rome,"
continued she, addressing Lady Grace, "and amongst those, too, who are
never approached by our countrymen."

"The Alterini, the Fornisari, the Balbetti," proudly repeated
Monsignore.

"All ultra-exclusives, you understand," whispered Lady Lacking-ton to
her friend, "who wouldn't tolerate the English."

"How charming!" ejaculated Lady Grace, with a languid enthusiasm.

"The Roman nobility," continued Lady Lackington, "stands proudly
forward, as the only society in Europe to which the travelling English
cannot obtain access."

"They have other prejudices, my Lady--if I may so dare to call
sentiments inspired by higher influences--than those which usually
sway society. These prejudices are all in favour of such as regard our
Church, if not with the devotion of true followers, at least with the
respect and veneration that rightfully attach to the first-born of
Christianity."

"Yes," said Lady Lackington, as, though not knowing very well to
what, she gave her assent, and then added, "I own to you I have always
experienced a sort of awe--a sense of--what shall I call it?"

"Devotion, my Lady," blandly murmured Monsignore, while his eyes were
turned on her with a paraphrase of the sentiment.

"Just so. I have always felt it on entering one of your churches--the
solemn stillness, the gloomy indistinctness, the softened tints, the
swelling notes of the organ--you know what I mean."

"And when such emotions are etherialised, when, rising above material
influences, they are associated with thoughts of what is alone
thought-worthy, with hopes of what alone dignifies hope, imagine, then,
the blessed beatitude, the heavenly ecstasy they inspire."

Monsignore had now warmed to his work, and very ingeniously sketched
out the advantages of a creed that accommodated itself so beautifully
to every temperament--that gave so much and yet exacted so little--that
poisoned no pleasures--discouraged no indulgences--but left every
enjoyment open with its price attached to it, just as objects are
ticketed in a bazaar. He had much to say, too, of its soothing
consolations--its devices to alleviate sorrow and cheat
affliction--while such was its sympathy for poor suffering humanity,
that even the very caprices of temper--the mere whims of fancied
depression--were not deemed unworthy of its pious care.

It is doubtful whe