Buttons spent the evening there. The rooms were elegant. Books lay around which showed a cultivated taste. The young man felt himself in a realm of enchantment. The joy of meeting was heightened by their unusual complaisance. During the evening he found out all about them. They lived in Cadiz, where the Don was a merchant. This was their first visit to Italy.

They all had fine perceptions for the beautiful in art or nature, and, besides, a keen sense of the ludicrous. So, when Buttons, growing communicative, told them about Mr. Figgs's adventure in the ball of St. Peter's, they were greatly amused. He told about the adventures of all his friends. He told of himself: all about the chase in Naples Bay, and his pursuit of their carriage from St. Peter's. He did not tell them that he had done this more than once. Ida was amused; but Buttons felt gratified at seeing a little confusion on her face, as though she was conscious of the real cause of such a persevering pursuit. She modestly evaded his glance, and sat at a little distance from the others. Indeed, she said but little during the whole evening.

When Buttons left he felt like a spiritual being. He was not conscious of treading on any material earth, but seemed to float along through enchanted air over the streets into his lodgings, and so on into the realm of dreams.



CHAPTER XXVIII.

WHAT KIND OF A LETTER THE SENATOR WROTE FOR THE "NEW ENGLAND PATRIOT," WHICH SHOWS A TRITE, LIBERAL, UNBIASED, PLAIN, UNVARNISHED VIEW OF ROME.

"Dick," said the Senator, as he sat with him in his room, "I've been thinking over your tone of mind, more particularly as it appears in those letters which you write home, such as you read the other day. It is a surprising thing to me how a young man with your usual good sense, keenness of perception, and fine education, can allow yourself to be so completely carried away by a mawkish sentiment. What is the use of all these memories and fancies and hysterical emotions that you talk about? In one place you call yourself by the absurd name of 'A Pensive Traveller.' Why not be honest? Be a sensible American, exhibiting in your thoughts and in all your actions the effect of democratic principles and stiff republican institutions. Now I'll read you what I have written. I think the matter is a little nearer the mark than your flights of fancy. But perhaps you don't care just now about hearing it?"

"Indeed I do; so read on," said Dick.

"As I have travelled considerable in Italy," said the Senator, reading from a paper which he drew from his pocket, "with my eyes wide open, I have some idea of the country and of the general condition of the farming class."

The Senator stopped. "I forgot to say that this is for the New England Patriot, published in our village, you know."

Dick nodded. The Senator resumed:

"The soil is remarkably rich. Even where there are mountains they are well wooded. So if the fields look well it is not surprising. What is surprising is the cultivation. I saw ploughs such as Adam might have used when forced for the first time to turn up the ground outside the locality of Eden; harrows which were probably invented by Numa Pompey, an old Roman that people talk about.

"They haven't any idea of draining clear. For here is a place called the Pontine Marsh, beautiful soil, surrounded by a settled country, and yet they let it go to waste almost entirely.

"The Italians are lazy. The secret of their bad farming lies in this. For the men loll and smoke on the fences, leaving the poor women to toil in the fields. A woman ploughing! And yet these people want to be free.

"They wear leather leggins, short breeches, and jackets. Many of them wear wooden shifts. The women of the south use a queer kind of outlandish head-dress, which if they spent less time in fixing it would be better for their own worldly prosperity.

"The cattle are fine: very broad in the chest, with splendid action. I don't believe any other country can show such cattle. The pigs are certainly the best I ever saw by a long chalk. Their chops beat all creation. A friend of mine has made some sketches, which I will give to the Lyceum on my return. They exhibit the Sorrento pig in various attitudes.



"The horses, on the contrary, are poor affairs. I have yet to see the first decent horse. The animals employed by travellers generally are the lowest of their species. The shoes which the horses wear are of a singular shape. I can't describe them in writing, but they look more like a flat-iron than any thing else.

"I paid a visit to Pompeii, and on coming back I saw some of the carts of the country. They gave one a deplorable idea of the state of the useful arts in this place. Scientific farming is out of the question. If fine plantations are seen it's Nature does it.

"Vineyards abound everywhere. Wine is a great staple of the country. Yet they don't export much after all. In fact the foreign commerce is comparatively trifling. Chestnuts and olives are raised in immense quantities. The chestnut is as essential to the Italian as the potato is to the Irishman. A failure in the crop is attended with the same disastrous consequences. They dry the nuts, grind them into a kind of flour, and make them into cakes. I tasted one and found it abominable. Yet these people eat it with garlic, and grow fat on it. Chestnut bread, oil instead of butter, wine instead of tea, and you have an Italian meal.

"It's a fine country for fruit. I found Gaeta surrounded by orange groves. The fig is an important article in the economy of an Italian household.

"I have been in Rome three weeks. Many people take much interest in this place, though quite unnecessarily. I do not think it is at all equal to Boston. Yet I have taken great pains to examine the place. The streets are narrow and crooked, like those of Boston. They are extremely dirty. There are no sidewalks. The gutter is in the middle of the street. The people empty their slops from their windows. The pavements are bad and very slippery. The accumulation of filth about the streets is immense. The drainage is not good. They actually use one old drain which, they tell me, was made three thousand years ago.

"Gas has only been recently introduced. I understand that a year or two ago the streets were lighted by miserable contrivances, consisting of a mean oil lamp swung from the middle of a rope stretched across the street.

"The shops are not worth mentioning. There are no magnificent Dry-goods Stores, such as I have seen by the hundred in Boston; no Hardware Stores; no palatial Patent Medicine Edifices; no signs of enterprise, in fact, at all.

"The houses are very uncomfortable. They are large, and built in the form of a square. People live on separate flats. If it is cold they have to grin and bear it. There are no stoves. I have suffered more from the cold on some evenings since I have been here than ever I did in-doors at home. I have asked for a fire, but all they could give me was a poisonous fire of charcoal in an earthen thing like a basket.

"Some of their public buildings are good, but that can't make the population comfortable. In fact, the people generally are ill-cared for. Here are the wretched Jews, who live in a filthy quarter of the city crowded together like pigs.

"The people pass the most of their time in coffee-houses. They are an idle set—have nothing in the world to do. It is still a mystery to me how they live.

"The fact is, there are too many soldiers and priests. Now it is evident that these gentry, being non-producers, must be supported directly or indirectly by the producers. This is the cause, I suppose, of the poverty of a great part of the population.

"Begging is reduced to a science. In this I confess the Italian beats the American all to pieces. The American eye has not seen, nor ear heard, the devices of an Italian beggar to get along.

"I have seen them in great crowds waiting outside of a monastery for their dinner, which consists of huge bowls of porridge given by the monks. Can any thing be more ruinous to a people?

"The only trade that I could discover after a long and patient search was the trade in brooches and toys which are bought as curiosities by travellers.

"There are nothing but churches and palaces wherever you go. Some of these palaces are queer-looking concerns. There isn't one in the whole lot equal to some of the Fifth Avenue houses in New York in point of real genuine style.

"There has been too much money spent in churches, and too little on houses. If it amounted to any thing it would not be so bad, but the only effect has been to promote an idle fondness for music and pictures and such like. If they tore down nine-tenths of their churches and turned them into school-houses on the New England system, it would not be bad for the rising generation.

"The newspapers which they have are miserable things-wretched little sheets, full of lies—no advertisements, no news, no nothing. I got a friend to translate what pretended to be the latest American news. It was a collection of murders, duels, railway accidents, and steamboat explosions.

"I don't see what hope there is for this unfortunate country; I don't really. The people have gone on so long in their present course that they are now about incorrigible. If the entire population were to emigrate to the Western States, and mix up with the people there, it might be possible for their descendants in the course of time to amount to something.

"I don't see any hope except perhaps in one plan, which would be no doubt impossible for these lazy and dreamy Italians to carry out. It is this: Let this poor, brokendown, bankrupt Government make an inventory of its whole stock of jewels, gold, gems, pictures, and statues. I understand that the nobility throughout Europe would be willing to pay immense sums of money for these ornaments. If they are fools enough to do so, then in Heaven's name let them have the chance. Clear out the whole stock of rubbish, and let the hard cash come in to replace it. That would be a good beginning, with something tangible to start from. I am told that the ornaments of St. Peter's Cathedral cost ever so many millions of dollars. In the name of goodness why not sell out the stock and realize instead of issuing those ragged notes for twenty-five cents, which circulate among the people here at a discount of about seventy-five per cent?

"Then let them run a railroad north to Florence and south to Naples. It would open up a fine tract of county which is capable of growing grain; it would tap the great olive-growing districts, and originate a vast trade of oil, wine, and dried fruits.

"The country around Rome is uninhabited, but not barren. It is sickly in summer-time, but if there was a population on it who would cultivate it property I calculate the malaria would vanish, just as the fever and ague do from many Western districts in our country by the same agencies. I calculate that region could be made one of the most fertile on this round earth if occupied by an industrious class of emigrants.

"But there is a large space inside the walls of the city which could be turned to the best of purposes.

"The place which used to be the Roman Forum is exactly calculated to be the terminus of the railroad which I have suggested. A commodious depot could be made, and the door-way might be worked up out of the arch of Titus, which now stands blocking up the way, and is of no earthly use.

"The amount of crumbling stones and old mined walls that they leave about this quarter of the city is astonishing. It ought not to be so.

"What the Government ought to do after being put in funds by the process mentioned above is this:

"The Government ought to tear down all those unsightly heaps of stone and erect factories and industrial schools. There is plenty of material to do it with. For instance, take the old ruin called the Coliseum. It is a fact, arrived at by elaborate calculation, that the entire contents of that concern are amply sufficient to construct no less than one hundred and fifty handsome factories, each two hundred feet by seventy-five.

"The factories being built, they could be devoted to the production of the finer tissues. Silks and velvets could be produced here. Glass-ware of all kinds could be made. There is a fine Italian clay that makes nice cups and crocks.

"I could also suggest the famous Roman cement as an additional article of export. The Catacombs under the city could be put to some direct practical use.

"I have hastily put out these few ideas to show what a liberal and enlightened policy might effect even in such an unpromising place as Rome. It is not probable, however, that my scheme would meet with favor here. The leading classes in this city are such an incurable get of old fogies that, I verily believe, rather than do what I have suggested, they would choose to have the earth open beneath them and swallow them up forever—city, churches, statues, pictures, museums, palaces, ruins and all.

"I've got a few other ideas, some of which will work some day. Suppose Russia should sell us her part of America. Spain sell us Cuba, Italy give us Rome, Turkey an island or two—then what? But I'll keep this for another letter."

"That's all," said the Senator.

Dick's face was drawn up into the strangest expression. He did not say any thing, however. The Senator calmly folded up his paper, and with a thoughtful air took up his hat.

"I'm going to that Coliseum again to measure a place I forgot," said he.

Upon which he retired, leaving Dick alone.



CHAPTER XXIX.

THE LONELY ONE AND HIS COMFORTER.—THE TRUE MEDICINE FOR A SICK MAN.

Dick was alone in his chamber. Confinement to his room was bad enough, but what was that in comparison with the desolation of soul that afflicted him? Pepita was always in his thoughts. The bright moment was alone remembered, and the black sequel could not efface her image. Yet his misadventure showed him that his chances of seeing her again were extremely faint. But how could he give her up? They would soon be leaving for Florence. How could he leave never to see her again—the lovely, the sweet, the tender, the—

A faint knock at the door.

"Come in," said Dick, without rising from his chair.

A female entered. She was dressed in black. A thick veil hid her features, but her bent figure denoted age and weariness. She slowly closed the door.

"Is it here where a young American lives with this name?"

She held out a card. It was his name, his card. He had only given it to one person in Rome, and that one was Pepita.

"Oh!" cried Dick, rising, his whole expression changing from sadness to eager and beseeching hope, "oh, if you know where she is—where I may find her—"

The female raised her form, then with a hand that trembled excessively she slowly lifted her veil. It was a face not old and wrinkled but young and lovely, with tearful eyes downcast, and cheeks suffused with blushes.

With an eager cry Dick bounded from his chair and caught her in his arms. Not a word was spoken. He held her in a strong embrace as though he would not let her go. At last he drew her to a seat beside him, still holding her in his arms.

"I could not stay away. I led you into misfortune. Oh, how you have suffered. You are thin and wan. What a wretch am I! When you see me no more will you forgive me?"

"Forgive!" and Dick replied in a more emphatic way than words afford.

"They would not let me leave the house for ten days. They told me if I ever dared to see you again they would kill you. So I knew you were not dead. But I did not know how they had beaten you till one day Ricardo told me all. To think of you unarmed fighting so gallantly. Four of them were so bruised that they have not yet recovered. To-day Luigi went to Civita Vecchia. He told me that if I dared to go to Rome he would send me to a convent. But I disobeyed him. I could not rest. I had to come and see how you were, and to—bid—adieu—"

"Adieu! bid adieu?—never. I will not let you."

"Ah, now you talk wildly," said Pepita, mournfully, "for you know we must part."

"We shall not part."

"I will have to go home, and you can not follow me."

"Oh, Pepita, I can not give you up. You shall be mine—now—my wife —and come with me home—to America. And we shall never again have to part."

"Impossible," said Pepita, as big tear-drops fell from her eyes. "Impossible!"

"Why impossible?"

"Luigi would track us to the end of the world."

"Track us! I would like to see him try it!" cried Dick in a fury. "I have an account to settle with him which will not be pleasant for him to pay. Who is he to dare to stand between me and you? As to following me—Well, I have already given him a specimen of what I am. I would give a year of my life to have him alone for about half an hour."

"You wrong him," cried Pepita, earnestly. "You wrong him. You must not talk so. He is not a bravo. He is my brother. He has been like a father to me. He loves me dearly, and my good name is dearer to him than life. He is so good and so noble, dear Luigi! It was his love for me that blinded him and made him furious. He thought you were deceiving us all, and would not listen to you."

"But if he were so noble would he have attacked one unarmed man, and he at the head of a dozen?"

"I tell you," cried Pepita, "you do not know him. He was so blinded by passion that he had no mercy. Oh, I owe every thing to him! And I know how good and noble he is!"

"Pepita, for your sake I will forgive him every thing."

"I can not stay longer," said Pepita, making an effort to rise.

"Oh, Pepita! you can not leave me forever."

Pepita fell weeping into his arms, her slender form convulsed with emotion.

"You shall not."

"I must—there is no help."

"Why must you? Can you not fly with me? What prevents you from being mine? Let us go and be united in the little church where I saw you first."

"Impossible!" moaned Pepita.

"Why?"

"Because I could not do you such injustice. You have your father far away in America. You might offend him."

"Bother my father!" cried Dick.

Pepita looked shocked.

"I mean—he would allow me to do any thing I liked, and glory in it, because I did it. He would chuckle over it for a month."

"Luigi—"

"Pepita, do you love him better than me?"

"No, but if I leave him so it would break his heart. He will think I am ruined. He will declare a vendetta against you, and follow you to the end of the world."

"Is there no hope?"

"No—not now."

"Not now? And when will there be? Can it be possible that you would give me up? Then I would not give you up! If you do not love me I must love you."

"Cruel!" murmured Pepita.

"Forgive," said Dick, penitently. "Perhaps I am too sudden. If I come back again in two or three months will you be as hardhearted as you are now?"

"Hard-hearted!" sighed Pepita, tearfully. "You should not reproach me. My troubles are more than I can bear. It is no slight thing that you ask."

"Will waiting soften you? Will it make any difference? If I came for you—"

"You must not leave me so," said Pepita, reproachfully. "I will tell you all. You will understand me better. Listen. My family is noble."

"Noble!" cried Dick, thunderstruck. He had certainly always thought her astonishingly lady—like for a peasant girl, but attributed this to the superior refinement of the Italian race.

"Yes, noble," said Pepita, proudly. "We seem now only poor peasants. Yet once we were rich and powerful. My grandfather lost all in the wars in the time of Napoleon, and only left his descendants an honorable name. Alas! honor and titles are worth but little when one is poor. My brother Luigi is the Count di Gianti."

"And you are the Countess di Gianti."

"Yes," said Pepita, smiling at last, and happy at the change that showed itself in Dick. "I am the Countess Pepita di Gianti. Can you understand now my dear Luigi's high sense of honor and the fury that he felt when he thought that you intended an insult? Our poverty, which we can not escape, chafes him sorely. If I were to desert him thus suddenly it would kill him."

"Oh, Pepita! if waiting will win you I will wait for years. Is there any hope?"

"When will you leave Rome?"

"In a few days my friends leave."

"Then do not stay behind. If you do you can not see me."

"But if I come again in two or three months? What then? Can I see you?"

"Perhaps," said Pepita, timidly.

"And you will apt refuse? No, no! You can not! How can I find you?"

"Alas! you will by that time forget all about me."

"Cruel Pepita! How can you say I will forget? Would I not die for you? How can I find you?"

"The Padre Lignori."

"Who?"

"Padre Lignori, at the little church. The tall priest—the one who spoke to you."

"But he will refuse. He hates me."

"He is a good man. If he thinks you are honorable he will be your friend. He is a true friend to me."

"I will see him before I leave and tell him all."

There were voices below.

Pepita started.

"They come. I must go," said she, dropping her veil.

"Confound them!" cried Dick.

"Addio!" sighed Pepita.

Dick caught her in his arms. She tore herself away with sobs.

She was gone.

Dick sank back in his chair, with his eyes fixed hungrily on the door.

"Hallo!" burst the Doctor's voice on his ears. "Who's that old girl? Hey? Why, Dick, how pale you are! You're worse. Hang it! you'll have a relapse if you don't look out. You must make a total change in your diet—more stimulating drink and generous food. However, the drive to Florence will set you all right again."



CHAPTER XXX.

OCCUPATIONS AND PEREGRINATIONS OF BUTTONS.

If Buttons had spent little time in his room before he now spent less. He was exploring the ruins of Rome, the churches, the picture galleries, and the palaces under new auspices. He knew the name of every palace and church in the place. He acquired this knowledge by means of superhuman application to "Murray's Hand-book" on the evenings after leaving his companions. They were enthusiastic, particularly the ladies. They were perfectly familiar with all the Spanish painters and many of the Italian. Buttons felt himself far inferior to them in real familiarity with Art, but he made amends by brilliant criticisms of a transcendental nature.



It was certainly a pleasant occupation for youth, sprightliness, and beauty. To wander all day long through that central world from which forever emanate all that is fairest and most enticing in Art, Antiquity, and Religion; to have a soul open to the reception of all these influences, and to have all things glorified by Almighty love; in short, to be in love in Rome.

Rome is an inexhaustible store-house of attractions. For the lovers of gayety there are the drives of the Pincian Hill, or the Villa Borghese. For the student, ruins whose very dust is eloquent. For the artist, treasures beyond price. For the devotee, religion. How fortunate, thought Buttons, that in addition to all this there is, for the lovers of the beautiful, beauty!

Day after day they visited new scenes. Upon the whole, perhaps, the best way to see the city, when one can not spend one's life there, is to take Murray's Hand-book, and, armed with that red necessity, dash energetically at the work; see every thing that is mentioned; hurry it up in the orthodox manner; then throw the book away, and go over the ground anew, wandering easily wherever fancy leads.



CHAPTER XXXI.

BUTTONS ACTS THE GOOD SAMARITAN, AND LITERALLY UNEARTHS A MOST UNEXPECTED VICTIM OF AN ATROCIOUS ROBBERY.—GR-R-R-A-CIOUS ME!

To these, once wandering idly down the Appian Way, the ancient tower of Metella rose invitingly. The carriage stopped, and ascending, they walked up to the entrance. They marvelled at the enormous blocks of travertine of which the edifice was built, the noble simplicity of the style, the venerable garment of ivy which hid the ravages of time.

The door was open, and they walked in. Buttons first; the ladies timidly following; and the Don bringing up the rear. Suddenly a low groan startled them. It seemed to come from the very depths of the earth. The ladies gave a shriek, and dashing past their brother, ran out. The Don paused. Buttons of course advanced. He never felt so extensive in his life before. What a splendid opportunity to give an exhibition of manly courage! So he walked on, and shouted:

"Who's there?"

A groan!

Further in yet, till he came to the inner chamber. It was dark there, the only light coming in through the passages. Through the gloom he saw the figure of a man lying on the floor so tied that he could not move.

"Who are you? What's the matter?"

"Let me loose, for God's sake!" said a voice, in thick Italian, with a heavy German accent. "I'm a traveller. I've been robbed by brigands."

To snatch his knife from his pocket, to cut the cords that bound the man, to lift him to his feet, and then to start back with a cry of astonishment, were all the work of an instant. By this time the others had entered.

The man was a German, unmistakably. He stood blinking and staring. Then he stretched his several limbs and rubbed himself. Then he took a long survey of the new-comers. Then he stroked a long, red, forked beard, and, in tones expressive of the most profound bewilderment, slowly ejaculated—

"Gr-r-r-r-acious me!"

"Meinheer Schatt!" cried Buttons, grasping his hand. "How in the name of wonder did you get here? What has happened to you? Who tied you up? Were you robbed? Were you beaten? Are you hurt? But come out of this dark hole to the sunshine."

Meinheer Schatt walked slowly out, saying nothing to these rapid inquiries of Buttons. The German intellect is profound, but slow; and so Meinheer Schatt took a long time to collect his scattered ideas. Buttons found that he was quite faint; so producing a flask from his pocket he made him drink a little precious cordial, which revived him greatly. After a long pull he heaved a heavy sigh, and looked with a piteous expression at the new-comers. The kind-hearted Spaniards insisted on taking him to their carriage. He was too weak to walk. They would drive him. They would listen to no refusal. So Meinheer Schatt was safely deposited in the carriage, and told his story.

He had come out very early in the morning to visit the Catacombs. He chose the early part of the day so as to be back before it got hot. Arriving at the Church of St. Sebastian he found to his disappointment that it was not open yet. So he thought he would beguile the time by walking about. So he strolled off to the tomb of Caecelia Metella, which was the most striking object in view. He walked around it, and broke off a few pieces of stone. He took also a few pieces of ivy. These he intended to carry away as relics. At last he ventured to enter and examine the interior. Scarce had he got inside than he heard footsteps without. The door was blocked up by a number of ill-looking men, who came in and caught him.

Meinheer Schatt confessed that he was completely overcome by terror.

However, he at last mustered sufficient strength to ask what they wanted.

"You are our prisoner."

"Why? Who are you?"

"We are the secret body-guard of His Holiness, appointed by the Sacred Council of the Refectory," said one of the men, in a mocking tone.

Then Meinheer Schatt knew that they were robbers. Still he indignantly protested he was an unoffending traveller.

"It's false! You have been mutilating the sacred sepulchre of the dead, and violating the sanctity of their repose!"

And the fellow, thrusting his hands in the prisoner's pockets, brought forth the stones and ivy. The others looked into his other pockets, examined his hat, made him strip, shook his clothes, pried into his boots—in short, gave him a thorough overhaul.

They found nothing, except, as Meinheer acknowledged, with a faint smile, a piece of the value of three half-cents American, which he had brought as a fee to the guide through the Catacombs. It was that bit of money that caused his bonds. It maddened them. They danced around him in perfect fury, and asked what he meant by daring to come out and give them so much trouble with only that bit of impure silver about him.

"Dog of a Tedescho! Your nation has trampled upon our liberties; but Italy shall be avenged! Dog! scoundrel! villain! Tedescho! Tedes-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-cho!"

The end of it was that Meinheer Schatt was tied in a singularly uncomfortable position and left there. He thought he had been there about five hours. He was faint and hungry.

They took him home.



CHAPTER XXXII.

ANOTHER DISCOVERY MADE BY BUTTONS.

On the evening after this adventure the Don turned the conversation into a new channel. They all grew communicative. Buttons told them that his father was an extensive merchant and ship-owner in Boston. His business extended over many parts of the world. He thought he might have done something in Cadiz.

"Your father a ship-owner in Boston! I thought you belonged to New York," said the Don, in surprise.

"Oh," said Buttons, "I said I came from there. The fact is, I lived there four years at college, and will live there when I return."

"And your father lives in Boston," said the Don, with an interest that surprised Buttons.

"Yes."

"Is his name Hiram Buttons?"

"Yes," cried Buttons, eagerly. "How do you know?"

"My dear Sir," cried the Don, "Hiram Buttons and I are not only old business correspondents, but I hope I can add personal friends."

The Don rose and grasped Buttons cordially by the hand. The young man was overcome by surprise, delight, and triumph.

"I liked you from the first," said the Don. "You bear your character in your face. I was happy to receive you into our society. But now I feel a still higher pleasure, for I find you are the son of a man for whom I assure you I entertain an infinite respect."

The sisters were evidently delighted at the scene. As to Buttons, he was overcome.

Thus far he often felt delicacy about his position among them, and fears of intruding occasionally interfered with his enjoyment. His footing now was totally different; and the most punctilious Spaniard could find no fault with his continued intimacy.

"Hurrah for that abominable old office, and that horrible business to which the old gentleman tried to bring me! It has turned out the best thing for me. What a capital idea it was for the governor to trade with Cadiz!"

Such were the thoughts of Buttons as he went home.



CHAPTER XXXIII.

[Transcriber's Note: Transliteration of Greek.] Brekekek koax koax koax. [TN: /end Greek.]

In his explorations of the nooks and corners of Rome the Senator was compelled for some time to make his journeys alone. He sometimes felt regret that he had not some interpreter with him on these occasions; but on the whole he thought he was well paid for his trouble, and he stored up in his memory an incredible number of those items which are usually known as "useful facts."

On one of these occasions he entered a very common cafe near one of the gates, and as he felt hungry he determined to get his dinner. He had long felt a desire to taste those "frogs" of which he had heard so much, and which to his great surprise he had never yet seen. On coming to France he of course felt confident that he would find frogs as common as potatoes on every dinner-table. To his amazement he had not yet seen one.

He determined to have some now. But how could he get them? How ask for them?

"Pooh! easy enough!" said the Senator to himself, with a smile of superiority. "I wish I could ask for every thing else as easily."

So he took his seat at one of the tables, and gave a thundering rap to summon the waiter. All the cafe had been startled by the advent of the large foreigner. And evidently a rich man, for he was an Englishman, as they thought. So up came the waiter with a very low bow, and a very dirty jacket; and all the rest of the people in the cafe looked at the Senator out of the corner of their eyes, and stopped talking. The Senator gazed with a calm, serene face and steady eye upon the waiter.

"Signore?" said the waiter, interrogatively.

"Gunk! gung!" said the Senator, solemnly, without moving a muscle.

The waiter stared.

"Che vuol ella?" he repeated, in a faint voice.

"Gunk! gung!" said the Senator, as solemnly as before.

"Non capisco."

"Gunk gung! gunkety gunk gung!"

The waiter shrugged his shoulders till they reached the upper part of his ears. The Senator looked for a moment at him, and saw that he did not understand him. He looked at the floor involved in deep thought. At last he raised his eyes once more to meet those of the waiter, which still were fixed upon him, and placing the palms of his hands on his hips, threw back his head, and with his eyes still fixed steadfastly upon the waiter he gave utterance to a long shrill gurgle such as he thought the frogs might give:

[Transcriber's Note: Transliteration of Greek.] Brekekekek koax koax, Brekekekek koax koax. [TN: /end Greek.]



(Recurrence must be made to Aristophanes, who alone of articulate speaking men has written down the utterance of the common frog.)

The waiter started back. All the men in the cafe jumped to their feet.

"[Transcriber's Note: Transliteration of Greek.] Brekekekek koax koax [TN: /end Greek.]," continued the Senator, quite patiently. The waiter looked frightened.

"Will you give me some or not?" cried the Senator, indignantly.

"Signore," faltered the waiter. Then he ran for the cafe-keeper.

The cafe-keeper came. The Senator repeated the words mentioned above, though somewhat angrily. The keeper brought forward every customer in the house to see if any one could understand the language.

"It's German," said one.

"It's English," said another.

"Bah!" said a third. "It's Russian."

"No," said a fourth, "it's Bohemian; for Carolo Quinto said that Bohemian was the language of the devil." And Number Four, who was rather an intelligent-looking man, eyed the Senator compassionately.

"Gunk gung, gunkety gung!" cried the Senator, frowning, for his patience had at last deserted him.

The others looked at him helplessly, and some, thinking of the devil, piously crossed themselves. Whereupon the Senator rose in majestic wrath, and shaking his purse in the face of the cafe-keeper, shouted:

"You're worse than a nigger!" and stalked grandly out of the place.



CHAPTER XXXIV.

THE SENATOR PURSUES HIS INVESTIGATIONS.—AN INTELLIGENT ROMAN TOUCHES A CHORD IN THE SENATOR'S HEART THAT VIBRATES.—RESULTS OF THE VIBRATION.—A VISIT FROM THE ROMAN POLICE; AND THE GREAT RACE DOWN THE CORSO BETWEEN THE SENATOR AND A ROMAN SPY.—GLEE OF THE POPULACE!—HI! HI!

He did not ask for frogs again; but still he did not falter in his examination into the life of the people. Still he sauntered through the remoter corners of Rome, wandering over to the other side of the Tiber, or through the Ghetto, or among the crooked streets at the end of the Corso. Few have learned so much of Rome in so short a time.

On one occasion he was sitting in a cafe, where he had supplied his wants in the following way:

"Hi! coffee! coffee!" and again, "Hi! cigar! cigar!" when his eye was attracted by a man at the next table who was reading a copy of the London Times, which he had spread out very ostentatiously. After a brief survey the Senator walked over to his table and, with a beaming smile, said—

"Good-day, Sir."

The other man looked up and returned a very friendly smile.

"And how do you do, Sir?"

"Very well, I thank you," said the other, with a strong Italian accent.

"Do you keep your health?"

"Thank you, yes," said the other, evidently quite pleased at the advances of the Senator.

"Nothing gives me so much pleasure," said the Senator, "as to come across an Italian who understands English. You, Sir, are a Roman, I presume."

"Sir, I am."

The man to whom the Senator spoke was not one who would have attracted any notice from him if it had not been for his knowledge of English. He was a narrow-headed, mean-looking man, with very seedy clothes, and a servile but cunning expression.

"How do you like Rome?" he asked of the Senator.

The Senator at once poured forth all that had been in his mind since his arrival. He gave his opinion about the site, the architecture, the drains, the municipal government, the beggars, and the commerce of the place; then the soldiers, the nobles, the priests, monks, and nuns.

Then he criticised the Government, its form, its mode of administration, enlarged upon its tyranny, condemned vehemently its police system, and indeed its whole administration of every thing, civil, political, and ecclesiastical.

Waxing warmer with the sound of his own eloquence, he found himself suddenly but naturally reminded of a country where all this is reversed. So he went on to speak about Freedom, Republicanism, the Rights of Man, and the Ballot-Box. Unable to talk with sufficient fluency while in a sitting posture he rose to his feet, and as he looked around, seeing that all present were staring at him, he made up his mind to improve the occasion. So he harangued the crowd generally, not because he thought any of them could understand him, but it was so long since he had made a speech that the present opportunity was irresistible. Besides, as he afterward remarked, he felt that it was a crisis, and who could tell but that a word spoken in season might produce some beneficial effects.

He shook hands very warmly with his new friend after it all was over, and on leaving him made him promise to come and see him at his lodgings, where he would show him statistics, etc. The Senator then returned.

That evening he received a visit. The Senator heard a rap at his door and called out "Come in." Two men entered—ill-looking, or rather malignant-looking, clothed in black.

Dick was in his room, Buttons out, Figgs and the Doctor had not returned from the cafe.

"His Excellency," said he, pointing to the other, "wishes to speak to you on official business."

"Happy to hear it," said the Senator.

"His Excellency is the Chief of the Police, and I am the Interpreter."

Whereupon the Senator shook hands with both of them again.

"Proud to make your acquaintance," said he. "I am personally acquainted with the Chief of the Boston police, and also of the Chief of the New York police, and my opinion is that they can stand more liquor than any men I ever met with. Will you liquor?"

The interpreter did not understand. The Senator made an expressive sign. The interpreter mentioned the request to the Chief, who shook his head coldly.

"This is formal," said the Interpreter-"not social."

The Senator's face flushed. He frowned.

"Give him my compliments then, and tell him the next time he refuses a gentleman's offer he had better do it like a gentleman. For my part, if I chose to be uncivil, I might say that I consider your Roman police very small potatoes."



The Interpreter translated this literally, and though the final expression was not very intelligible, yet it seemed to imply contempt.

So the Chief of Police made his communication as sternly as possible. Grave reports had been made about His American Excellency. The Senator looked surprised.

"What about?"

That he was haranguing the people, going about secretly, plotting, and trying to instill revolutionary sentiments into the public mind.

"Pooh!" said the Senator.

The Chief of Police bade him be careful. He would not be permitted to stir up an excitable populace. This was to give him warning.

"Pooh!" said the Senator again.

And if he neglected this warning it would be the worse for him. And the Chief of Police looked unutterable things. The Senator gazed at him sternly and somewhat contemptuously for a few minutes.

"You're no great shakes anyhow," said he.

"Signore?" said the Interpreter.

"Doesn't it strike you that you are talking infernal nonsense?" asked the Senator in a slightly argumentative tone of voice, throwing one leg over another, tilting back his chair, and folding his arms.

"Your language is disrespectful," was the indignant reply.

"Yours strikes me as something of the same kind, too; but more —it is absurd."

"What do you mean?"

"You say I stir up the people."

"Yes. Do you deny it?"

"Pooh! How can a man stir up the people when he can't speak a word of the language?"

The Chief of Police did not reply for a moment.

"I rather think I've got you there," said the Senator, dryly. "Hey? old Hoss?"

("Old Hoss" was an epithet which he used when he was in a good humor.) He felt that he had the best of it here, and his anger was gone. He therefore tilted his chair back farther, and placed his feet upon the back of a chair that was in front of him.

"There are Italians in Rome who speak English," was at length the rejoinder.

"I wish I could find some then," said the Senator. "It's worse than looking for a needle in a hay-stack, they're so precious few."

"You have met one."

"And I can't say feel over-proud of the acquaintance," said the Senator, in his former dry tone, looking hard at the Interpreter.

"At the Cafe Cenacci, I mean."

"The what? Where's that?"

"Where you were this morning."

"Oh ho! that's it—ah? And was my friend there one of your friends too?" asked the Senator, as light burst in upon him.

"He was sufficiently patriotic to give warning."

"Oh—patriotic?—he was, was he?" said the Senator, slowly, while his eyes showed a dangerous light.

"Yes—patriotic. He has watched you for some time."

"Watched me!" and the Senator frowned wrathfully.

"Yes, all over Rome, wherever you went."

"Watched me! dogged me! tracked me! Aha?"

"So you are known."

"Then the man is a spy."

"He is a patriot."

"Why the mean concern sat next me, attracted my attention by reading English, and encouraged me to speak as I did. Why don't you arrest him?"

"He did it to test you."

"To test me! How would he like me to test him?"

"The Government looks on your offense with lenient eyes."

"Ah!"

"And content themselves this time with giving you warning."

"Very much obliged; but tell your Government not to be alarmed. I won't hurt them."

Upon this the two visitors took their leave.



The Senator informed his two friends about the visit, and thought very lightly about it; but the recollection of one thing rankled in his mind.

That spy! The fellow had humbugged him. He had dogged him, tracked him, perhaps for weeks, had drawn him into conversation, asked leading questions, and then given information. If there was any thing on earth that the Senator loathed it was this.

But how could such a man be punished! That was the thought. Punishment could only come from one. The law could do nothing. But there was one who could do something, and that one was himself. Lynch law!

"My fayther was from Bosting, My uncle was Judge Lynch, So, darn your fire and roasting, You can not make me flinch."

The Senator hummed the above elegant words all that evening.

He thought he could find the man yet. He was sure he would know him. He would devote himself to this on the next day. The next day he went about the city, and at length in the afternoon he came to Pincian Hill. There was a great crowd there as usual. The Senator placed himself in a favorable position, in which he could only be seen from one point, and then watched with the eye of a hawk.

He watched for about an hour. At the end of that time he saw a face. It belonged to a man who had been leaning against a post with his back turned toward the Senator all this time. It was the face! The fellow happened to turn it far enough round to let the Senator see him. He was evidently watching him yet. The Senator walked rapidly toward him. The man saw him and began to move as rapidly away. The Senator increased his pace. So did the man. The Senator walked still faster. So did the man. The Senator took long strides. The man took short, quick ones. It is said that the fastest pedestrians are those who take short, quick steps. The Senator did not gain on the other.

By this time a vast number of idlers had been attracted by the sight of these two men walking as if for a wager. At last the Senator began to run. So did the man!

The whole thing was plain. One man was chasing the other. At once all the idlers of the Pincian Hill stopped all their avocations and turned to look. The road winds down the Pincian Hill to the Piazza del Popolo, and those on the upper part can look down and see the whole extent. What a place for a race! The quick-eyed Romans saw it all.

"A spy! yes, a Government spy!"

"Chased by an eccentric Englishman!"

A loud shout burst from the Roman crowd. But a number of English and Americans thought differently. They saw a little man chased by a big one. Some cried "Shame!" Others, thinking it a case of pocket-picking, cried "Stop thief!" Others cried "Go it, little fellow! Two to one on the small chap!"

Every body on the Pincian Hill rushed to the edge of the winding road to look down, or to the paved walk that overlooks the Piazza. Carriages stopped and the occupants looked down. French soldiers, dragoons, guards, officers—all staring.

And away went the Senator. And away ran the terrified spy. Down the long way, and at length they came to the Piazza del Popolo. A loud shout came from all the people. Above and on all sides they watched the race. The spy darted down the Corso. The Senator after him.

The Romans in the street applauded vociferously. Hundreds of people stopped, and then turned and ran after the Senator. All the windows were crowded with heads. All the balconies were filled with people.

Down along the Corso. Past the column of Antonine. Into a street on the left. The Senator was gaining! At last they came to a square. A great fountain of vast waters bursts forth there. The spy ran to the other side of the square, and just as he was darting into a side alley the Senator's hand clutched his coat-tails!

The Senator took the spy in that way by which one is enabled to make any other do what is called "Walking Spanish," and propelled him rapidly toward the reservoir of the fountain.

The Senator raised the spy from the ground and pitched him into the pool.

The air was rent with acclamations and cries of delight.

As the spy emerged, half-drowned, the crowd came forward and would have prolonged the delightful sensation.

Not often did they have a spy in their hands.



CHAPTER XXXV.

DICK MAKES ANOTHER EFFORT, AND BEGINS TO FEEL ENCOURAGED.

Pepita's little visit was beneficial to Dick. It showed him that he was not altogether cut off from her. Before that he had grown to think of her as almost inaccessible; now she seemed to have a will, and, what is better, a heart of her own, which would lead her to do her share toward meeting him again. Would it not be better now to comply with her evident desire, and leave Rome for a little while? He could return again. But how could he tear himself away? Would, it not be far better to remain and seek her? He could not decide. He thought of Padre Liguori. He had grossly insulted that gentleman, and the thought of meeting him again made him feel blank. Yet he was in some way or other a protector of Pepita, a guardian, perhaps, and as such had influence over her fortunes. If he could only disarm hostility from Padre Liguori it would be undoubtedly for his benefit. Perhaps Padre Liguori would become his friend, and try to influence Pepita's family in his favor. So he decided on going to see Padre Liguori.

The new turn which had been given to his feelings by Pepita's visit had benefited him in mind and body. He was quite strong enough for a long walk. Arriving at the church he had no difficulty in finding Liguori. The priest advanced with a look of surprise.

"Before mentioning the object of my visit," said Dick, bowing courteously, "I owe you an humble apology for a gross insult. I hope you will forgive me."

The priest bowed.

"After I left here I succeeded in my object," continued Dick.

"I heard so," said Liguori, coldly.

"And you have heard also that I met with a terrible punishment for my presumption, or whatever else you may choose to call it."

"I heard of that also." said the priest, sternly. "And do you complain of it? Tell me. Was it not deserved?"

"If their suspicions and yours had been correct, then the punishment would have been well deserved. But you all wrong me. I entreat you to believe me. I am no adventurer. I am honest and sincere."

"We have only your word for this," said Liguori, coldly.

"What will make you believe that I am sincere, then?" said Dick. "What proof can I give?"

"You are safe in offering to give proofs in a case where none can be given."

"I am frank with you. Will you not be so with me? I come to you to try to convince you of my honesty, Padre Liguori. I love Pepita as truly and as honorably as it is possible for man to love. It was that feeling that so bewildered me that I was led to insult you. I went out in the midst of danger, and would have died for her. With these feelings I can not give her up."

"I have heard sentiment like this often before. What is your meaning?"

"I am rich and of good family in my own country; and I am determined to have Pepita for my wife."

"Your wife!"

"Yes," said Dick, resolutely. "I am honorable and open about it. My story is short. I love her, and wish to make her my wife."

The expression of Liguori changed entirely.

"Ah! this makes the whole matter different altogether. I did not know this before. Nor did the Count. But he is excusable. A sudden passion blinded him, and he attacked you. I will tell you"—and at each word the priest's manner grew more friendly—"I will tell you how it is, Signore. The Giantis were once a powerful family, and still have their title. I consider myself as a kind of appanage to the family, for my ancestors for several generations were their maggiordomos. Poverty at last stripped them of every thing, and I, the last of the family dependents, entered the Church. But I still preserve my respect and love for them. You can understand how bitterly I would resent and avenge any base act or any wrong done to them. You can understand Luigi's vengeance also."

"I thought as much," said Dick. "I thought you were a kind of guardian, and so I came here to tell you frankly how it is. I love her. I can make her rich and happy. To do so is the desire of my heart. Why should I be turned away? Or if there be any objection, what is it?"

"There is no objection—none whatever, if Pepita is willing, and you sincerely love her. I think that Luigi would give his consent."

"Then what would prevent me from marrying her at once?"

"At once!"

"Certainly."

"You show much ardor; but still an immediate marriage is impossible. There are various reasons for this. In the first place, we love Pepita too dearly to let her go so suddenly to some one who merely feels a kind of impulse. We should like to know that there is some prospect of her being happy. We have cherished her carefully thus far, and will not let her go without having some security about her happiness."

"Then I will wait as long as you like, or send for my friends to give you every information you desire to have; or if you want me to give any proofs, in any way, about any thing, I'm ready."

"There is another thing," said Lignori, "which I hope you will take kindly. You are young and in a foreign country. This sudden impulse may be a whim. If you were to marry now you might bitterly repent it before three months were over. Under such circumstances it would be misery for you and her. If this happened in your native country you could be betrothed and wait. There is also another reason why waiting is absolutely necessary. It will take some time to gain her brother's consent. Now her brother is poor, but he might have been rich. He is a Liberal, and belongs to the National party. He hates the present system here most bitterly. He took part in the Roman Republican movement a few years ago, and was imprisoned after the return of the Pope, and lost the last vestige of his property by confiscation. He now dresses coarsely, and declines to associate with any Romans, except a few who are members of a secret society with him. He is very closely watched by the Government, so that he has to be quiet. But he expects to rise to eminence and power, and even wealth, before very long. So you see he does not look upon his sister as a mere common every-day match. He expects to elevate her to the highest rank, where she can find the best in the country around her. For my own part I think this is doubtful; and if you are in earnest I should do what I could to further your interest. But it will take some time to persuade the Count."

"Then, situated as I am, what can I do to gain her?" asked Dick.

"Are your friends thinking of leaving Rome soon?"

"Yes, pretty soon."

"Do not leave them. Go with them. Pursue the course you originally intended, just as though nothing had happened. If after your tour is finished you find that your feelings are as strong as ever, and that she is as dear to you as you say, then you may return here."

"And you?"

"I think all objections may be removed."

"It will take some weeks to finish our tour."

"Some weeks! Oh, do not return under three months at least."

"Three months! that is very long!"

"Not too long. The time will soon pass away. If you do not really love her you will be glad at having escaped; if you do you will rejoice at having proved your sincerity."

Some further conversation passed, after which Dick, finding the priest inflexible, ceased to persuade, and acceded to his proposal.



CHAPTER XXXVI.

SHOWING HOW DIFFICULT IT IS TO GET A LAUNDRESS, FOR THE SENATOR WANTED ONE, AND NOT KNOWING THE LANGUAGE GOT INTO A SCRAPE, NOT BY HIS OWN FAULT, FOR HE WAS CAREFUL ABOUT COMMITTING HIMSELF WITH THE LADIES; BUT PRAY, WAS IT HIS FAULT IF THE LADIES WOULD TAKE A FANCY TO HIM?

Signora Mirandolina Rocca, who was the landlady of the house where the Club were lodging, was a widow, of about forty years of age, still fresh and blooming, with a merry dark eye, and much animation of features. Sitting usually in the small room which they passed on the way to their apartments, they had to stop to get their keys, or to leave them when they went out, and Buttons and Dick frequently stopped to have a little conversation. The rest, not being able to speak Italian, contented themselves with smiles; the Senator particularly, who gave the most beaming of smiles both on going and on returning. Sometimes he even tried to talk to her in his usual adaptation of broken English, spoken in loud tones to the benighted but fascinating foreigner. Her attention to Dick during his sickness increased the Senator's admiration, and he thought her one of the best, one of the most kind-hearted and sympathetic of beings.

One day, toward the close of their stay in Rome, the Senator was in a fix. He had not had any washing done since he came to the city. He had ran through all his clean linen, and came to a dead stand. Before leaving for another place it was absolutely necessary to attend to this. But how? Buttons was off with the Spaniards; Dick had gone out on a drive. No one could help him, so he tried it himself. In fact, he had never lost confidence in his powers of making himself understood. It was still a fixed conviction of his that in cases of necessity any intelligent man could make his wants known to intelligent foreigners. If not, there is stupidity somewhere. Had he not done so in Paris and in other places?

So he rang and managed to make the servant understand that he wished to see the landlady. The landlady had always shown a great admiration for the manly, not to say gigantic charms of the Senator. Upon him she bestowed her brightest smile, and the quick flush on her face and heaving breast told that the Senator had made wild work with her too susceptible heart.

So now when she learned that the Senator wished to see her, she at once imagined the cause to be any thing and every thing except the real one. Why take that particular time, when all the rest were out? she thought. Evidently for some tender purpose. Why send for her? Why not come down to see her? Evidently because he did not like the publicity of her room at the Conciergerie.



She arrayed herself, therefore, in her brightest and her best charms; gave an additional flourish to her dark hair that hung wavingly and luxuriantly, and still without a trace of gray over her forehead; looked at herself with her dark eyes in the glass to see if she appeared to the best advantage; and finally, in some agitation, but with great eagerness, she went to obey the summons.

Meantime the Senator had been deliberating how to begin. He felt that he could not show his bundle of clothes to so fair and fine a creature as this, whose manners were so soft and whose smile so pleasant. He would do any thing first. He would try a roundabout way of making known his wishes, trusting to his own powers and the intelligence of the lady for a full and complete understanding. Just as he had come to this conclusion there was a timid knock at the door.

"Come in," said the Senator, who began to feel a little awkward already.

"Epermesso?" said a soft sweet voice, "se puo entrare?" and Signora Mirandolina Rocca advanced into the room, giving one look at the Senator, and then casting down her eyes.

"Umilissia serva di Lei, Signore, mi commandi."

But the Senator was in a quandary. What could he do? How begin? What gesture would be the most fitting for a beginning?

The pause began to be embarrassing. The lady, however, as yet was calm—calmer, in fact, than when she entered.

So she spoke once more.

"Di che ha Ella bisogna, Illustris simo?"

The Senator was dreadfully embarrassed. The lady was so fair in his eyes. Was this a woman who could contemplate the fact of soiled linen? Never.

"Ehem!" said he.

Then he paused.

"Servo, devota," said Signora Mirandolina. "Che c'e, Signore."

Then looking up, she saw the face of the Senator all rosy red, turned toward her, with a strange confusion and embarrassment in his eye, yet it was a kind eye—a soft, kind eye.

"Egli e forse innamorato di me," murmured the lady, gathering new courage as she saw the timidity of the other. "Che grandezza!" she continued, loud enough for the Senator to hear, yet speaking as if to herself. "Che bellezza! un galantuomo, certamente—e quest' e molto piacevole."

She glanced at the manly figure of the Senator with a tender admiration in her eye which she could not repress, and which was so intelligible to the Senator that he blushed more violently than ever, and looked helplessly around him.

"E innamorato di me, senza dubio," said the Signora, "vergogna non vuol che si sapesse."

The Senator at length found voice. Advancing toward the lady he looked at her very earnestly and as she thought very piteously—held out both his hands, then smiled, then spread his hands apart, then nodded and smiled again, and said—

"Me—me—want—ha—hum—ah! You know—me—gentleman—hum—me —Confound the luck," he added, in profound vexation.

"Signore," said Mirandolina, "la di Lei gentelezza me confonde."

The Senator turned his eyes all around, everywhere, in a desperate half-conscious search for escape from an embarrassing situation.

"Signore noi ci siamo sole, nessuno ci senti," remarked the Signora, encouragingly.

"Me want to tell you this!" burst forth the Senator. "Clothes—you know—washy—washy." Whereupon he elevated his eyebrows, smiled, and brought the tips of his fingers together.

"Io non so che cosa vuol dir mi. Illustrissimo," said the Signora, in bewilderment.

"You—you—you know. Ah? Washy? Hey? No, no," shaking his head, "not washy, but get washy."

The landlady smiled. The Senator, encouraged by this, came a step nearer.

"Che cosa? Il cuor me palpita. Io tremo," murmured La Rocca.

She retreated a step. Whereupon the Senator at once fell back again in great confusion.

"Washy, washy," he repeated, mechanically, as his mind was utterly vague and distrait.

"Uassi-Uuassi?" repeated the other, interrogatively.

"Me—"

"Tu" said she, with tender emphasis.

"Wee mounseer," said he, with utter desperation.

The Signora shook her head. "Non capisco. Ma quelle, balordaggini ed intormentimente, che sono si non segni manifesti d'amore?"

"I don't understand, marm, a single word of that."

The Signora smiled. The Senator took courage again.

"The fact is this, marm," said he, firmly; "I want to get my clothes washed somewhere. Of course you don't do it, but you can tell me, you know. Hm?"

"Non capisco."

"Madame," said he, feeling confident that she would understand that word at least, and thinking, too, that it might perhaps serve as a key to explain any other words which he might append to it. "My clothes—I want to get them washed—laundress—washy—soap and water—clean 'em all up—iron 'em—hang 'em out to dry. Ha?"

While saying this he indulged in an expressive pantomine. When alluding to his clothes he placed his hands against his chest, when mentioning the drying of them he waved them in the air. The landlady comprehended this. How not? When a gentleman places his hand on his heart, what is his meaning?

"O sottigliezza d'amore!" murmured she. "Che cosa cerca," she continued, looking up timidly but invitingly.

The Senator felt doubtful at this, and in fact a little frightened. Again he placed his hands on his chest to indicate his clothes; he struck that manly chest forcibly several times, looking at her all the time. Then he wrung his hands.



"Ah, Signore," said La Rocca, with a melting glance, "non e d'uopo di desperazione."

"Washy, washy—"

"Eppure, se Ella vuol sposarmi, non ce difficolta," returned the other, with true Italian frankness.

"Soap and water—"

"Non ho il coraggio di dir di no."

The Senator had his arms outstretched to indicate the hanging-out process. Still, however, feeling doubtful if he were altogether understood, he thought he would try another form of pantomime. Suddenly he fell down on his knees, and began to imitate the action of a washer-woman over her tub, washing, wringing, pounding, rubbing.

"O gran' cielo!" cried the Signora, her pitying heart filled with tenderness at the sight of this noble being on his knees before her, and, as she thought, wringing his hands in despair. "O gran' cielo! Egli e innamorato di me non puo dirmelo."

Her warm heart prompted her, and she obeyed its impulse. What else could she do? She flung herself into his outstretched arms, as he raised himself to hang out imaginary clothes on an invisible line.

The Senator was thunderstruck, confounded, bewildered, shattered, overcome, crushed, stupefied, blasted, overwhelmed, horror-stricken, wonder-smitten, annihilated, amazed, horrified, shocked, frightened, terrified, nonplused, wilted, awe-struck, shivered, astounded, dumbfounded. He did not even struggle. He was paralyzed.

"Ah, carissimo," said a soft and tender voice in his ear, a low, sweet voice, "se veramenta me me ami, saro lo tua carissima sposa—"

At that moment the door opened and Buttons walked in. In an instant he darted out. The Signora hurried away.

"Addio, bellisima, carissima gioja!" she sighed.

The Senator was still paralyzed,

After a time he went with a pale and anxious face to see Buttons. The young man promised secrecy, and when the Senator was telling his story tried hard to look serious and sympathetic. In vain. The thought of that scene, and the cause of it, and the blunder that had been made overwhelmed him. Laughter convulsed him. At last the Senator got up indignantly and left the room.

But what was he to do now? The thing could not be explained. How could he get out of the house? He would have to pass her as she sat at the door.

He had to call on Buttons again and implore his assistance. The difficulty was so repugnant, and the matter so very delicate, that Buttons declared he could not take the responsibility of settling it. It would have to be brought before the Club.

The Club had a meeting about it, and many plans were proposed. The stricken Senator had one plan, and that prevailed. It was to leave Rome on the following day. For his part he had made up his mind to leave the house at once. He would slip out as though he intended to return, and the others could settle his bill and bring with them the clothes that had caused all this trouble. He would meet them in the morning outside the gate of the city.

This resolution was adopted by all, and the Senator, leaving money to settle for himself, went away. He passed hurriedly out of the door. He dared not look. He heard a soft voice pronounce the word "Gioja!" He fled.

Now that one who owned the soft voice afterward changed her feelings so much toward her "gioja" that opposite his name in her house-book she wrote the following epithets: Birbone, Villano, Zolicacco, Burberone, Gaglioffo, Meschino, Briconaccio, Anemalaccio.



CHAPTER XXXVII.

ROME.—ANCIENT HISTORY.—THE PREHISTORIC ERA.—CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF NIEBUHR AND HIS SCHOOL.—THE EARLY HISTORY OF ROME PLACED ON A RIGHT BASIS.—EXPLANATION OF HISTORY OF REPUBLIC. —NAPOLEON'S "CAESAR."—THE IMPERIAL REGIME.—THE NORTHERN BARBARIANS.—RISE OF THE PAPACY.—MEDIAEVAL ROME.

TOPOGRAPHY.—TRUE ADJUSTMENT OF BOUNDS OF ANCIENT CITY.—ITS PROBABLE POPULATION.—GEOLOGY.—EXAMINATION OF FORMATION.—TUFA TRAVERTINE.—ROMAN CEMENT.—TERRA-COTTA. SPECIAL CONSIDERATION OF ROMAN CATACOMBS.—BOSIO.—ARRINGHI.—CARDINAL WISEMAN.—RECENT EXPLORATIONS, INVESTIGATIONS, EXAMINATIONS, EXHUMATIONS, AND RESUSCITATIONS.—EARLY CHRISTIAN HISTORY SET ON A TRUE BASIS. —RELICS.—MARTYRS.—REAL ORIGIN OF CATACOMBS.—TRUE AND RELIABLE EXTENT (WITH MAPS).

REMARKS ON ART.—THE RENAISSANCE.—THE EARLY PAINTERS: CIMABUE, GIOTTO, PERUGINO, RAFAELLE SANZIO, MICHELANGELO BUONAROTTI.—THE TRANSFIGURATION.—THE MOSES OF MICHELANGELO.—BELLINI.—SAINT PETER'S, AND MORE PARTICULARLY THE COLONNADE.—THE LAST JUDGMENT. —DANTE.—THE MEDIAEVAL SPIRIT.—EFFECT OF GOTHIC ART ON ITALY AND ITALIAN TASTE.—COMPARISON, OF LOMBARD WITH SICILIAN CHURCHES.—TO WHAT EXTENT ROME INFLUENCED THIS DEVELOPMENT.—THE FOSTERING SPIRIT OF THE CHURCH.—ALL MODERN ART CHRISTIAN.—WHY THIS WAS A NECESSITY. —FOLLIES OF MODERN CRITICS.—REYNOLDS AND RUSKIN.—HOW FAR POPULAR TASTE IS WORTH ANY THING.—CONCLUDING REMARKS OF A MISCELLANEOUS DESCRIPTION.

[There! as a bill of fare I flatter myself that the above ought to take the eye. It was my intention, on the departure of the Club from Rome, to write a chapter of a thoroughly exhaustive character, as will be seen by the table of contents above; but afterward, finding that the chapter had already reached the dimensions of a good-sized book before a quarter of it was written, I thought that if it were inserted in this work it would be considered by some as too long; in fact, if it were admitted nothing more would ever be heard of the Dodge Club; which would be a great pity, as the best of their adventures did not take place until after this period; and as this is the real character of the present work, I have finally decided to enlarge the chapter into a book, which I will publish after I have given to the world my "History of the Micmacs," "Treatise on the Greek Particles," "Course of Twelve Lectures on Modern History," new edition of the "Agamemnonian Triology" of Aeschylus, with new readings, "Harmony of Greek Accent and Prosody," "Exercises in Sanscrit for Beginners, on the Ollendorf System," "The Odyssey of Homer translated into the Dublin Irish dialect," "Dissertation on the Symbolical Nature of the Mosaic Economy," "Elements of Logic," "Examination into the Law of Neutrals," "Life of General George Washington," "History of Patent Medicines," "Transactions of the 'Saco Association for the advancement of Human Learning, particularly Natural Science' (consisting of one article written by myself on 'The Toads of Maine')," and "Report of the 'Kennebunkport, Maine, United Congregational Ladies' Benevolent City Missionary and Mariners' Friend Society," which will all be out some of these days, I don't know exactly when; but after they come out this chapter will appear in book form. And if any of my readers prefer to wait till they read that chapter before reading any further, all I can say is, perhaps they'd better not, as after all it has no necessary connection with the fortunes of the Dodge Club.]



CHAPTER XXXVIII.

ITALIAN TRAVEL, ROADS, INNS.—A GRAND BREAKDOWN.—AN ARMY OF BEGGARS.—SIX MEN HUNTING UP A CARRIAGE WHEEL; AND PLANS OF THE SENATOR FOR THE GOOD OF ITALY.

On the following morning the Senator was picked up at the gate, where he had waited patiently ever since the dawn of day. His seat was secured. His friends were around him. He was safe. They rolled on merrily all that day. And their carriage was ahead of that of the Spaniards. They stopped at the same inns. Buttons was happy.

The next day came. At nine o'clock A.M. on the next day there was a singular scene:

A vettura with the fore-wheel crushed into fragments; two horses madly plunging; five men thrown in different directions on a soft sand-bank; and a driver gazing upon the scene with a face of woe.

The Senator tried most energetically to brush the dust from his clothes with an enormous red silk handkerchief; the Doctor and Mr. Figgs looked aghast at huge rents in their nether garments; Buttons and Dick picked themselves up and hurried to the wreck.

The emotions of the former may be conceived. The wheel was an utter smash. No patching however thorough, no care however tender, could place it on its edge again a perfect wheel. A hill rose before them, behind which the Spaniards, hitherto their companions, had disappeared half an hour previously, and were now rolling on over the palin beyond that hill all ignorant of this disaster. Every moment separated them more widely from the despairing Buttons. Could he have metamorphosed himself into a wheel most gladly would he have done it. He had wild thoughts of setting off on foot and catching up to them before the next day. But, of course, further reflection showed him that walking was out of the question.

Dick looked on in silence. They were little more than a day's journey from Rome. Civita Castellana lay between; yet perhaps a wheel might not be got at Civita Castellana. In that case a return to Rome was inevitable. What a momentous thought! Back to Rome! Ever since he left he had felt a profound melancholy. The feeling of homesickness was on him. He had amused himself with keeping his eyes shut and fancying that he was moving to Rome instead of from it. He had repented leaving the city. Better, he thought, to have waited. He might then have seen Pepita. The others gradually came to survey the scene.

"Eh? Well, what's to be done now?" said Buttons, sharply, as the driver came along. "How long are you going to wait?"

"Signore makes no allowance for a poor man's confusion. Behold that wheel! What is there for me to do—unhappy? May the bitter curse of the ruined fall upon that miserable wheel!"



"The coach has already fallen on it," said Dick. "Surely that is enough."

"It infuriates me to find myself overthrown here."

"You could not wish for a better place, my Pietro."

"What will you do?" said Buttons. "We must not waste time here. Can we go on?"

"How is that possible?"

"We might get a wheel at the next town."

"We could not find one if we hunted all through the three next towns."

"Curse your Italian towns!" cried Buttons, in a rage.

"Certainly, Signore, curse them if you desire."

"Where can we get this one repaired then?"

"At Civita Castellana, I hope."

"Back there! What, go back!"

"I am not to blame," said Pietro, with resignation.

"We must not go back. We shall not."

"If we go forward every mile will make it worse. And how can we move with this load and this broken wheel up that hill?"

That was indeed a difficulty. The time that had lapsed since the lamentable break-down had been sufficient to bring upon the scene an inconceivable crowd. After satisfying their curiosity they betook themselves to business.

Ragged, dirty, evil-faced, wicked-eyed, slouching, whining, impudent—seventeen women, twenty-nine small boys, and thirty-one men, without counting curs and goats.

"Signo-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o! in the name of the Ever Blessed, and for the love of Heaven." "Go to thunder." "For the love of." "We have nothing, nothing, NOTHING! Do you hear?" "Of the Virgin." "Away! Be off." "Give me." "Go to blazes!" "Me miserable." "Will you be off?" "Infirm, blind, and." "I'll break your skull!" "Altogether desperate." "If you torment us any more, I'll." "Only the smallest charity." "Smash your abominable bottle-nose!" "Oh, generous nobles!" "Don't press me, you filthy." "Illustrious cavaliers!" "Take that! and if you say any more I'll kick you harder." "I kneel before you, oppressed, wretched, starving. Let these tears." "I'll make you shed more of them if you don't clear out." "N-n-n-Sig-no-o-o-o-o!" "Away!" "Behold a wretched villager from the far distant Ticino!" "You be hanged! Keep off!" "Oh, Signo-o-o-o-o! Oh per l'amor di Dio! Carita! Carita-a-a-a —solamente un mezzo baroccho—oh, Signo-o-o!—datemi."

"Pietro! Pietro! for Heaven's sake get us out of this at once. Anywhere—anywhere, so that we can escape from these infernal Vagabonds."

The result was, that Pietro turned his carriage round. By piling the baggage well behind, and watching the fore-axle carefully, he contrived to move the vehicle along. Behind them followed the pertinacious beggars, filling the air with prayers, groans, sighs, cries, tears, lamentations, appeals, wailings, and entreaties. Thus situated they made their entry into Civita Castellana.

Others might have felt flattered at the reception that awaited them. They only felt annoyed. The entire city turned out. The main street up which they passed was quite full. The side-streets showed people hurrying up to the principal thoroughfare. They were the centre of all eyes. Through the windows of the cafe the round eyes of the citizens were visible on the broad stare. Even the dogs and cats had a general turn out.

Nor could they seek relief in the seclusion of the hotel. The anxiety which all felt to resume their journey did not allow them to rest. They at once explored the entire city.

Was there a carriage-maker in the place? A half-hour's search showed them that there was not one. The next thing then was to try and find a wheel. About this they felt a little hopeful. Strange, indeed, if so common a thing could not be obtained.

Yet strange as this might be it was even so. No wheel was forthcoming. They could not find a carriage even. There was nothing but two ancient caleches, whose wheels were not only rickety but utterly disproportioned to the size of the vettura, and any quantity of bullock carts, which moved on contrivances that could scarcely be called wheels at all.

Three hours were consumed in the tedious search. The entire body of the inhabitants became soon aware of the object of their desires, and showed how truly sympathetic is the Italian nature, by accompanying them wherever they went, and making observations that were more sprightly than agreeable.

At first the Club kept together, and made their search accompanied by Pietro; but after a time the crowd became so immense that they separated, and continued their search singly. This produced but slight improvement. The crowd followed their example. A large number followed the Senator: walking when he walked; stopping when he stopped; turning when he turned; strolling when he strolled; peering when he peered; commenting when he spoke, and making themselves generally very agreeable and delightful.

At every corner the tall form of the Senator might be seen as he walked swiftly with the long procession following like a tail of a comet; or as he stopped at times to look around in despair, when

"He above the rest In shape and gesture proudly eminent Stood like a tower. His form had not yet lost All its original brightness;"

although, to tell the truth, his clothes had, and the traces of mud and dust somewhat dimmed the former lustre of his garments.

The appalling truth at last forced itself upon them that Civita Castellana could not furnish them either with a new wheel or a blacksmith who could repair the broken one. Whether the entire mechanical force of the town had gone off to the wars or not they did not stop to inquire. They believed that the citizens had combined to disappoint them, in hopes that their detention might bring in a little ready money and start it in circulation around the community.

It was at last seen that the only way to do the was to send Pietro back to Rome. To delay any longer would be only a waste of time. Slowly and sadly they took up their quarters at the hotel. Dick decided to go back so as to hasten Pietro, who might otherwise loiter on the way. So the dilapidated carriage had to set out on its journey backward.

Forced to endure the horrors of detention in one of the dullest of Italian towns, their situation was deplorable. Mr. Figgs was least unhappy, for he took to his bed and slept through the entire period, with the exception of certain little intervals which he devoted to meals. The Doctor sat quietly by an upper window playing the devil's tattoo on the ledge with inexhaustible patience.

The Senator strolled through the town. He found much to interest him. His busy brain was filled with schemes for the improvement of the town.

How town lots could be made valuable; how strangers could be attracted; how manufactures could be promoted; how hotels started; how shops supported; how trade increased; how the whole surrounding population enriched, especially by the factories.



"Why, among these here hills," said he, confidentially, to Buttons —"among these very hills there is water-power and excellent location for, say—Silk-weaving mills, Fulling ditto, Grist ditto, Carding ditto, Sawing ditto, Plaster-crushing ditto, Planing ditto. —Now I would locate a cotton-mill over there."

"Where would you get your cotton?" mumbled Buttons.

"Where?" repeated the Senator. "Grow it on the Campagna, of course."

Buttons passed the time in a fever of impatience.

For far ahead the Spaniards were flying further and further away, no doubt wondering at every stage why he did not join them.



CHAPTER XXXIX.

TRIUMPHANT PROGRESS OF DICK.—GENDARMES FOILED.—THE DODGE CLUB IS ATTACKED BY BRIGANDS, AND EVERY MAN OF IT COVERS HIMSELF WITH GLORY.—SCREAM OF THE AMERICAN EAGLE!

It was late on the evening of the following day before Dick made his appearance with Pietro, Another vettura had been obtained, and with cracks of a long whip that resounded through the whole town, summoning the citizens to the streets; with thunder of wheels over the pavements; with prancing and snorting of horses; Pietro drove up to the hotel. Most conspicuous in the turn-out was Dick, who was seated in the coupe, waving his hat triumphantly in the air.

The appearance of the carriage was the signal for three hearty cheers, which burst involuntarily from the three Americans on the courtyard, rousing Mr. Figgs from sleep and the inn-keeper from his usual lethargy. One look at the horses was enough to show that there was no chance of proceeding further that day. The poor beasts were covered with foam, and trembled excessively. However, they all felt infinite relief at the prospect of getting away, even though they would have to wait till the following morning.

Dick was dragged to the dining-room by his eager friends and fiercely interrogated. He had not much to tell.

The journey to Rome had been made without any difficulty, the carriage having tumbled forward on its front axle not more than one hundred and fifty-seven times. True, when it reached Rome it was a perfect wreck, the framework being completely wrenched to pieces; and the proprietor was bitterly enraged with Pietro for not leaving the carriage at Civita Castellana, and returning on horseback for a wheel; but Dick interceded for the poor devil of a driver, and the proprietor kindly consented to deduct the value of the coach from his wages piecemeal.

Their journey back was quick but uninteresting. Dick acknowledged that he had a faint idea of staying in Rome, but saw a friend who advised him not to. He had taken the reins and driven for a great part of the way, while Pietro had gone inside and slumbered the sleep of the just.

As it was a lonely country, with few inhabitants, he had beguiled the tedious hours of the journey by blowing patriotic airs on an enormous trombone, purchased by him from a miscellaneous dealer in Rome. The result had been in the highest degree pleasing to himself, though perhaps a little surprising to others. No one, however, interfered with him except a party of gendarmes who attempted to stop him. They thought that he was a Garibaldino trying to rouse the country. The trombone might have been the cause of that suspicion.

Fortunately the gendarmes, though armed to the teeth, were not mounted, and so it was that, when they attempted to arrest Dick, that young man lashed his horses to fury, and, loosening the reins at the same moment, burst through the line, and before they knew what he was about he was away.

They fired a volley. The echoes died away, mingled with gendarmerian curses. The only harm done was a hole made by a bullet through the coach. The only apparent effect was the waking of Pietro. That worthy, suddenly roused from slumber, jumped up to hear the last sounds of the rifles, to see the hole made by the bullet, the fading forms of the frantic officials, and the nimble figure of the gallant driver, who stood upright upon the seat waving his hat over his head, while the horses dashed on at a furious gallop.



This was all. Nothing more occurred, for Pietro drove the remainder of the way, and Dick's trombone was tabooed.

On the following morning the welcome departure was made. To their inexpressible joy they found that the coach was this time a strong one, and no ordinary event of travel could delay them. They had lost two days, however, and that was no trifle. They now entered upon the second stage, and passed on without difficulty.

In fact, they didn't meet with a single incident worth mentioning till they came to Perugia. Perugia is one of the finest places in Italy, and really did not deserve to be overhauled so terrifically by the Papal troops. Every body remembers that affair. At the time when the Dodge Club arrived at this city they found the Papal party in the middle of a reaction. They actually began to fear that they had gone a little too far. They were making friendly overtures to the outraged citizens. But the latter were implacable, stiff!

What rankled most deeply was the maddening fact that these Swiss, who were made the ministers of vengeance, were part of that accursed, detested, hated, shunned, despised, abhorred, loathed, execrated, contemptible, stupid, thick-headed, brutal, gross, cruel, bestial, demoniacal, fiendish, and utterly abominable race—I Tedeschi —whose very name, when hissed from an Italian month, expresses unutterable scorn and undying hate.

They left Perugia at early dawn. Jogging on easily over the hills, they were calculating the time when they would reach Florence.

In the disturbed state of Italy at this time, resulting from war and political excitement, and general expectation of universal change, the country was filled with disorder, and scoundrels infested the roads, particularly in the Papal territories. Here the Government, finding sufficient employment for all its energies in taking care of itself, could scarcely be expected to take care either of its own subjects or the traveller through its dominions. The Americans had heard several stories about brigands, but had given themselves no trouble whatever about them.

Now it came to pass that about five miles from Perugia they wound round a very thickly-wooded mountain, which ascended on the left, far above, and on the right descended quite abruptly into a gorge. Dick was outside; the others inside. Suddenly a loud shout, and a scream from Pietro. The carriage stopped.

The inside passengers could see the horses rearing and plunging, and Dick, snatching whip and reins from Pietro, lashing them with all his might. In a moment all inside was in an uproar.

"We are attacked!" cried Buttons.

"The devil!" cried the Senator, who, in his sudden excitement, used the first and only profane expression which his friends ever heard him utter.

Out came the Doctor's revolver.

Bang! bang! wept two rifles outside, and a loud voice called on them to surrender.

"Andate al Diavolo!" pealed out Dick's voice as loud as a trumpet. His blows fell fast and furiously on the horses. Maddened by pain, the animals bounded forward for a few rods, and then swerving from the road-side, dashed against the precipitous hill, where the coach stuck, the horses rearing.

Through the doors which they had flung open in order to jump out the occupants of the carriage saw the reeling figures of armed men overthrown and cursing. In a moment they all were out.

Bang! and then—

Ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-bang! went half a dozen rifles.

Thank Heaven! not one of the Club, was struck. There were twenty scoundrels armed to the teeth.

The Doctor was as stiff as a rock. He aimed six times as calmly as though he were in a pistol-gallery. Nerve told. Six explosions roared. Six yells followed. Six men reeled.

"I'd give ten years of my life for such a pistol!" cried Buttons.

The Italians were staggered. Dick had a bowie-knife. The Senator grasped a ponderous beam that he had placed on the coach in case of another break-down. Mr. Figgs had a razor which he had grabbed from the storehouse in the Doctor's pocket. Buttons had nothing. But on the road lay three Italians writhing.

"Hurrah!" cried Buttons. "Load again, Doctor. Come; let's make a rush and get these devils on the road."

He rushed forward. The others all at his side. The Italians stood paralyzed at the effect of the revolver. As Buttons led the charge they fell back a few paces.

"Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!" burst Buttons, the Senator, and Dick, as each snatched a rifle from the prostrate bandits, and hastily tore the cartridge-boxes from them.

"Load up! load up! Doctor!" cried Buttons.

"All right,"' said the Doctor, who never changed in his cool self-possession.

But now the Italians with curses and screams came back to the attack. It is absolutely stupefying to think how few shots hit the mark in the excitement of a fight. Here were a number of men firing from a distance of hardly more than forty paces, and not one took effect.

The next moment the whole crowd were upon them. Buttons snatched Mr. Figgs's razor from his grasp and used it vigorously. Dick plied his bowie-knife. The Senator wielded a clubbed rifle on high as though it were a wand, and dealt the blows of a giant upon the heads of his assailants. All the Italians were physically their inferiors—small, puny men. Mr. Figgs made a wild dash at the first man he saw and seized his rifle. The fight was spirited.

The rascally brigands were nearly three times as numerous, but the Americans surpassed them in bodily strength and spirit.

Crash—crash—fell the Senator's rifle, and down went two men. His strength was enormous—absorbed as it had been from the granite cliffs of the old Granite State. Two brawny fellows seized him from behind. A thrust of his elbow laid one low. Buttons slashed the wrist of the other. A fellow threw himself on Buttons. Dick's bowie-knife laid open his arm and thigh. The next moment Dick went down beneath the blows of several Italians. But Buttons rushed with his razor to rescue Dick. Three men glared at him with uplifted weapons. Down came the Senator's clubbed rifle like an avalanche, sweeping their weapons over the cliff. They turned simultaneously on the Senator, and grasped him in a threefold embrace. Buttons's razor again drank blood. Two turned upon him. Bang! went the Doctor's pistol, sending one of them shrieking to the ground. Bang! Once more, and a fellow who had nearly overpowered the breathless Figgs staggered back. Dick was writhing on the ground beneath the weight of a dead man and a fellow who was trying to suffocate him. Buttons was being throttled by three others who held him powerless, his razor being broken. A crack on Mr. Figgs's head laid him low. The Doctor stood off at a little distance hastily reloading.

The Senator alone was free; but six fierce fellows assailed him. It was now as in the old Homeric days, when the heroic soul, sustained by iron nerve and mighty muscle, came out particularly strong in the hour of conflict.

The Senator's form towered up like one of his own granite cliffs in the storm—as rugged, as unconquerable. His blood was up! The same blood it was that coursed through the veins of Cromwell's grim old "Ironsides," and afterward animated those sturdy backwoods-men who had planted themselves in American forests, and beaten back wild beasts and howling savages.

Buttons, prostrate on the ground, looked up, gasping through the smoke and dust, as he struggled with his assailants. He saw the Senator, his hair bristling out straight, his teeth set, his eye on fire, his whole expression sublimed by the ardor of battle. His clothes were torn to shreds; his coat was gone, his hat nowhere, his hands and face were covered with clots of blood and streaks from mud, dust, smoke, and powder.

The eye of Buttons took in all this in one glance. The next instant, with a wide sweep of his clubbed rifle the Senator put forth all his gigantic strength in one tremendous effort. The shock was irresistible. Down went the six bandits as though a cannon-ball had struck them. The Senator leaped away to relieve Dick, and seizing his assailant by neck and heel, flung him over the cliff. Then tearing away another from Mr. Figgs's prostrate and almost senseless form, he rushed back upon the six men whom he had just levelled to the earth.

Dick sprang to the relief of Buttons, who was at his last extremity. But the Doctor was before him, as cool as ever. He grasped one fellow by the throat—a favorite trick of the Doctor's, in which his anatomical knowledge came very finely into play:

"Off!" rang the Doctor's voice.

The fellow gasped a curse. The next instant a roar burst through the air, and the wretch fell heavily forward, shot through the head, while his brains were splattered over the face of Buttons. The Doctor with a blow of his fist sent the other fellow reeling over.

Buttons sprang up gasping. The Italians were falling back. He called to the Senator. That man of might came up. Thank God they were all alive! Bruised, and wounded, and panting—but alive.

The scowling bandits drew off, leaving seven of their number on the road hors de combat. Some of the retreating ones had been badly treated, and limped and staggered. The Club proceeded to load their rifles.

The Doctor stepped forward. Deliberately aiming he fired his revolver five times in rapid succession. Before he had time to load again the bandits had darted into the woods.

"Every one of those bullets hit," said the Doctor with unusual emphasis.

"We must get under cover at once," said Dick. "They'll be back shortly with others!"

"Then we must fortify our position," said the Senator, "and wait for relief. As we were, though, it was lucky they tried a hand-to-hand fight first. This hill shelters us on one side. There are so many trees that they can't roll stones down, nor can they shoot us. We'll fix a barricade in front with our baggage. We'll have to fight behind a barricade this time; though, by the Eternal! I wish it were hand-to-hand again, for I don't remember of ever having had such a glorious time in all my born days!"

The Senator passed his hand over his gory brow, and walked to the coach.

"Where's Pietro?"

"Pietro! Pietro!"

No answer.

"PI-E-TRO!"

Still no answer.

"Pietro!" cried Dick, "if you don't come here I'll blow your—"

"Oh! is it you, Signori?" exclaimed Pietro's voice; and that worthy appeared among the trees a little way up the hill. He was deadly pale, and trembled so much that he could scarcely speak.

"Look here!" cried Buttons; "we are going to barricade ourselves."

"Barricade!"

"We can not carry our baggage away, and we are not going to leave it behind. We expect to have another battle."

Pietro's face grew livid.

"You can stay and help us if you wish."

Pietro's teeth chattered.

"Or you can help us far more, by running to the nearest town and letting the authorities know."

"Oh, Signore, trust me! I go."

"Make haste, then, or you may find us all murdered, and then how will you get your fares—eh?"

"I go—I go; I will run all the way!"

"Won't you take a gun to defend yourself with?"

"Oh no!" cried Pietro, with horror. "No, no!"

In a few minutes he had vanished among the thick woods.



After stripping the prostrate Italians the travellers found themselves in possession of seven rifles, with cartridges, and some other useful articles. Four of these men were stone-dead. They pulled their bodies in front of their place of shelter. The wounded men they drew inside, and the Doctor at once attended to them, while the others were strengthening the barricade.

"I don't like putting these here," said the Senator; "but it'll likely frighten the brigands, or make them delicate about firing at us. That's my idee."

The horses were secured fast. Then the baggage was piled all around, and made an excellent barricade. With this and the captured rifles they felt themselves able to encounter a small regiment.

"Now let them come on," cried the Senator, "just as soon as they damn please! We'll try first the European system of barricades; and if that don't work, then we can fall back, on the real original, national, patriotic, independent, manly, native American, true-blue, and altogether heroic style!"

"What is that?"

The Senator looked at the company, and held out his clenched fist:

"Why, from behind a tree, in the woods, like your glorious forefathers!"



CHAPTER XL.

PLEASANT MEDIATIONS ABOUT THE WONDERS OF TOBACCO; AND THREE PLEASANT ANECDOTES BY AN ITALIAN BRIGAND.

A pull apiece at the brandy-flask restored strength and freshness to the beleaguered travellers, who now, intrenched behind their fortifications, awaited any attack which the Italians might choose to make.

"The Italians," said the Senator, "are not a powerful race. By no means. Feeble in body—no muscle—no brawn. Above all, no real pluck. Buttons, is there a word in their language that expresses the exact idee of pluck?"

"Or game?"

"No."

"Or even spunk?"

"No."

"I thought not," said the Senator, calmly. "They haven't the idee, and can't have the word. Now it would require a rather considerable crowd to demolish us at the present time."

"How long will we have to stay here?" asked Mr. Figgs abruptly.

"My dear Sir," said Buttons, with more sprightliness than he had shown for many days, "be thankful you are here at all. We'll get off at some time to-day. These fellows are watching us, and the moment we start they'll fire on us. We would be a good mark for them in the coach. No, we must wait a while."