great cities-not that at all times you meet with that courtesy from high or humble life, which tends so greatly to smooth the rough path of human nature and everyday life.

In proof of this fact I well recollect one bright fine morning of early June paying a visit to the Halle at Paris, a visit which I should recommend to travellers who go forth to see the world at large, and if they have good sense to learn something beyond the shores of old England, an excursion to this vast market, if such it may be called, to me, I must confess, is far more agreeable than a hot theatre or picture gallery; for there nature is before you in all its resources, combined with beauty and freshness, flowers in abundance and loveliness; vegetables, fruit, and varied fish from the nearest seas, in fact all that the Parisian world can desire to suit the simplest or most refined taste, and supply the most luxurious tables, for which the imperial city is renowned. It being very early in the season I requested an aged dame, who sat demurely in a clean cap before a vegetable stall, to inform me from whence she obtained her supply so early of French beans, and without a moment's hesitation she replied, "from Cayenne."

"Thank you, madame, it is a pity they do not send you there for more." I always imagined politeness was a virtue in France above all in Paris.

Walking on, I came to another stall, where the early and excellent lettuce called Roman, only to be had to perfection in early springtime at Paris, crisp and yellow, was prepared in salads ready to receive such additions of cream, oil and vinegar suitable to the taste of the purchaser a dinner without a salad being rare on a French table.

"Might I request, my good woman," said I, "what might be the price of one of your fresh and delicious-looking salads ?" pointing to a dish decorated with early radishes. A French gentleman dined with me that day; and I knew it was his much-loved standing-dish.

Looking at me with a serene but not unpleasant expression, and examining me from head to foot, chancing to have on a well-brushed hat and well-fitting gloves, she replied, with an insolent grin, "It is not such as you who would give ten sols for a salad, and carry it through the streets of Paris; send your cook or your maître d'hôtel, and I will supply him."

Again discomfited, I walked on ruminating as to the oft-told assertion of French politeness day by day, more and more doubting the fact. Certainly these old ladies even in their Sunday's best were anything but good proof of the race. Still they taught me a lesson to look more strictly at the physionomy of those you address as strangers, as that early French beans are supplied to the Paris market from Cayenne, and that travellers in good hats and gloves are not permitted to purchase salads.

The market, however, to which I introduced the Roaster, more properly called Formosa, there are no fish, flesh, fowls, or salads; stalls there were in abundance, in some of which there was an assortment of old iron, curious olk keys, tin pots, and tin kettles; in others, a vast quantity of old and valueless coins, agate, and stones of various kinds, cameos, old clothes, in fact an alta provida of articles difficult to define among the varied mass here and there; however the keen eye of a connoisseur might perchance discover an old picture of some

object to be had for a franc but worth a sovereign, and I did fancy, not much to the edification of the Roaster, to make some slight purchases, which has ofttimes induced me to return there. Be it as it may, it is worthy of a visit, as showing that trade has innumerable phases.

Walking from thence into the heart of the city, we here and there met with innumerable priests, who, as all the world know, are legion in Rome; indeed, here, there and everywhere, like a flock of crows, in all the highways and byways of the Papal city, while numerous heavy carriages drawn by fat horses, containing cardinals aud monsiegniers drive beyond the city walls, whence alighting they take their constitutional walks along the roads, attended by two or more sallow-looking servants.

The meeting of these infallible gentlemen was at all times a source of amusement to my young companion, not one of them in his ideas but was the pope: a pair of mauve or red stockings, a larger hat than usual or a better-equipped carriage, was sure to be the man he longed to see. What sort of person he had decided in his own mind the infallible old gentleman might or should be, it was difficult to say, but a practical illustration was earnestly looked for and at length came.

Our city ramble over, we determined on a stroll on the Pincio, to see the beau monde ere we returned home to our hotel to dine, when the Roaster's long-wished-for desire to see the infallible pope was gratified, coming towards us. A man with a drawn sword announced the present approach of his highness, or whatever title he may have beyond that of a thoroughbred gentleman, and in such case you are expected, that is, the Roman world are expected (for I admit that neither the dear Roaster, or I, the illustrious author of these pages, followed their example) to alight from their carriages, or if on foot to kneel down-a pleasant performance I take it on a muddy day. Thus, all wise pedestrians when they see the waving of the sword in the distance, take flight, whereas those who believe in graven images and idolatry, superstition and absolution, and such like absurdities, spoil the knees of their best pantaloons, and considerably damage their silks and finery, receiving in return the amicable old gentleman's blessing, delivered by a wave of his hand or two fingers of that hand, and then go home to dinner, to refresh the inward man, and do as the world generally does, sin and be thankful.

Never shall I forget the face of my dear sporting young friend on that memorable afternoon; but he shall speak for himself.

"That the Pope!" he exclaimed as the vain but courteous old gentleman alighted from his carriage. "That the Pope, the aged man in the white flannel dressing gown and scarlet hat! That the Pope! I thought he was a king; he looks like an old woman; and why do the people kneel? Look at that lady in the green silk gown, she is actually covered with mud. What for? My dad and I met our Prince of Wales, in a wide-a-wake, and a cigar in his mouth. Dad took off his hat, and told me to do so, and the Prince touched his, as cheery as possible. Mam tells me to kneel to God when I am saying my prayers, and no one else, and I do not intend, I can tell you." In fact, the Roaster appeared quite annoyed that his mental picture of the Infallible Pope should have been so entirely upset, by beholding as he said, not I (and children may say anything), an old woman in a

flannel dressing gown, instead of a regal gentleman, with a jewelled mitre on his head. But I promised to take him to St. Peters on a gala day, which by no means satisfied him. Mais que voulez vous? "Shut up about the Pope," said I," and let us listen to the band, and then go home to dinner."

Meanwhile, ere we go a hunting on the Campagna, I must admit Romanism in Rome is at once a ludicrous and melancholly spectacleludicrous from the infinite tomfoolery in which the priests indulge, and the barefaced imposture which is palmed on the credulous; and yet to an Englishman, with his eyes and ears open, his temper and digestion in good order, who holds to the true and simple faith of the reformed church, in fact, who loves his neighbour as himself, I know of no city on earth wherein a month in early spring or winter may be so cheerfully and pleasantly passed. Moreover, it is unlike any other city I know beyond the white cliffs of Albion. Italian it is not, French it is not, decidedly not German, and yet, putting aside the Roman population, there are times during the day, barring the antiquity of the city itself and the climate, when you might fancy yourself in England or America.

Society during the winter and spring is always select and agreeable. There is also an English club, into which good men and true are admitted by ballot, diplomacy, by introduction. Whist is played with moderation, and the peccadillos of one's neighbours, as oneself, amicably discussed, and if so be it is not the most lively reunion in Europe, it has its advantages to an idle man in foreign parts. You may dine there, if not luxuriously, at least pleasantly and reasonably. You may read the daily papers from England peaceably in a comfortable arm chair; you may warm your back or your front at a coal fire, in a good-sized grate, and finding a pleasant companion, retire to a commodious smoking room, and discuss the chances for the next Derby or Leger, and the errors and virtues of Roman society, and the world at large, with discretion, without fear of Antonelli or the Papal police. Pigskin remarked to me, however, somewhat faceciously, if not angrily, that the winner of the great anglo races were never telegraphed, which he thought most unclubbish.

Speaking of Roman society, or rather society in Rome, and I feel bound to speak of everything connected with Piggy's wanderings abroad, and Rome as an abiding place, I may cursorily remark that there are localities in Rome where during the afternoon of a fine day, say about the month of February, when if it were not for the mildness of the air and the buildings by which you are surrounded, you might almost imagine yourself in England, at least as regards that part of the city where the principal hotels used by foreigners abound; in fact, as a celebrated author has observed, where the English and Americans are taken in and done for-comfortably done for-generously done for; but at a deuce of a price. In this district I believe there is nothing English that you cannot obtain, from Crosse and Blackwell's pickles to Mappin's razors and Allsop's pale ale.

If a young lady wishes to hire a riding-habit or a side-saddle for the next meet of the Roman hunt, she will find everything in the English quarter. In fact you may buy anything in the Vià Babino or Condotti, from Harvey's sauce to Warren's blacking, and the celebrated and most