le way, and the town of Cento when we reached
it, seemed miserably conscious of being too wet and dirty to go
in-doors, and was loitering about in the rain. Our arrival gave the
poor little place a sensation, for I think such a thing as an omnibus
had not been seen there since the railway of Bologna and Ferrara was
built. We went into the principal caffe to lunch,--a caffe much too
large for Cento, with immense red-leather cushioned sofas, and a cold,
forlorn air of half-starved gentility, a clean, high-roofed caffe and
a breezy,--and thither the youthful nobility and gentry of the place
followed us, and ordered a cup of coffee, that they might sit down and
give us the pleasure of their distinguished company. They put on their
very finest manners, and took their most captivating attitudes for the
ladies' sake; and the gentlemen of our party fancied that it was for
them these young men began to discuss the Roman question. How
loud they were, and how earnest! And how often they consulted
the newspapers of the caffe! (Older newspapers I never saw off a
canal-boat.) I may tire some time of the artless vanity of the young
Italians, so innocent, so amiable, so transparent, but I think I never
shall.

The great painter Guercino was born at Cento, and they have a noble
and beautiful statue of him in the piazza, which the town caused to be
erected from contributions by all the citizens. Formerly his house
was kept for a show to the public; it was full of the pictures of the
painter and many mementos of him; but recently the paintings have been
taken to the gallery, and the house is now closed. The gallery is,
consequently, one of the richest second-rate galleries in Italy, and
one may spend much longer time in it than we gave, with great profit.
There are some most interesting heads of Christ, painted, as Guercino
always painted the Saviour, with a great degree of humanity in the
face. It is an excellent countenance, and full of sweet dignity, but
quite different from the conventional face of Christ.

II.

At night we were again in Bologna, of which we had not seen the gloomy
arcades for two years. It must be a dreary town at all times: in a
rain it is horrible; and I think the whole race of arcaded cities,
Treviso, Padua, and Bologna, are dull, blind, and comfortless. The
effect of the buildings vaulted above the sidewalks is that of
a continuous cellarway; your view of the street is constantly
interrupted by the heavy br