unt of mischief that must be continually brewing in Rome,--the wars
that shake convents,--the gossip and scandal that pollute society,--the
intrigues that destroy families,--may be more easily imagined than told.
Were the secret history of that city for but one short week to be
written, what an astounding document it would be! and what a curious
commentary on that mark of a "true Church," _unity_! Well were it for
the world were the plots hatched in Rome felt only within its walls.

On the streets of the Eternal City you meet, of course, every variety of
ecclesiastical costume. The eye is at first bewildered with the motley
show of gowns, cloaks, cowls, scapulars, and veils; of cords, crosses,
shaven heads, and naked feet,--provoking the reflection what a vast deal
of curious gear it takes to teach Christianity! There you have the long
black robe and shovel hat of the secular priest; the tight-fitting frock
and little three-cornered bonnet of the Jesuit; the shorn head and black
woollen garment of the Benedictine;--there is the Dominican, with his
black cloak thrown over his white gown, and his shaven head stuck into a
slouching cowl;--there is the Franciscan, with his half-shod feet, his
three-knotted cord, and his coarse brown cloak, with its numerous
pouches bulging with the victuals he has been begging for;--there is the
Capuchin, with his bushy beard, his sandaled feet, his patched cloak,
and his funnel-shaped cowl, reminding one of Harlequin's cap;--there is
the Carmelite, with shaven head begirt with hairy continuous crown,
loose flowing robe, and broad scapular;--there is the red gown of the
German student, and the wallet of the begging friar. This last has been
out all morning begging for the poor, and is now returning with
replenished wallet to his convent on the Capitol, where dwell monks now,
as geese aforetime. After dining on the contents of his well-filled
sack, with a slight addition from the vineyards of the Capitol, he will
scatter the crumbs among the crowd of beggars which may be seen at this
hour climbing the convent stairs.

But however these various orders may differ in the colour of their
cloaks or the shape of their tonsure, there is one point in which they
all agree,--that is, dirt. They are indescribably filthy. Clean water
and soap would seem to be banished the convents, as indulgences of the
flesh which cannot be cherished without deadly peril to the soul, and
which are to be shunned like he