got to Rome, by turning it over and over. Through
all such dangers, however, it was triumphantly brought, inch by inch,
and arrived at its journey's end in fine condition.

There it was exhibited to select companies of female viewers, in whose
gentle bosoms it awakened implacable feelings. Concurrently, active
preparations were made for the day on which some of its treasures were
to be publicly displayed. Cards of breakfast-invitation were sent out
to half the English in the city of Romulus; the other half made
arrangements to be under arms, as criticising volunteers, at various
outer points of the solemnity. The most high and illustrious English
Signor Edgardo Dorrit, came post through the deep mud and ruts (from
forming a surface under the improving Neapolitan nobility), to grace
the occasion. The best hotel and all its culinary myrmidons, were set to
work to prepare the feast. The drafts of Mr Dorrit almost constituted a
run on the Torlonia Bank. The British Consul hadn't had such a marriage
in the whole of his Consularity.

The day came, and the She-Wolf in the Capitol might have snarled with
envy to see how the Island Savages contrived these things now-a-days.
The murderous-headed statues of the wicked Emperors of the Soldiery,
whom sculptors had not been able to flatter out of their villainous
hideousness, might have come off their pedestals to run away with the
Bride. The choked old fountain, where erst the gladiators washed, might
have leaped into life again to honour the ceremony. The Temple of
Vesta might have sprung up anew from its ruins, expressly to lend its
countenance to the occasion. Might have done; but did not. Like sentient
things--even like the lords and ladies of creation sometimes--might
have done much, but did nothing. The celebration went off with admirable
pomp; monks in black robes, white robes, and russet robes stopped to
look after the carriages; wandering peasants in fleeces of sheep, begged
and piped under the house-windows; the English volunteers defiled; the
day wore on to the hour of vespers; the festival wore away; the thousand
churches rang their bells without any reference to it; and St Peter
denied that he had anything to do with it.

But by that time the Bride was near the end of the first day's journey
towards Florence. It was the peculiarity of the nuptials that they
were all Bride. Nobody noticed the Bridegroom. Nobody noticed the first
Bridesmaid. Few could have seen Little