hese fallen
nobles. He informed him that in Naples their laundress was said to be
the last scion of one of the most ancient families in the kingdom.
She was a countess in her own right, but had to work at menial labor.
Moreover, many had sunk down to the grade of peasantry, and lived in
squalor on lands which were once the estates of their ancestors.

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 ho