cal man who witnessed the operation. Every part of
the work, every movement, was executed in absolute silence and with
combined obedience to signalled orders from the leader of the company.

Another case which was brought under my notice was that of a woman
suffering from dropsy, which made the necessary removal of her a very
arduous and difficult operation. It would probably have been deemed
impossible save by the assistance of the Misericordia, who managed so
featly and deftly that those who saw it marvelled at the skill and
accurately co-operating force, which nothing but long practice could
have made possible.

It is a law of the brotherhood, never broken, that they are to accept
nothing, not so much as a glass of water, in any house to which
they are called. The Florentines well know how much they owe as a
community, and how much each man may some day come to owe personally
to the Misericordia; and when the doleful clang of their well-known
bell is heard booming over the city, women may be seen to cross
themselves with a muttered prayer, while men, ashamed of their
religiosity, but moved by feeling as well as habit, will furtively do
the same.

There is an association at Rome copied from that at Florence, and
vowed to the performance of very similar duties. I once had an
opportunity of seeing the registers of this Roman Misericordia, and
was much impressed by the frequently recurring entry of excursions
into the Campagna to bring in the corpses of men murdered and left
there!

CHAPTER XII.

Among the other things that contributed to make those Florence
days very pleasant ones, we did a good deal in the way of private
theatricals. Our _impresario_ at least in the earlier part of the
time, was Arthur Vansittart. He engaged the Cocomero Theatre for our
performances, and to the best of my remembrance defrayed the whole of
the expense out of his own pocket. Vansittart was an exceptionally
tall man, a thread-paper of a man, and a very bad actor. He was
exceedingly noisy, and pushed vivacity to its extreme limits. I
remember well his appearance in some play--I fancy it was in _The Road
to Ruin_, in which I represented some character, I entirely forget
what--where he comes on with a four-in-hand whip in his hand; and I
remember, too, that for the other performers in that piece, their
appearance on the stage was a service of danger, from which the
occupants of the stage boxes were not entirely free. But he wa