is an Englishman, and very wealthy,' were synonymous, and
always went together. 'If I were to tell them you were an American it
would do just as well--in fact, better, but for one thing, and that is,
you would be swindled twice as much. The expression "and very wealthy,"
attached to the name of an Englishman, is only a delicate piece of
flattery, for the majority of the present race of traveling English are
by no means lavish in their expenditures or very wealthy. In taking you
to see all these pretty women, I have undoubtedly given you pleasure, at
the same time I have gratified a little innocent curiosity of mine:--but
then the chance is such a good one! We will now visit the Countess ----,
for she has a very desirable apartment to let; after which we will
proceed seriously to take rooms with a home-ly view.'

The Countess ---- was a very lovely woman, consequently Caper was
fascinated with the apartment, and told her he would reflect over it.

'Right,' said Rocjean, after they had left; 'better reflect over it than
in it--as the enormous draught up chimney would in a short time compel
you to.'

'How so?'

'I have a German friend who has rooms there. He tells me that a cord of
firewood lasts about long enough to warm one side of him; when he turns
to warm the other it is gone. He has lived there three years reflecting
over this; the Countess occasionally condoles with him over the draught
of that chimney.'

'H'm! Let us go to the homely: better a drawn sword than a draught.'

They found a homely landlady with neat rooms in the via Babuino, and
having bargained for them for twelve _scudi_ a month, their labors were
over.

MACCARONICAL.

There was, when Caper first came to Rome, an eating-house, nearly
opposite the fountain Trevi, called the Gabioni. It was underground,--in
fact, a series of cellars, popularly conjectured to have been part of
the catacombs. In one of these cellars, resembling with its arched roof
a tunnel, the ceiling so low that you could touch the apex of the round
arch with your hand, every afternoon in autumn and winter, between the
hours of five and six, there assembled, by mutual consent, eight or ten
artists. The table at which they sat would hold no more, and they did
not want it to. Two waiters attended them, Giovanni for food, Santi for
wine and cigars. The long-stemmed Roman lamps of burnished brass, the
bowl that held the oil and wicks resembling the united prows of four
vessels,