"When I was his age I supported myself," commenced old Catchew, but the Fool Catcher stopped him short, and so we marched on-old Catchew, Mrs. Pelion, John Pilar, Mrs. Patch-lie's father and mother, Mrs. Smythe, Mrs. Blivouli, Miss Stryffer, Judge Cathcart, Mollie's father and mother, Mrs. Smythe, Mrs. Blivins, Grinder, and I; when who should we meet but Mrs. Phyffe!

"And where are you going, Mrs. Phyffe?" "To order a pair of wings,” cried the lady, with animation. "I am to appear as an arch-work!" angel, like the French countess, of whom I read, at somebody's ball in Paris."

"Fall into line, Madam!" said the Fool Catcher; but lo! Mrs. Phyffe slipped out of his hands, and floated away like so much thistledown.

"Too light to be caught," murmured the Fool Catcher, looking regretfully after her; "decidedly we must have butterfly traps! Ah! good-morning, Mr. Kral;" but Mr. Kral, who with his wife was entertaining a guest, did not hear.

found among the leaves a touching letter dropped | crowd, promiscuous, ill-dressed, second-rate, by the giant's wife begging us to effect her re-staring." lease. I tell you it is a sure thing; stock going like "

"Fall in line!" said the Fool Catcher, coolly, pouncing at the same instant on one man trying to convince another by argument, and a woman who was snubbing another woman.

"Fall in line, Madam!" cried the Fool Catcher, hastily, as if conscious and afraid of a strong desire to box the lady's ears; and so we marched on-Mrs. Prew, old Ossa, the man, the woman, young Bourse, old Catchew, John's father, Mrs. Pelion, Mr. Kral, Mrs. Kral, John Pilar, Miss "Fall in line! Fall in line!" cried the Fool Stryffer, Mrs. Patchouli, Judge Cathcart, Mollie's Catcher, very red: "you, Sir, ought to know father and mother, Mrs. Smythe, Mrs. Blivins, better; and you, Madam, why do you complain | Grinder, and I-till we came to a lecture-room, of men while you use your own sex so ill ?" and where Mr. Anonymous was addressing Mrs. so we marched on-the man, the woman, young Stowe, Mrs. Browning, Rosa Bonheur, Gail HamBourse, old Catchew, John's father, Mrs. Pe-ilton, Harriet Hosmer, and Mrs. Lewes, as follion, Mr. Kral, Mrs. Kral, John Pilar, Miss lows: Stryffer, Mrs. Patchouli, Judge Cathcart, Mollie's father and mother, Mrs. Smythe, Mrs. Blivins, Grinder, and I-till we reached the counting-house of old Ossa, who was just looking over his insurance policies.

"How about your daughter?" asked the Fool Catcher. "Is she insured ?"

"Don't know what you mean," said old Ossa, staring.

"Does she know any thing?" asked the Fool Catcher.

"Not much," returned Ossa, grinning.

"What is the need? I hate clever women." "How if you fail, then ?"

"But I sha'n't fail. Besides, she'll marry some rich fellow or other-young Bourse, or young Tom Catchew."

"How if she marries some poor fellow?"
"If she does, I'll cut her off."
"How if young Bourse or young Catchew

should fail?"

"But he won't fail."

"How if he dies and leaves his property in

volved?"

"What the deuce are you driving at?" cries old Ossa, perplexed.

"Why not instruct your daughter in something beyond beaus and back-hair ?" pursued the Fool Catcher.

"MY DEAR LADIES,-Homer represents the queens of antiquity as spinning wool, while the kings held counsel. Penelope spun. Lucretia spun. Milton sent Eve into the kitchen, while the angel was talking; and really, ladies, when women paint pictures as well as men, or write better essays than I can myself, or imagine a Zenobia, or give to the world a high-souled woman like Romola, or make two nations weep with a mother's wail for her sons, or help the great step of the century upward by an Uncle Tom, I must remind you gently, but firmly, Your painting, writing, sculpture is not equal to that you are out of your spheres, and for what?

the best efforts of men, in similar departments, because it is not; and if you advance the plea that you do such things to earn bread and butter, or support your children, I answer that there are other and more womanly ways of earning a subsistence, in which you can starve with decency and propriety; and in which you must remain if you hope for our admiration. Say to yourselves, ladies, not that I love dinner less but admiration more; and perish rather than get out of your sphere. If you are disturbed by what are called the promptings of genius remember that Penelope spun; a voice from the auditorium reminds me that she fibbed also. I

shall only remark that I consider the interruption unladylike. I repeat; Penelope spun. Go to the sewing-machine, Rosa Bonheur; busy yourselves with puddings and hem towels, Mrs. Stowe. Make yourself a set of night-caps, Gail Hamilton. La"But nobody does; and I hate clever wo-dies all, keep your respective talents with which, the men; besides, she will marry some rich fellow, Lord only knows why, you were endowed safe someI tell you." where out of sight. Acknowledge your intellectual with a hod over his shoulder say to yourself this is inferiority to man. When you meet an Irishman is my superior. Do this, and we will cheerfully All men are superior to all women. acknowledge your spiritual superiority, and your greater fitness for heaven-"

And so we marched on-old Ossa, the man, the woman, young Bourse, old Catchew, John's father, Mrs. Pelion, Mr. Kral, Mrs. Kral, John Pilar, Miss Stryffer, Mrs. Patchouli, Judge Cathcart, Mollie's father and mother, Mrs. Smythe, Mrs. Blivins, Grinder, and I, when-in no matter what street-stepped out from her carriage Mrs. Prew, of whom the Fool Catcher made polite inquiries concerning a journey she had just achieved.

a man.

This

"Fall in line, Sir!" interrupted the Fool Catcher, much disgusted; and so we marched on-Anonymous, Mrs. Prew, old Ossa, the man, the woman, young Bourse, old Catchew, "The country was very well, but the people John's father, Mrs. Pelion, Mr. Kral, Mrs. are really intolerable," returned Mrs. Prew. Kral, John Pilar, Miss Stryffer, Mrs. Patchouli, "People who desire to be exclusive will soon Judge Cathcart, Mollie's father and mother, be forced to eschew traveling. I assure you, Mrs. Smythe, Mrs. Blivins, Grinder, and I, till Mr. Fool Catcher, I had no comfort. I turned we saw Mr. Grimme and a woman in battered my back to people on the boats and cars. I had hoops and bonnet, thin, gray, anxious, and depall my meals served in my own rooms. I look-recating before a counter, on which was an armed over every body's head; but, after all, do ful of military coats. what you will, there is the consciousness of a

"If you are not satisfied you can leave them,"

said Grimme. "There are plenty who will do the work at half the price."

"Three dollars a week," said the woman, plaintively.

"They will do it for half, I tell you." "But with two children-"

“This is not an alms-house, Madam. I pay you for your work. Eight children or none makes no difference."

"Well," sighed the woman. "It is cruel hard. It does seem sometimes as if we couldn't live so; but I don't know where else to turn, and if you will pay me—”

"Can't pay you now," cut in Grimme, sharply, and buttoning up his coat. "I have paid out so much I am short; but you shall have it next week."

"Qh! but Mr. Grimme-"

that musty, fusty, crusty old chamber-maid stirred up with his solemn old paws; and all the music you hear is that squeaky old bag-pipe in the café below; and, what is worse, it is only ten o'clock!"

"Is that all? Heigh-ho! What was it that Murray said about service to-night at the French Church?"

"Military mass: fine music!"

"Let's go! It will be over in season for St. Peter's. We might as well make a night of it; for what with the air, and the music, and the witchery of a first night in Rome, there is no sleep for us."

Forth we went into the night, as innocent of all knowledge of Roman topography as the Babes in the Wood; but, thanks to the special Providence which protects all "innocents," we came to no harm, although more than one villain must have spared us for the very joke of the thing. Brigandage was rife at the time even in the best and most frequented streets of Rome, and our course led us through gloomy by-ways, ill-lighted and unwatched.

Furthermore, so intoxicated were we with the

"Will you take them or not?" says Grimme, with a savage thrust at the bundle of coats. "Come, one thing or the other, quick! I can't wait! I am going to prayer-meeting." "Prayer-meeting!" echoed the Fool Catcher, with a gasp; "why this is the greatest one of them all. Thinks he can cheat Heaven. Head the procession, Sir!" and so we marched on-rich old wine of classic, historic, artistic (in one Mr. Grimme, Anonymous, Mrs. Prew, the man, the woman, old Ossa, young Bourse, old Catchew, John's father, Mrs. Pelion, Mr. Kral, Mrs. Kral, John Pilar, Mrs. Patchouli, Judge Cathcart, Miss Stryffer, Mollie's father and mother, Mrs. Smythe, Mrs. Blivins, Grinder, and I.

“SANCTUARY PRIVILEGES” IN

CHRIS

ROME.

word), Romantic association, which we had this day for the first time begun to drink, that ordinary caution seemed to have forsaken us, and we sought our way recklessly, asking it of here and there a passer-by; but oftener pausing under some less opaque street-lamp to deliberately unfold the map of our "Murray," whose red hue unblushingly bewrayed our greenness to every observer. This after midnight, in the tortuous paths which we struck out for our

HRISTMAS-EVE in Rome! Where, ex-selves, between the great dome of the Pantheon cept with the angels under the stars of Bethlehem, could one keep watch this holy night more fittingly than under the dome of domes, filled with the heavenly strains of the Pastorella?

and the loftier dome of the Vatican. The only apology for this fool-hardiness is the prolonged army experience of the one, and the fascination of a rare "lark" to the other.

At San Luigi de' Francesi, where we paused on our way, a superb illumination of the high altar, a suffocating crowd of spectators (including, possibly, two or three hundred worshipers), and a mighty roar of good organ and execrable vocal music.

So child-like and absolute was our faith in Murray at that time that we stood until past one o'clock, Christmas morning, amidst the horrid din and oppressive odors, patiently waiting for the exhibition of the "fine music" and "the military mass with great pomp." But the music waxed coarser and more blatant till its final suicidal crash; and wherein consisted the mili

In anticipation of and by way of atonement for this dubious indulgence, we piously set ourselves to the zealous cultivation of health by retiring, shortly after eight o'clock, to the bed-tariness of the mass, which was celebrated room which had been prepared for us, somewhat to our surprise, by a venerable chamber-maid in black broadcloth and gold-bowed spectacles. Prolonged silence....... "What time can it be?"

"Good! so you are not asleep!" "Asleep one's first night in Rome! The air is full of electric influences, and glorious ghosts, and-and [yawningly] the music of the spheres." "The air is fuller of must and dust, which

pompously enough, we have yet to discover, unless it lay in the dozen French soldiers who shouldered arms and prowled through the aisles with their ugly hats on.

Reluctantly following the retiring multitude, we withdrew our unsatisfied souls and exhausted bodies; but speedily forgot all in the delicious excitement of searching for St. Peter's. To be sure the service was announced for three o'clock, but must we not (oh, innocents!) go early to

get a seat? On we went. What cared we for cavernous streets, for weary feet, for lurking robbers? Were we not every moment drawing nearer and nearer to It-the wonder of the world? It was an epoch when our feet at last struck the old Pons Ælius, flanked by seventeenth century angels (which some one wittily calls Bernini's "breezy maniacs"), and when, crossing the Tiber, we passed under the shadow of that mighty tomb where Rome lies buried, with an angel balancing himself above the door of the sepulchre.

Returning a quarter of an hour later from an unsuccessful search for a cup of black coffee, in which to drown our impatience, we found that a few shivering shades had crept into view at immense intervals along the great flight of steps. To our distempered vision they seemed the remorseful ghosts of Nero's band of tormentors, who were wont to kindle into awfully grotesque torch-light devout martyrs for the illumination of this old arena, and who on this holy night were come to do grievous penance where once they kept impious revel. But when at last an official ascended the steps and unlocked the massive door, we recognized somewhat offensively the mortality of those with whom we came in contact, as we pushed with the now numerous crowd into the vestibule. So high did my enthusiasm run that for a moment after the sudden illumination of this vestibule I mistook it for the Basilica itself, but fortunately did not beat a hasty retreat, like the Yankee of the British Apocrypha, who departed inveighing against the "conceit of these fellows, when their confounded old meetin'-house ain't any bigger than Brattle Street!"

Ye who are whirled in millionaire state to St. Peter's, heralded and encompassed by commissionaire, courier, and lackeys, and behold for the first time its glories, vulgarized by the garish sunlight, receive-whether ye will or no-the commiseration of a pair of foot-sore pilgrims who, following only the beams of a strange constellation-a starry cross shining afar, with no other attendants than the midnight starscame out at last into the great Piazza, with no sound to break the sacred silence but the musical rhythm of the twin fountains, at once the simplest and the grandest in all Rome. There they stood, clinging to each other, thrilled and entranced in that awful solitude, scarcely daring to lift their eyes so far toward heaven as that Marvelous Dome, whose mere shadow crushed them. The darkness, and their excited imagina-flight of stone steps, torch in hand. We were tion, magnified indescribably the proportions of the immense Cathedral in their view, until what with the season, the hour, the solitude, the companionship, the weird duskiness, no mortal eye, I am convinced, ever beheld St. Peter's more impressively.

When our senses returned we realized that we were indeed all alone. The Piazza, which strikes the beholder often at first as disproportionately small, lengthened and broadened as we walked on and on toward the sombre pile. After we had passed the cruciform gas-lights not a gleam of light appeared, except here and there in the remote colonnades which shut in the Piazza. Obviously the sexton hadn't come, and we began to exercise our fledgling skepticism in fearing that Murray had blundered, and the Pastorella was not for our ears.

Having lighted the great lamps of the vestibule, our "light-bearer and path-preparer” unlocked a little side-door, and, as we followed him curiously with our eyes, began to ascend a

half inclined to follow bodily, not knowing but through that strait gate our way to the Holy of Holies must lie. But we refrained, although a dozen men pressed after him; and presently the bells of the tower rang out merrily, and the ringers came tumbling down the steps, and unlocked at last the temple itself to our eager feet. The romantic excitement of the time and place almost overpowered us as the people lifted the ponderous leathern curtain and we passed in.

In a moment the crowd had melted away in the immensity, and we stood alone in St. Peter's in the dead of Christmas-eve. The delicious atmosphere rapt us away into a trance of delight. Far away tremulous stars faintly glimmered before the high altar; near us all was dim, save that on our right a lamp burned be

After sitting for some time on the great flight|fore the exquisite Pietà of Michael Angelo, the of steps leading up to the Cathedral, meek and subdued under the natural action of our fatigue, the languor of the hour, and the reaction from our ecstasy, we suddenly discovered an apparition under the colonnade on our left. One of the Papal guard was pacing his beat sullenly, occasionally glowering at us as suspicious characters. Having projected at him-done up in choice French-the Yankee question, "What time are the meeting begun ?" he received it, metaphorically, on the point of his bayonet, and gruffly rejected it. But here, as often, German proved our angel of deliverance. The guard could not withstand the same inquiry done up in his vernacular burr, so he graciously informed us that the sacred doors would open at three o'clock-and not till then.

Mater Dolorosa holding the dead Christ in her arms. The Lord pardon thy servant in this thing, if in the house of Rimmon I bowed down myself then and thereafter, whenever I entered the cathedral, feeling that the living Christ was not far from that little chapel! It was strange, and consoling as strange, to kneel on this storied pavement, and offer petitions for the little soul far away whose sweetest eyes were at that moment just opening to the dawn of her first Christmas. With hearts at rest we wandered through the beautiful twilight, dimly discerning the magnificence of the pavement and the columns, and the stately grandeur of statues and sepulchral monuments, with whose minutest lines we subsequently became familiar, till finally we stood by the great baldacchino which

flaunts its stolen bronze beneath the pure maj- | paraphernalia to perfect the illusion. After his esty of the dome.

As we reverently approached the marble railing which incloses the shrine of St. Peter's chair we started back abashed as we saw below us, kneeling on the floor of the Confessional, no other than the Holy Father himself. It was only after repeated glances at the majestic figure, and a furtive consultation of our Handbook, that we were reassured that we were not trespassing upon private devotions, but were viewing instead Canova's admirable statue of Pius VI. This monument contrasts pleasantly with the self-complacent attitudes of the majority of his predecessors and successors throughout the cathedral.

It was now after 3 o'clock. On either side of the altar are a few permanent "pews," in Yankee parlance. In one of these we solemnly seated ourselves, wondering at the scantiness of the congregation. Half a dozen gentlemen and ladies were near us, but where were the crowd who had entered with us? After patient waiting for half an hour without sign of increased illumination, parson, choir, or congregation, our attention was fixed, during our restless glances about us, by a brilliant light in a chapel far down the nave. Suspecting the truth, we leave the upper seats of the synagogue as speedily and shamefacedly as possible, and hastening to the blaze, find that there indeed is service already begun and why not, for is this not the chapel of the choir? The half-dozen benches were of course already occupied by less punctual worshipers, so that we "early birds," instead of winning the proverbial reward, were doomed to stand throughout the service.

attendants had marched him in and deposited him in his gorgeous seat, as if he had been a big doll which they had just found in one of their red stockings, they at once set themselves at work in awkward boy-fashion to undress him to an alarming degree, and then to attire him again in what a Yankee would call his "storeclothes," and finally to prance about him admiringly, precisely as my baby is now doing with her beloved doll Minnie. This Doll behaved well, considering his provocations; and when at last his tormentors had retired to a little distance to rest themselves and survey their treasure, he gazed complacently upon his fat, bejeweled fingers, spread out upon his knees, and seemed to think the rôle of show-puppet not so bad after all.

During the lull we inspected our fellow-auditors. Judging from appearances there were among them not more than ten Romanists, and the majority of the assembly were unmistakably English. Murray very properly condemns all improprieties in the behavior of tourists during Romish ceremonials, but it was just a little funny to notice the anxious subservience of that autocrat's slaves-"Britons never will be," notwithstanding. Having read in their authority that a black dress and veil were en règle for all services in the Sistine Chapel, and for reserved seats at the ceremonies in the Basilica of the Vatican during Holy Week, almost every dowager and damsel of them all was scrupulously clad in weeds on this joyful anniversary, and exposed herself to rheumatisms and catarrhs by the supererogatory concession of a flimsy veil in lieu of a sensible hat. Furthermore, these excellent women (like the aggravating wife in Dickens's "Tale of Two Cities") "flopped" at the least provocation, and some of them were

er the blunder just in season to lift up their heads and 'stare about defiantly for any chance observer during the solemnest parts of the service. Quite a number, indeed, knelt unflinchingly during the whole ceremony, so as to be on the safe side.

Every thing around us was novel. The altar was one blaze of light. The little chapel was crowded suffocatingly as to its auditory; while its equal number of priests, etc., spread them-sure to go down at the wrong time, and discovselves aggravatingly at ease in their ample stalls. In the topmost range were seated the biggest wigs, or rather tonsures, comfortably wrapped in ermine capes; below them sat a row of gray squirrel-skins; and still lower, violet robes with tunics of lace and muslin; while last of all came a bench full of violet and very sleepy boys. This last bench frequently sent forth skirmishers into the midst of the melée, who darted hither and thither armed with candles and authority by no means little or brief. Once in a while an ermine or a squirrel who had overslept himself would come pattering in, with a bow for the altar and a profounder bow for his fellow-rodents, who reciprocated the compliment without intermitting the discordant, but it is to be hoped devout, growl, which they had been pleased to set up before our entrance.

There was, however, one Aunt Betsey Trotwood who stood bolt upright with Protestant lip, sneering and nose sniffing even at the very instant of the elevation of the Host. An outraged official behind her whispered "down," but she only tossed her head an inch higher, and settled herself more firmly upon her broad English basis; whereupon by a dextrous application of his staff of office to the rear of the rebellious knees, he brought her suddenly into position, where she had the sense to remain.

When one's conscience forbids sufficient comWhen at last the grand procession came march- pliance with the prescribed rites of any place or ing in with candles, crosiers, mitres, and what-season, what alternative remains to good-breednots, I am afraid somebody thought the Grand ing but to forego the service? That boor who, Mogul thereof was no less than Pio Nono him- having solicited the honor of presentation to self, and gazed accordingly with quickened pulse- Pio Nono, refused to receive the customary beat. But it was only a comfortable cardinal- papal benediction, deserved a sharper rebuke bishop who played he was Pope, with gorgeous than that of the gentle-eyed father, "I think