On the spacious sloping piazza in front of the Cathedral, where the market used to be held, the main-guard was posted, and a pair of _jägers_ paced backward and forward with the stolidity of Germans between their sentry-boxes. Suddenly they halted, raised a cry, the meaning of which I could not grasp, and the guard turned out. I could see no visiting officer, and was lost in conjecture when I noticed an ambulance party with a stretcher moving slowly downwards by the road leading from the citadel. A blue great coat outlined a figure on the stretcher; one of the legs cased in red trousers was lumpy with bandages, through which the blood oozed, but the face of the sufferer was screened from observation and from the fierce noon glare of the sun by a strip of linen. The party came to a standstill opposite the post of the sentries; the guard presented arms, the officer lowered his sword, the bugle blew thrice a weird melancholy wail of notes, and the stretcher-bearers resumed their careful, slow march. This, I heard, was a usage borrowed from chivalrous times, and was intended as a compliment; but I could not help thinking it a cruelty to the poor wounded wretch whose recovery the delay of a minute might imperil. I went up to the party and asked who was the last victim of the war they were carrying. "A countryman of yours," was the answer. I gently lifted the strip of linen, and recognized in the sufferer a youngster from Sligo, of some nineteen years, the only son of his mother, who had joined the Papal service through motives of the most sincere faith and devotedness. To his aged parent, in her humble Connaught cabin, he had sent the twenty _scudi_ he had received as bounty. Andy was his Christian name--I never heard that of his family; but he usually went by the nickname of "Much-a-Wanted." This originated from a habit he had of using the phrase on all occasions, suitable and unsuitable. If it came on to rain, Andy would say, "much-a-wanted;" if macaroni, which the Irishmen unaccountably disliked, were served up from the dinner-boiler, he met it with the same exclamation; if he got a newspaper from home, or won a _mezzo-baioccho_ at pitch-and-toss, it was alike. All were "much-a-wanted." Verily, I believe if he had been sent to the cells on a false charge, the philosophic Andy would have consoled himself with the cheery reflection that it was "much-a-wanted."