After that, the Commissary of the Police came twice to my friend’s residence, and put a number of searching questions to his porter. Nothing, however, came of these investigations; first, because there was nothing really alarming in the fact of a man reading and writing, and giving toasts; and, secondly, and perhaps more strongly, because Don Ferdinand was an Englishman; for there is a prestige attaching to the very name of an Englishman which attracts to him the respect of the people and a cautious deferential treatment on the part of the Governments. It is felt, that, however distant he may be from his native land, he is not beyond its protective power, and that any injustice done to him will be resented as an injustice done to the nation. It is this conviction which has been his security in circumstances where I have known the subjects of other States arrested, imprisoned, or sent out of the country, without receiving the protection of their Governments. The Commissary is eminently a night-bird; sometimes you see him with “measured step and slow,” followed by his Myrmidons, stealing along under the dark shadows of the houses, like a cat treading; or, perchance, you are returning home through the silent streets, carelessly and thoughtlessly, when, at some dark corner, you find yourself confronted by this spectre. He listens for and pauses at every foot-fall, waits about in entries, stops at doors, watches the lights in houses, and, like a true inductive philosopher, from such simple facts--as seeing two or three lights, more or less, or a larger group of heads than usual, infers conspiracies most dreadful and dangerous to the State. Presently a Commissary is seen bustling along with his attendants, with a quick and eager step. He is not on a mission of inspection--oh, no--that cheerful promptitude indicates that game’s a-foot, and that something is to be done. And now he stops before a house and knocks aloud--“Who is there?”--demands some one from within. “Open in the name of the law!” is the reply. What consternation do these words create; lights are gleaming and people are hurrying backwards and forwards, but the knocking continues and becomes louder, and the door is opened, and the unfortunate master of the house is dragged from his bed to be plunged into the dungeons of the Vicaria. His neighbour, luckier than he, had timely notice of the honour intended him by the Commissary; and, escaping over the roof of his house, was enabled to get on board some friendly vessel. Their crime you ask? That of hundreds of others who are eating the bread of penury in exile, or pining in loathsome dungeons--they had taken part in the movements which preceded the publication of the “Constitution” (yet an article of that “Constitution” says, that “a veil of oblivion shall rest upon the past”). They had, in short, assisted in the development of a Constitution which I saw the Majesty of Naples swear on the Gospels to observe.