The Capuchin friars gave her Royal Highness a cordial reception, and within their sacred precincts even allowed her and some of her French attendants to sleep. In return for this knightly rather than saintly courtesy, she instituted an order of chivalry, and, after looking about for a saint by way of godmother to the new institution, she fixed upon St. Caroline. In vain was it suggested to her that there was no such saint in the Calendar. She had a precedent by way of authorisation. Napoleon had compelled St. Roch to make way for St. Napoleon, and why should not Caroline have ‘Saint’ prefixed to it, and shine as the patroness of the new order? She, of course, had her way, created poor young Austin a knight, and solemnly instituted Baron Bergami as grand master. They looked more like strolling players than ever; the Baron none the less so when his royal mistress placed on his breast the insignia of the order of ‘St. Sepulchre’ by the side of the star of the newly-appointed St. Caroline. With these new dignitaries the party proceeded to view all the spots where there is nothing to be seen, but where much that is false may be heard if the guides be listened to. For miles round there was not a scene that had been the stage of some great event, or was hallowed by the memory of some solemn deed or saintly man, that the Princess did not visit. Having spent upon them all the emotion she had on hand, she trotted off to Jericho, her panting attendants following her; and, having found the place uninhabitable from the fierce heat which prevailed there, the strolling Princess and her fellow-players rushed back to the sea, and, scarcely pausing at Jaffa, embarked hurriedly on board the polacca there awaiting them, and set sail in hopes of speedily encountering refreshing gales and recovering the vigour they had lost. Their singing ‘Veni Aura’ brought not the gale they invoked. The sun darted his rays down upon them with greater intensity than ever, and accordingly the Princess raised a gay tent upon the deck, beneath its folds sat by day, took all needful refreshment, and slept by night; the Grand Master of the Order of St. Caroline fulfilling during all that time the office of chamberlain. The weary and feverish hours were further enlivened by a grand festival held on board on St. Bartholomew’s day, in honour of Bartholomew Bergami and the saint of the former name, who was supposed to be the patron and protector of all who bore it. The Princess drank to the Baron, and the latter drank to the Princess, and mirth and good humour, not to say jollity, abounded; and perhaps by the time the incident is as old as the descent of the Nile by Cleopatra is now it may appear as picturesque and poetical as that does. It certainly lacks the picturesque and poetical elements at present.