service that were screamed from a dozen mouths; but, drawing out his watch, asked his servant if the carriage was broken. “Pann,[4] the shafts are snapped, two of the springs are injured, and the linch-pin has flown.” ----- Footnote 4: My Lord, in Polish. “How long will it take to repair them?” “Twenty-four hours.” “It is now four o’clock. See that everything be in order again by to-morrow’s daybreak.” “Pann, with these lazy Italians, I fear it will be impossible”— “Ya paswalam,”[5] replied the traveller coldly, but decidedly. “Pay what you will, but let all be ready for the hour I have mentioned.” ----- Footnote 5: I will it, in Polish. Without another word, he walked towards the inn, followed by the crowd, teasing for alms. A few seconds ago they had all been active and healthy beings, so full of employment they could not afford to mend his calèche unless tempted by some extraordinary reward; now the men declared themselves cripples and invalids, the children were orphans, the women helpless widows, and they would all die of hunger if his Eccellenza did not bestow a few _grani_. “What a tedious race!” exclaimed the traveller, casting a handful of coins upon the ground, which caused a general scramble, and enabled him to proceed unmolested. At the inn new torments awaited him; a fresh crowd, composed of the landlord, the landlady, and their waiters and hostlers, gathered round, and assailed him with innumerable questions. The landlord hoped none of his limbs were broken, and begged him to consider himself master of the house; the waiters desired to know at what hour he would sup, what fare he chose, how long he intended to stay, where he came from, whither he was going; and the landlady led him, ostentatiously, through all the rooms of the inn, expatiating endlessly upon the peculiar and indescribable advantages of each. Ineffably weary of their officiousness, the traveller at last traversed a long and spacious hall, and took refuge in a balcony that looked upon the bay of Gaeta.