'Find?--I remember, in the _Bohemian Girl_, a song that will answer you,' replied Caper; 'the words were composed by the theatrical poet Bunn': 'Rank, in its halls, may not find The calm of a happy mind; So repair To the Fair, And they may be met with there.' 'Unsatisfactory, both the grammar and the sentiment,' said Bagswell; 'it won't work; it's all wrong. In the first place, rank, in its hauls, _may_ find the calm of a happy mind: for instance, the captain of a herring-smack may find the calm of a very happy mind in his hauls of No. 1 Digbys; more joy even than the fair could afford him. Let us go!' Bagswell was a 'funny' Englishman. They went--taking the railroad. Dashing out of the station, the locomotive carried them, in half an hour, to the station at Frascati, whirling them across the Campagna, past long lines of ruined or half-ruined and repaired aqueducts; past Roman tombs; past _Roma Vecchia_, the name given to the ruins of an immense villa; landing them at the first slope of the mountains, covered at their base with vineyards, olive and fruit-trees, and corn-fields, while high over them gleamed glistening white snow-peaks. The walk from Frascati to the Grotto, about three miles, was beautiful, winding over hills through a fine wood of huge old elms and plane-trees. In the warm sun-light, the butterflies were flitting, while the road-side was purple with violets, and white and blue with little flowers. From time to time, our three artists had glimpses of the Campagna, rolling away like the ocean, to dash on Rome, crowned by St. Peter's; the dome of which church towers above the surrounding country, so that it can be seen, far and wide, for thirty miles or more. The road was alive with walkers and riders; here a dashing, open carriage, filled with rosy English; there a _contadino_, donkey-back, dressed in holiday-suit, with short-clothes of blue woolen, a scarlet waistcoat, his coarse blue-cloth jacket worn on one shoulder, and in his brown, conical-shaped hat, a large carnation-pink. Then came more of the country-people, almost always called _villani_, (hence our word, villains!) These poor villains had sacks on their backs, or were carrying in their hands--if women, on their heads--loads of bacon, sides of bacon, flitches of bacon, hams, loaves of bread, cheese, and very loud-smelling _mortadella_; which they had bought and were bringing away from the fair. 'There was one task,' said Roejean, 'that Hercules declined, and that was eating that vile _mortadella_. He was a strong man; but that was stronger. Wait a moment, till I fill a pipe with caporal, and have a smoke; for if I meet another man with that delicacy, I shall have to give up the Grotto--unless I have a pipe under my nose, as counter-irritant.'