Just at this moment the eye of Buttons was attracted by a carriage that rolled away from under the front of the cathedral down the piazza. In it were two ladies and a gentleman. Buttons stared eagerly for a few moments, and then gave a jump. "What's the matter?" cried Dick. "It is! By Jove! It is!" "What? Who?" "I see her face! I'm off!" "Confound it! Whose face?" But Buttons gave no answer. He was off like the wind, and before the others could recover from their surprise had vanished down the descent. "What upon airth has possessed Buttons now?" asked the Senator. "It must be the Spanish girl," said Dick. "Again? Hasn't his mad chase at sea given him a lesson? Spanish girl! What is he after? If he wants a girl, why can't he wait and pick out a regular thorough-bred out and outer of Yankee stock? These Spaniards are not the right sort." In an incredible short space of time the figure of Buttons was seen dashing down the piazza, in the direction which the carriage had taken. But the carriage was far ahead, and even as he left the church it had already crossed the Ponte di S. Angelo. The others then descended. Buttons was not seen till the end of the day. He then made his appearance with a dejected air. "What luck?" asked Dick, as he came in. "None at all," said Buttons, gloomily. "Wrong ones again?" "No, indeed. I'm not mistaken this time. But I couldn't catch them. They got out of sight, and kept out too. I've been to every hotel in the place, but couldn't find them. It's too bad." "Buttons," said the Senator, gravely, "I'm sorry to see a young man like you so infatuated. Beware--Buttons--beware of wimmin! Take the advice of an older and more experienced man. Beware of wimmin. Whenever you see one coming--dodge! It's your only hope. If it hadn't been for wimmin"--and the Senator seemed to speak half to himself, while his face assumed a pensive air--"if it hadn't been for wimmin, I'd been haranguing the Legislatoor now, instead of wearying my bones in this benighted and enslaved country." CHAPTER XX. THE GLORY, GRANDEUR, BEAUTY, AND INFINITE VARIETY OF THE PINCIAN HILL; NARRATED AND DETAILED NOT COLUMNARILY BUT EXHAUSTIVELY, AND AFTER THE MANNER OF RABELAIS. Oh, the Pincian Hill!--Does the memory of that place affect all alike? Whether it does or not matters little to the chronicler of this veracious history. To him it is the crown and glory of modern Rome; the centre around which all Rome clusters. Delightful walks! Views without a parallel! Place on earth to which no place else can hold a candle! Pooh--what's the use of talking? Contemplate, O Reader, from the Pincian Hill the following: