CHARLES WATERT0N, ESQ. CIX 



servant, on going accidentally into the kit- 

 chen, saw the cook preparing it in a kind of 

 thing which I dare not exactly describe. But 

 the reader will understand me when I inform 

 him that the filthy rascal, not having a proper 

 kitchen-pan at hand, had actually been up into 

 the bed-room for a substitute. Our English 

 maid, once expressing a wish for a culinary 

 utensil in order to pour some broth into it, the 

 Italian servant had one in her eye which would 

 just suit. She went and brought the brass 

 pan in which we regularly washed our feet. 

 But these, and others of a similar nature, are 

 mere trifles, when compared with the pleasure 

 which we enjoyed, and with the instruction 

 which was imparted to us during our long 

 residence in Rome. 



At last, however, the tide set in against us. 

 It is a long lane that has no turning. Cervantes 

 has told us that that there is nothing certain 

 in this life ; " No hay cosa segura en esta 

 vida : * and that, where you least expect it, 

 up jumps the hare ; " Adonde menos se piensa, 

 se levanta la liebre." All this we found to be 

 very true, after our departure from Rome in 



