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I cannot but believe myself, from similar observation,
that many unaccredited celestial messengers may be seen skulking
through the streets of Genoa, or droning away their lives in other
Italian towns.

Perhaps the Cappuccini, though not a learned body, are, as an
order, the best friends of the people. They seem to mingle with
them more immediately, as their counsellors and comforters; and to
go among them more, when they are sick; and to pry less than some
other orders, into the secrets of families, for the purpose of
establishing a baleful ascendency over their weaker members; and to
be influenced by a less fierce desire to make converts, and once
made, to let them go to ruin, soul and body. They may be seen, in
their coarse dress, in all parts of the town at all times, and
begging in the markets early in the morning. The Jesuits too,
muster strong in the streets, and go slinking noiselessly about, in
pairs, like black cats.

In some of the narrow passages, distinct trades congregate. There
is a street of jewellers, and there is a row of booksellers; but
even down in places where nobody ever can, or ever could, penetrate
in a carriage, there are mighty old palaces shut in among the
gloomiest and closest walls, and almost shut out from the sun.
Very few of the tradesmen have any idea of setting forth their
goods, or disposing them for show. If you, a stranger, want to buy
anything, you usually look round the shop till you see it; then
clutch it, if it be within reach, and inquire how much. Everything
is sold at the most unlikely place. If you want coffee, you go to
a sweetmeat shop; and if you want meat, you will probably find it
behind an old checked curtain, down half-a-dozen steps, in some
sequestered nook as hard to find as if the commodity were poison,
and Genoa's law were death to any that uttered it.

Most of the apothecaries' shops are great lounging-places. Here,
grave men with sticks, sit down in the shade for hours together,
passing a meagre Genoa paper from hand to hand, and talking,
drowsily and sparingly, about the News. Two or three of these are
poor physicians, ready to proclaim themselves on an emergency, and
tear off with any messenger who may arrive. You may know them by
the way in which they stretch their necks to listen, when you
enter; and by the sigh with which they fall back again into their
dull corners, on finding that you only want medicine. Few people
lounge in the barbers' shops; though they are very numerous, as
hardly any man shaves himself. But the apothecary's has its group
of loungers, who sit back among the bottles, with their hands
folded over the tops of their sticks. So still and quiet, that
either you don't see them in the darkened shop, or mistake them--as
I did one ghostly man in bottle-green, one day, with a hat like a
stopper--for Horse Medicine.

On a summer evening the Genoese are as fond of putting themselves,

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