ordinary Roman gravity.


February 15th.--Yesterday was a bright day, but I did not go out till the
afternoon, when I took an hour's walk along the Pincian, stopping a good
while to look at the old beggar who, for many years past, has occupied
one of the platforms of the flight of steps leading from the Piazza de'
Spagna to the Triniti de' Monti. Hillard commemorates him in his book.
He is an unlovely object, moving about on his hands and knees,
principally by aid of his hands, which are fortified with a sort of
wooden shoes; while his poor, wasted lower shanks stick up in the air
behind him, loosely vibrating as he progresses. He is gray, old, ragged,
a pitiable sight, but seems very active in his own fashion, and bestirs
himself on the approach of his visitors with the alacrity of a spider
when a fly touches the remote circumference of his web. While I looked
down at him he received alms from three persons, one of whom was a young
woman of the lower orders; the other two were gentlemen, probably either
English or American. I could not quite make out the principle on which
he let some people pass without molestation, while he shuffled from one
end of the platform to the other to intercept an occasional individual.
He is not persistent in his demands, nor, indeed, is this a usual fault
among Italian beggars. A shake of the head will stop him when wriggling
towards you from a distance. I fancy he reaps a pretty fair harvest, and
no doubt leads as contented and as interesting a life as most people,
sitting there all day on those sunny steps, looking at the world, and
making his profit out of it. It must be pretty much such an occupation
as fishing, in its effect upon the hopes and apprehensions; and probably
he suffers no more from the many refusals he meets with than the angler
does, when he sees a fish smell at his bait and swim away. One success
pays for a hundred disappointments, and the game is all the better for