untry, approaching the boundary-stone that separates Tuscany
from the Roman States. A custom-house on each territory is of course
encountered; the Tuscans first see that you carry nothing contraband
out, and then the Romans ascertain that you take nothing forbidden in.
With us, the examination of our luggage was merely nominal; offering
the keys of our boxes, with the assurance that they contained nothing
illegal, they were immediately and politely returned to us; and thus
the magic of our English name, seconded by the donation of a few
_pauls_, carried us in triumph through both ordeals. To the Italians
themselves it is a very different sort of affair, as they are always
subjected to a very rigorous search, chiefly with a view to discovering
whether they are carrying arms or prohibited publications.

About ten, we reached Forli—the first of those large, deserted,
decaying cities which are to be met with at every fifteen or twenty
miles' distance in the Roman States, and which, in their grass-grown
streets, their ruined palaces, and ragged, idle population, give a more
striking testimony to the workings of the dominant system than the
most heart-stirring eloquence could achieve. As we sauntered through
the dreary town, to wile away the hours that must elapse before we
could resume our journey, we saw no evidences of industry or employment
beyond a few wretched shops, where tobacco, cigars, tape, needles,
and such gear were promiscuously sold. The necessity for a trifling
purchase led me into one of these _negozj_, the owner of which, a
garrulous old man, upon discovering that I was English, and yet not
indifferent to the state of things around me, speedily ventured on a
few confidential lamentations. The miserable condition of the country
he ascribed, not so much to the presence of the Austrians, who had been
stationed in Romagna and the Marche[1] since 1849, disastrous as that
occupation undoubtedly was, as to the injustice and venality of all
the government officials, with whom, he observed, “a little of th