The 'Minerva' is the type of the modern Roman caravansary.

Your bed is charged half-a-crown per night; you dine in a refectory with a traveller at each elbow.

The character of the travelling class which invades Rome about Easter is illustrated by the conversation which you hear going on around you at the _table d'hote_ of the 'Minerva.' The following is a specimen:-- One says triumphantly, "I have _done_ two museums, three galleries, and four ruins, to-day." "I stuck to the churches," says another, "I had floored seventeen by one o'clock." "The deuce you had! You keep the game alive." "Yes, I want to have a whole day left for the suburbs." "Oh, burn the suburbs! I've got no time to see them." If I have a day to spare, I must devote it to _buying chaplets_."[5] "I suppose you've seen the Villa Borghese ?" "Oh yes, I consider that in the city, although it is in fact outside the walls." "How much did they charge you for going over it ?" "A paul." "I paid two--I've been robbed." "As for that, they're all robbers." "You're right, but the sight of Rome is worth all it costs." Shades of the travellers of the olden time--delicate, subtle, genial spirits--what think you of conversations such as this?
Surely you must opine that your footmen knew Rome better, and talked more to the purpose about it.
Across the table I hear a citizen of London town narrating to a curious audience how he has to-day seen the two great lions of Rome,--the Coliseum, and Cardinal Antonelli.

The conclusion he arrives at is, that the first is a very fine ruin, and the second a very clever man.
A provincial dowager of the devotee class, is worth listening to.

She has toiled through the entire ceremonies of the Holy Week.