This was exceedingly difficult of attainment to me, and took me an infinite deal of time and trouble; but I had for my model a middle-aged Englishman who was staying in the same hotel as myself, and whose starched stolidity never relaxed for a single instant.  He was a human iceberg—­ perfectly respectable, with that air of decent gloom about him which is generally worn by all the sons of Britain while sojourning in a foreign clime.  I copied his manners as closely as possible; I kept my mouth shut with the same precise air of not-to-be-enlightened obstinacy—­I walked with the same upright drill demeanor—­and I surveyed the scenery with the same superior contempt.  I knew I had succeeded at last, for I overheard a waiter speaking of me to his companion as “the white bear!”

One other thing I did.  I wrote a courteous note to the editor of the principal newspaper published in Naples—­a newspaper that I knew always found its way to the Villa Romani—­and inclosing fifty francs, I requested him to insert a paragraph for me in his next issue, This paragraph was worded somewhat as follows: 

“The Signor Conte Cesare Oliva, a nobleman who has been for many years absent from his native country, has, we understand, just returned, possessed of almost fabulous wealth, and is about to arrive in Naples, where he purposes making his home for the future.  The leaders of society here will no doubt welcome with enthusiasm so distinguished an addition to the brilliant circles commanded by their influence.”

The editor obeyed my wishes, and inserted what I sent him, word for word as it was written.  He sent me the paper containing it “with a million compliments,” but was discreetly silent concerning the fifty francs, though I am certain he pocketed them with unaffected joy.  Had I sent him double the money, he might have been induced to announce me as a king or emperor in disguise.  Editors of newspapers lay claim to be honorable men; they may be so in England, but in Italy most of them would do anything for money.  Poor devils! who can blame them, considering how little they get by their limited dealings in pen and ink!  In fact, I am not at all certain but that a few English newspaper editors might be found capable of accepting a bribe, if large enough, and if offered with due delicacy.  There are surely one or two magazines, for instance, in London, that would not altogether refuse to insert an indifferently, even badly written article, if paid a thousand pounds down for doing it!

On the last day but one of my sojourn in Palermo I was reclining in an easy-chair at the window of the hotel smoking-room, looking out on the shimmering waters of the gulf.  It was nearly eight o’clock, and though the gorgeous colors of the sunset still lingered in the sky, the breeze blew in from the sea somewhat coldly, giving warning of an approaching chilly night.  The character I had adopted, namely that of a somewhat harsh and cynical man who had seen