immediate neighbourhood remains in a sort of hazy apathy. The Pope appreciates highly their passive submission, and does all he can to keep them from communicating with the discontented districts. For this reason he is opposed to the construction of railroads; that, as he says, his revolutionary subjects of the East may not corrupt his obedient children of the West.
To the outward eye, the papal government pays a slight tribute to the increased demands of the times. There is more decency in the lives of the clergy; there is more done for the poor. But it is not eleemosynary charity that is needed—it is the spirit of improvement, just laws and an upright administration—none of these exist; and even scientific knowledge, encouraged in other parts of the peninsula, is forbidden. Meanwhile, penal laws are slight, and seldom enforced. There is, some fifteen miles from the city, a miserable collection of huts, in the middle of a tract of country, the peculiar haunt of mal’ aria; it is called Campo Morto, and is an asylum of the Church. All criminals, who fear being taken, fly hither. The spot, consecrated as an asylum, is watched by soldiers. The fugitive who once enters the fatal bounds, never dares leave them. Three years is the extent to which a man can drag out
