forth in barbarous English in the same advertisement. Wouldn't you have

supposed that the adventurous linguist who framed the card would have

known enough to submit it to that clergyman before he sent it to the

printer?

Here in Milan, in an ancient tumble-down ruin of a church, is the

mournful wreck of the most celebrated painting in the world--"The Last

Supper," by Leonardo da Vinci. We are not infallible judges of pictures,

but of course we went there to see this wonderful painting, once so

beautiful, always so worshipped by masters in art, and forever to be

famous in song and story. And the first thing that occurred was the

infliction on us of a placard fairly reeking with wretched English. Take

a morsel of it: "Bartholomew (that is the first figure on the left hand

side at the spectator,) uncertain and doubtful about what he thinks to

have heard, and upon which he wants to be assured by himself at Christ

and by no others."

Good, isn't it? And then Peter is described as "argumenting in a

threatening and angrily condition at Judas Iscariot."

This paragraph recalls the picture. "The Last Supper" is painted on the

dilapidated wall of what was a little chapel attached to the main church

in ancient times, I suppose. It is battered and scarred in every

direction, and stained and discolored by time, and Napoleon's horses

kicked the legs off most the disciples when they (the horses, not the

disciples,) were stabled there more than half a century ago.

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The Innocents Abroad