The Municipio, too, calling itself a palace (heaven save the mark!), with its list of births, deaths, and marriages, posted on a black-board outside the door, to be seen of all, adorns it.

The bewildered clerk at the Municipio, who sits and writes, and sleeps by turns, all day, in a low room beside a desk, taking notes for the sindaco (mayor) from all who come (he is so tired, that clerk, he would hear the last trumpet sound unmoved), even he hears the news, and starts up.