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ing consciousness of doing what is wrong. It is pity that those who allow themselves to be subject to it, are not treated with a great deal more severity than they usually are; for in truth, they are greater pests to society than all the criminals who infest it, and in my opinion, are often much more blameworthy. I have remarked, that persons much given to pique, are frequently particularly strict in the outward observances of religion. They must have strange notions, or rather no no tions at all, of the spirit of Christianity; and the doctrines they hear must fall upon the most stony of places. Nay I have met with persons so insensible to propriety, as to avow, without scruple, that they have left off attending a place of worship from some supposed affront they have received there. The concluding sentence of Fénelon's Telemachus is so much in unison with my sentiments, and is so well expressed, that I will conclude with it.

“Above all things be on your guard against your temper. It is an enemy that will accompany you everywhere, to the last hour of your life. If you listen to it, it will frustrate all your designs. It will make you lose the most important opportunities, and will inspire you with the inclinations and aversions of a child, to the prejudice of your gravest interests. Temper causes the greatest affairs to be decided by the most paltry reasons; it obscures every talent, paralyses every energy, and renders its victims unequal, weak, vile and insupportable.”



Florence, June 12, 1822. I have been reading for the second time Madame de Staël's Corinne, and generally in the places described. With a considerable quantity of nonsense, I think it excessively clever. The descriptions are often very just, and made me perceive beauties I should otherwise have missed; but they are occasionally too poetical. I perfectly agree with her, that the scenery in a warm climate in the middle of the day conveys an idea of tranquillity, quite inconceivable to those who have not witnessed it. I never mentioned that when at Naples, we went to see some royal races about fifteen miles in the country. They were in imitation of English races, but they reminded me much more of Astley's than of Newmarket. The whole court was present, and the king acted as steward-not in a very dignified manner. He started the horses, and abused the jockies abundantly. The most interesting sight was the peasantry, assembled from thirty miles round, regaling themselves in groups in a forest in their various very picturesque costumes. They seemed to enjoy themselves exceedingly, and several parties pressed us much to partake of their cheer. By far the best view of the bay of Naples and the most beautiful view I ever saw, is from a stone bench in the garden of the convent at Camaldoli, a few miles from the city. At a little distance from the convent there is a notice on a post, forbidding females to pass further, as contrary to the rules of the order; but I believe the most enterprising of the English ladies, in spite of this prohibition, and of the difficulties of the road, do occasionally contrive to insinuate themselves into the garden. The environs of Naples are truly delicious, especially in spring, which is by much {the most favourable season for seeing Italian scenery, south of Florence. We visited Tivoli both in spring and summer, and the difference in point of beauty was immense, and still greater at Adrian's Villa, near it. The ruins of the villa resemble those of a town more than of a country-seat. They contain a theatre, baths, place for the representation of sea-fights, and every thing that can be thought of in the way of luxury and delight. The first time we were there, the fruit trees and shrubs were loaded with white and peachcoloured flowers, which, contrasted with the many kinds of magnificent evergreens and the various masses of ruins, presented a strikingly beautiful appearance; but in summer we found a lamentable change. The flowers were gone, and with them the contrast, and the full foliage of the vines and figs, obscured the ruins so as very much to diminish their effect.

Bologna, June 24th. We quitted Florence on the 21st, and travelled all night on account of the heat. Sun-rise from the top of the Appennines is glorious. We prolonged our stay at Florence to be present at a ball given at a villa about a mile from the city. I had a great desire to see a fête at an Italian villa at the best season of the year, for the better understanding of Romeo and Juliet. A terrace at the back of the house was illuminated, and looked down upon a garden planted with orange trees, with a fountain in the middle, and surrounded, as Juliet's garden was, with a wall “ high and hard to climb.” It was a beautiful starlight night, the sky like blue velvet bespangled with gold. There was no moon, but the lamps served to “tip with silver all the fruit-tree tops.” The air was as soft as balm, and the scene as completely Julietical as possible. I would not have missed it for a great deal. I have been reading all Shakspeare's plays the scenes of which are laid in Italy; and it is surprising how very faithful they are to the manners and customs, and how many allusions are to be found in them to the objects around. The other day I observed in Florence a stuffed alligator suspended from the ceiling of an apothecary's shop. Like Juliet's nurse, both men and women still carry large green fans, to the exclusion of parasols; and nightingales and pomegranates continually reminded me of “ nightly she sings on yon pomegranate tree." The paintings in the gallery here are of the first merit, but unfortunately I have no appetite to enjoy them. I have seen so much of the fine arts, that for the present I am absolutely satiated. We went yesterday to see the Maid and the Magpie acted in the open air. The intense attention and variety of strong expression of countenance of the lower orders occupied me so much, that I scarcely saw any thing of the play. Performances in the


air are common at this season. I like Bologna much, and the people appear very superior to any

I have seen in the Pope's states.

Salzburg July 1st. For four days we have been travelling through the Tyrol. It is beautiful and interesting. It has all the features of Swiss scenery, but cultivation is richer and more extended, and there is less of boldness. Mountains covered with larch, and now and then with snow, torrents, bright corn-fields, the greenest meadows, neat villages of white houses, pretty churches, detached, comfortable looking cottages, no appearance of poverty, or of accumulation of wealth, and a very picturesque peasantry, make up the country, as far as I have seen it. I do not wonder at the Tyrolese being patriotic. We have been gradually leaving every thing Italian, and are now completely in Germany. What a change in the people, country, and climate! At Bologna the thermometer was as high as it could rise-above 118; here it is 65. The difference between the scenery we have last seen, and that of Italy, is the same as that between a picture by an old master, and one wet from the painter's brush. Italy and the Tyrol, methinks, might be personified by two persons, one dressed for a ball, and the other for the chace—the first full of grace and brilliancy; the other of freshness and strength. The Tyrol exhibits the dewy freshness of morning; Italy, even in her loveliest scenes, has something of aridity appearing through. But, Italy! Italy for me! I do not know what I would take not to have seen it.

Vienna, August 4th, 1822. We arrived here on the 6th of July, and leave it to-morrow. At Salzburg we visited the famous salt mines, which are said to have been first worked by the Romans, and we were told it would take eight days' good walking to explore them thoroughly. The dress we put on consisted of a white jacket and trowsers, the latter very wide for the purpose of containing the skirts of the coat, a cap, stiff leather glove for the right hand, and a leathern apron, like a cobler's, tied on behind; and ladies, many of whom visit the mines, of necessity adopt this inconvenient and unbecoming costume; but place and occasion reconcile even the most fastidious to any thing. The entrance is at the side of a hill along a level passage, at the end of which is the first descent, which is a very steep inclined plane of considerable length. The guide seats himself first, upon two parallel rounded rafters; then one of the party, with his left hand upon the guide's shoulder and so on, till all are placed, on w!ich the guide launches himself, and the whole train descends with great velocity, and very pleasantly -each person sitting upon his leather apron, and with his glove-hand holding a rope as a sort of banister. At the end of the descent is another level, and so on for six or seven descents, till at length we arrived at a lake, about a hundred yards long and thirty wide, into which the salt-rock, or rather clay, is thrown, and when the water is saturated, it is passed

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