letter in answer to Alessio del Pinto, who has thanked me for helping his brother (the late commandant, murdered here last month) in his last moments. Have told him I only did a duty of humanity-as is true. The brother lives at Rome. «Mended the fire with some'sgobole,' (a Romagnuole 'word) and gave the falcon some water. Drank some Seltzer-water. Mem.-received to-day a print, or etching, of the story of Ugolino, by an Italian painter— different, of course, from Sir Joshua Reynolds's, and I think (as far as recollection goes) no worse, for Reynolds's is not good in history. Tore a button in my new coat. « I wonder what figure these Italians will make in a regular row. I sometimes think that, like the Irishman's gun (somebody had sold him a crooked one), they will only do for 'shooting round a corner;' at least, this sort of shooting has been the late tenor of their exploits. And yet, there are materials in this people, and a noble energy, if well directed. But who is to direct them? No matter. Out of such times heroes spring. Difficulties are the hot-beds of high spirits, and Freedom the mother of the few virtues incident to human nature. « Rose-the day fine. Ordered the horses; but Lega (my secretary, an Italianism for steward or chief servant) coming to tell me that the painter had finished the work in fresco, for the room he has been employed on lately, I went to see it before I set out. The painter has not copied badly the prints from Titian, etc., considering all things. * * * * * * * * « Dined. Read Johnson's ' Vanity of Human Wishes,' -all the examples and mode of giving them sublime, as well as the latter part, with the exception of an occasional couplet. I do not so much admire the opening. I remember an observation of Sharpe's (the Conversationist, as he was called in London, and a very clever man) that the first line of this poem was superfluous, and that Pope (the best of poets, I think,) would have begun at once, only changing the punctuation Survey mankind from China to Peru! The former line, Let observation,' etc., is certainly heavy and useless. But 't is a grand poem-and so true! -true as the 10th of Juvenal himself. The lapse of ages changes all things-time-language-the earththe bounds of the sea-the stars of the sky, and every thing about, around, and underneath' man, except man himself, who has always been, and always will be, an unlucky rascal. The infinite variety of lives conduct but to death, and the infinity of wishes lead but to disappointment. All the discoveries which have yet been made have multiplied little but existence. An extirpat ed disease is succeeded by some new pestilence; and a discovered world has brought little to the old one, except the p-first and freedom afterwards--the latter a fine thing, particularly as they gave it to Europe in exchange for slavery. But it is doubtful whether the Sovereigns' would not think the first the best present of the two to their subjects. « At eight went out - heard some news. They say the king of Naples has declared, by couriers from Florence, to the Powers (as they call now those wretches with crowns) that his Constitution was compulsive, etc. etc., and that the Austrian barbarians are placed again on war pay, and will march. Let them—' they come like sacrifices in their trim,' the hounds of hell! Let it still VOL. IV. 2 be a hope to see their bones piled like those of the human dogs at Morat, in Switzerland, which I have seen. «Heard some music. At nine the usual visitors— news, war, or rumours of war. Consulted with P. G., etc. etc. They mean to insurrect here, and are to honour me with a call thereupon. I shall not fall back; though I don't think them in force or heart sufficient to make much of it. But, onward!—it is now the time to act, and what signifies self, if a single spark of that which would be worthy of the past can be bequeathed unquenchedly to the future? It is not one man, nor a million, but the spirit of liberty which must be spread. The waves which dash upon the shore are, one by one, broken, but yet the ocean conquers, nevertheless. It overwhelms the Armada, it wears the rock, and, if the Neptunians are to be believed, it has not only destroyed, but made a world. In like manner, whatever the sacri. fice of individuals, the great cause will gather strength, sweep down what is rugged, and fertilize (for sea-weed is manure) what is cultivable. And so, the mere selfish calculation ought never to be made on such occasions ; and, at present, it shall not be computed by me. I was never a good arithmetician of chances, and shall not commence now. «January 10th, 1821. << Day fine-rained only in the morning. Looked over accounts. Read Campbell's Poets-marked errors of Tom (the author) for correction. Dined-went out -music-Tyrolese air, with variations. Sustained the cause of the original simple air against the variations of the Italian school. * * * * * * * « Politics somewhat tempestuous, and cloudier daily. To-morrow being foreign post-day, probably something more will be known. « Came home-read. Corrected Tom Campbell's slips of the pen. A good work, though-style affected — but his defence of Pope is glorious. To be sure, it is his own cause too,-but nom atter, it is very good, and does him great credit. << I have been turning over different Lives of the Poets. I rarely read their works, unless an occasional flight over the classical ones, Pope, Dryden, Johnson, Gray, and those who approach them nearest (I leave the rant of the rest to the cant of the day), and—I had made several reflections, but I feel sleepy, and may as well go to bed. «Read the letters. 'Hints from Horace.' " « January 11th, 1821. Corrected the tragedy and the Dined, and got into better spirits. Went out-returned-finished letters, five in number. Read Poets, and an anecdote in Spence. « All writes to me that the Pope, and Duke of Tuscany, and King of Sardinia, have also been called to Congress; but the Pope will only deal there by proxy So the interests of millions are in the hands of abou twenty coxcombs, at a place called Leybach! << I should almost regret that my own affairs went well, when those of nations are in peril. If the interests of mankind could be essentially bettered (particularly of these oppressed Italians), I should not so much mind my own 'sma' peculiar.' God grant us all better times, or more philosophy. « In reading, I have just chanced upon an expres sion of Tom Campbell's;-speaking of Collins, he says that no reader cares any more about the characteristic manners of his Eclogues than about the authenticity of the tale of Troy.' 'Tis false-we do care about 'the authenticity of the tale of Troy.' I have stood upon that plain daily, for more than a month, in 1810; and, if any thing diminished my pleasure, it was that the blackguard Bryant had impugned its veracity. It is true I read Homer Travestied' (the first twelve books), because Hobhouse and others bored me with their learned localities, and I love quizzing. But I still venerated the grand original as the truth of history (in the material facts) and of place. Otherwise, it would have given me no delight. Who will persuade me, when I reclined upon a mighty tomb, that it did not contain a hero?—its very magnitude proved this. Men do not labour over the ignoble and petty dead-and why should not the dead be Homer's dead? The secret of Tom Campbell's defence of inaccuracy in costume and description is, that his Gertrude, etc. has no more locality in common with Pennsylvania than with Penmanmaur. It is notoriously full of grossly false scenery, as all Americans declare, though they praise parts of the Poem. It is thus that self-love for ever creeps out, like a snake, to sting any thing which happens, even accidentally, to stumble upon it. January 12th, 1821. «The weather still so humid and impracticable, that London, in its most oppressive fogs, were a summerbower to this mist and sirocco, which has now lasted (but with one day's interval), chequered with snow or heavy rain only, since the 30th of December, 1820. It is so far lucky that I have a literary turn;--but it is |