«Fine day. Read-rode-fired pistols, and returned. Dined-read. Went out at eight-made the usual visit. Heard of nothing but war,-"the cry is still, They come.' The Cari. seem to have no plan—nothing fixed among themselves, how, when, or what to do. In that case, they will make nothing of this project, so often postponed, and never put in action. « Came home, and gave some necessary orders, in case of circumstances requiring a change of place. I shall act according to what may seem proper, when I hear decidedly what the Barbarians mean to do. At present, they are building a bridge of boats over the Po, which looks very warlike. A few days will probably show. I think of retiring towards Ancona, nearer the northern frontier; that is to say, if Teresa and her father are obliged to retire, which is most likely, as all the family are Liberals. If not, I shall stay. But my movements will depend upon the lady's wishes, for myself, it is much the same. << I am somewhat puzzled what to do with my little daughter, and my effects, which are of some quantity and value,—and neither of them do in the seat of war, where I think of going. But there is an elderly lady who will take charge of her, and T. says that the Marchese C. will undertake to hold the chattels in safe keeping. Half the city are getting their affairs in marching trim. A pretty Carnival! The blackguards might as well have waited till Lent. << Returned-met some masques in the Corso-‘Vive la bagatelle !'--the Germans are on the Po, the Barbarians at the gate, and their masters in council at Leybach (or whatever the eructation of the sound may syllable into a human pronunciation), and lo! they dance and sing, and make merry, 'for to-morrow they may die.' Who can say that the Arlequins are not right? Like the Lady Baussiere, and my old friend Burton-I 'rode on.' « Dined-(damn this pen!)-beef tough-there is no beef in Italy worth a curse; unless a man could eat an old ox with the hide on, singed in the sun. << The principal persons in the events which may occur in a few days are gone out on a shooting party. If it were like a 'highland hunting,' a pretext of the chase for a grand reunion of counsellors and chiefs, it would be all very well. But it is nothing more or less than a real snivelling, popping, small-shot, water-hen waste of powder, ammunition, and shot, for their own special amusement:-a rare set of fellows for a man to risk his neck with,' as 'Marishal Wells' says in the Black Dwarf. "If they gather,-'whilk is to be doubted,'-they will not muster a thousand men. The reason of this is, that the populace are not interested,-only the higher and middle orders. I wish that the peasantry were: they are a fine savage race of two-legged leopards. But the Bolognese won't-the Romagnuoles can't without them. Or, if they try-what then? They will try, and man can do no more—and, if he would but try his utmost, much might be done. The Dutch, for instance, against the Spaniards-then, the tyrants of Europe-since, the slaves -and, lately, the freedmen. « The year 1820 was not a fortunate one for the individual me, whatever it may be for the nations. I lost a lawsuit, after two decisions in my favour. The project of lending money on an Irish mortgage was finally rejected by my wife's trustee, after a year's hope and trouble. The Rochdale lawsuit had endured fifteen years, and always prospered till I married; since which, every thing has gone wrong-with me, at least. «In the same year, 1820, the Countess T. G. nata Ga. G., in despite of all I said and did to prevent it, would separate from her husband, Il Cavalier Commendatore Gi., etc. etc. etc., and all on the account of 'P. P. clerk of this parish.' The other little petty vexations of the year—overturns in carriages—the murder of people before one's door, and dying in one's beds-the cramp in swimming—colics-indigestions and bilious attacks, etc. etc. etc.— Many small articles make up a sum, " January 25th, 1821. « Received a letter from Lord S. O. state secretary of the Seven Islands-a fine fellow-clever-dished in En gland five years ago, and came abroad to retrench and to renew. He wrote from Ancona, in his way back to Corfu, on some matters of our own. He is son of the late Duke of L. by a second marriage. He wants me to go to Corfu. Why not?—perhaps I may, next spring. « Answered Murray's letter-read-lounged. Scrawled this additional page of life's log-book. One day more is over of it, and of me; but 'which is best, life or death, the gods only know,' as Socrates said to his judges, on the breaking up of the tribunal. Two thousand years since that sage's declaration of ignorance have not enlightened us more upon this important point; for, according to the Christian dispensation, no one can know whether he is sure of salvation-even the most righteous-since a single slip of faith may throw him on his back, like a skaiter, while gliding smoothly to his paradise. New, therefore, whatever the certainty of faith in the facts may be, the certainty of the individual as to his happiness or misery is no greater than it was under Jupiter. << It has been said that the immortality of the soul is a 'grand peut-être'-but still it is a grand one. Every body clings to it-the stupidest, and dullest, and wickedest of human bipeds is still persuaded that he is immortal. " January 26th, 1821. « Fine day—a few mares' tails portending change, but the sky clear, upon the whole. Rode-fired pistolsgood shooting. Coming back, met an old man. Charity-purchased a shilling's worth of salvation. If that was to be bought, I have given more to my fellow-creatures in this life-sometimes for vice, but, if not more often, at least more considerably, for virtue—than I now possess. I never in my life gave a mistress so much as I have sometimes given a poor man in honest distress; -but no matter. The scoundrels who have all along persecuted me (with the help of **who has crowned their efforts) will triumph;—and, when justice is done to me, it will be when this hand that writes is as cold as the hearts which have stung me. woman. « Returning, on the bridge near the mill, met an old I asked her age—she said, 'Tre croci.' I asked my groom (though myself a decent Italian) what the devil her three crosses meant. He said, ninety years, and that she had five years more to boot!! I repeated the same three times, not to mistake — ninety-five years!!!-and she was yet rather active heard my question, for she answered it saw me, for she advanced towards me; and did not appear at all decrepit, though certainly touched with years. Told her to come to-morrow, and will examine her myself. I love phenomena. If she is ninety-five years old, she must recollect the Cardinal Alberoni, who was legate here. « On dismounting, found Lieutenant E. just arrived from Faenza. Invited him to dine with me to-morrow. Did not invite him for to-day, because there was a small turbot (Friday, fast regularly and religiously) which I wanted to eat all myself. Ate it. « Went out-found T. as usual-music. The gentlemen, who make revolutions and are gone on a shooting, are not yet returned. They don't return till Sunday-that is to say, they have been out for five days, buffooning, while the interests of a whole country are at stake, and even they themselves compromised. « It is a difficult part to play amongst such a set of assassins and blockheads-but, when the scum is skimmed off, or has boiled over, good may come of it. If this country could but be freed, what would be too great for the accomplishment of that desire? for the extinction of that Sigh of Ages? Let us hope. They |