impressed than I expected he would be. We also looked into the Church of St. Onofrio, where Tasso lies buried. W. is no hunter after sentimental relics. He professes to be regardless of places that have merely a connection with a great man, unless they had also an influence on his works. Hence he cares nothing for the burial-place of Tasso, but he has a deep interest in Vaucluse. The distinction is founded on just views, and real, not affected, sympathy.

May 3.-W. drove to the baths of Caracalla. Visited the burial-place of Shelley and Keats," two foolish inscriptions."

I introduced W. to Bunsen. He talked his best to W., and with great facility and felicity of expression pointed out to us monuments from the history of Rome from his own window.

6th. After breakfast we made call on Severn, who had a subject to talk on with W. besides Art,-poor Keats, his friend. He informs us that the foolish inscription on his tomb is to be superseded by one worthy of him. He denies that his death was hastened by the article in the Quarterly.

Planned to go to the Vatican; Gibson, Severn, etc., accompanying us.

8th. I never saw the marble antiques to greater advantage, for Gibson pointed out to Wordsworth all the prime objects— the Minerva, Apollo, young Augustus, Laocoön, Torso, etc.

10th. We ascended the Coliseum. The view of the building from above enhances greatly the effect, and W. then seemed fully impressed with the grandeur of the structure, though he seemed still more to enjoy the fine view of the country beyond. He now wishes to make the ascent by moonlight. Certainly

no other amphitheatre (and I have seen all that still exist), leaves so strong an impression.

Meeting Dr. Carlyle

by chance, W. and I took a drive with him to the Corsini Palace.

12th.-(W., Carlyle, and Severn at the Vatican).

Burford, a craniologist, took the dimensions of W.'s head

on paper.

13th. (To Tivoli).

We drove to Adrian's Villa, which

delighted W. for its scenery, and amused me by its ruins. We took the guide of the house, and inspected the old rocks among which the cascade fell, and the new fall, which has been made by a tunnel. The change was necessary, but has not improved the scene. The new fall is made formal by the masonry above. It runs in one mass, as in a frame, nearly straight; and but for the mass of water, which is considerable, would produce no effect. The old fall had the disadvantage of being hidden by projecting rocks, so that we could only see it by means of paths cut out, and then but imperfectly. This of itself would have been a great disappointment to Wordsworth; but he was amply compensated by the enjoyment the Cascadelle afforded him from the opposite side of the valley, from which you see two masses of what are called the Little Falls, and, at the same time, the heavy mass formed by the body of the river. (By-the-by, W. called the Cascadella "Nature's Waterworks.")

Nothing

22d.—I had to prepare for our final departure. could exceed Miss Mackenzie's kindness to W. She seems to feel for him the affection of a daughter, and he is much pleased with her. Were it not for her house, his evenings would have been deplorably dull. W. wants the cheering society of women, and Miss M.'s house was open to him every evening. He has invited her to visit him at Rydal.

24th, Terni.-The finest waterfall I have ever seen, and W. declares it to be also the most sublime he ever beheld. The upper fall is sublime as seen from above, from the mass of water and the great extent of the fall. The rebound of the water is such as to resemble a cloud, so that the well-known proverb applied to a wood may be literally parodied, 'You

can't see the cascade for the water.' There is a point whence a succession of falls may be seen, which extend to more than 1000 feet.

27th.-At last we came in sight of the Arno, and we had it long afterwards, to the great joy of W.

W. mounted a horse, and I on foot accompanied him, up a steep hill, through a dreary country, to the famous Franciscan convent of L'Averna. Our walk was about six or seven miles. L'Averna is a lofty mountain, which is visible at a great distance, on account of a mass of grand rocks (a variety in this neighbourhood), on the top of which St. Francis built his house. On entering, we were courteously received by the poor and humble monks. While our meal was preparing, we strolled through the distant forest to a promontory, where we had a wild and interesting country at our feet. A monk we met in the forest told us some of the legendary tales that abound in a region like this.

28th. The monastery of Camaldoli. The monastery lies delightfully in a secluded valley of firs, chestnuts, etc., and there is a mountain torrent, so that with the monks of L'Averna it would be perfect. We were received by a very different kind of monks [from L'Averna], gentlemanly monks in white garments, shoes and stockings,-in fact, Benedictines -the gentlemen of the monastic orders, as I have written in their album, While our dinner was preparing, W. and I strolled up the forest. We entered the hermitage, where a few monks reside with greater severity of discipline. When they grow old they come down to the monastery (more than a mile below). Here was six years ago a painter. I chatted then with him. Now he is in the convent. They showed me a picture by him. I made inquiries, and expected to see him. in the evening. It was perhaps one of his silent days. I was tired, and left W. to go alone to the hermitage.

7th June, Bologna.-W. all day very uncomfortable. Annoyed

by the length of the streets. He is never thoroughly happy but in the country.

11th, Certosa.-It so surpassed our expectations that even W. did not regret the journey. It is the richest church I ever saw, not in its architecture, but in its sculpture. Its peculiar richness lies in the complete preservation of so many magnificent monuments, and all the enrichment which precious marble and the finest minute sculpture could give. W. was annoyed by the large parties who were seeing the church, and, to avoid them, left it, and we went up the town together. We saw everything quietly.

[From Milan to Como.]

12th. This was one of the most agreeable days of the whole journey,―enjoyed by W. more than any other. Just before we reached Como the scenery became very grand. The view of this most interesting of lakes was in itself to me an unmixed pleasure. W. blended with it painfully pleasing recollections of his old friend Jones, with whom he made the same journey in the year 1794, and who died a few months ago. He also had a still more tender recollection of his journey here in 1820, with his wife and sister. Monkhouse and I were with him. 13th [Milan].—I accompanied W. up the Cathedral. small sum is required of each person, and no one accompanies the traveller; an excellent arrangement, and, as W. truly observed, the cheapest of all sights for which anything is paid. The view of the surrounding country is not to be despised; but that is the least part of the sight. Its singularity consists in the effect produced by the numerous pinnacles on the roof of the church: three rows on each side surmounted by a figure, and all of marble. W. has thus described them :

That aërial host

Of Figures human and divine,
White as the snows of Apennine.
Indurated by frost.

A

Concentric rings,

Each narrowing above each,-the wings,
The uplifted palms, the silent marble lips,
The starry zone of sovereign height,—

All steeped in this portentous light!
All suffering dim eclipse!

14th. This day was perhaps the very best of our journey to W.; at least it partook most of that character which expresses his favourite taste. It was a day of adventure amid beautiful scenery. [Bergamo].

16th, Brescia.-A long slip of land, which runs into the water, divides the lake into halves, and ends in a knoll. This is the promontory of Sermione, where Catullus had a villa. W. had a strong desire to visit this point; but the sight of it hence will probably be sufficient to satisfy him.

18th, Riva.-We walked out before breakfast, and took the road to Arco above the lake. W. soon left me, as he was annoyed by the stone walls on the road, and I sauntered on to a little town. I fancied I was in the Tyrol. I strolled back. W.'s non-return made me fear an accident had occurred; and, this idea having seized me, I could not rest, but walked out in search of him. It was oppressively hot, but I went on; and guessing that he would be attracted by the appearance of a village and castles in the mountains, I went in that direction. The sound of a waterfall caught my ear. I knew it must catch his. I pursued it, came to a mill, found he had been there, and had breakfasted there. He was gone higher up. I went higher, and found a man who had seen him near Riva. This relieved my apprehensions. I returned. He was there, and we dined at three.

30th June.-W. overslept himself this morning, having, for the first time on his journey, I believe, attempted composition. And in the forenoon I wrote some twenty lines by dictation on the Cuckoo at Laverna.

(Salzburg).—We came to see the famous