xhausted all
excitement, and the subdued and weary soul had learned to be content
with repose:--but not not till _then_.

We are now in Italy; but have not yet heard the soft sounds of the
Italian language. However, we read with great satisfaction the Italian
denomination of our Inn, "La grande Alberga della Villa"--called out
"Cameriere!" instead of "Garcon!"--plucked ripe grapes as they hung
from the treillages above our heads--gathered green figs from the
trees, bursting and luscious--panted with the intense heat--intense
and overpowering from its contrast with the cold of the Alpine regions
we had just left--and fancied we began to feel

"----cette vie enivrante,
Que le solei du sud inspire a tous les sens."

* * * * *

_11 at night._--Fatigue and excitement have lately proved too much for
me: but I will not sink. I will yet bear up; and when a day thus
passed amid scenes like those of a romance, amid all that would once
have charmed my imagination, and enchanted my senses, brings no real
pleasure, but is ended, as _now_ it ends, in tears, in bitterness of
heart, in languor, in sickness, and in pain--ah! let me remember the
lesson of resignation I have lately learned; and by elevating my
thoughts to a better world, turn to look upon the miserable affections
which have agitated me _here_ as----[E]

Could I but become as insensible, as regardless of the painful past as
I am of the all lovely present! Why was I proud of my victory over
passion? alas! what avails it that I have shaken the viper from my
hand, if I have no miraculous antidote against the venom which has
mingled with my life-blood, and clogged the pulses of my heart! But
the antidote of Paul--even faith--may it not be mine if I duly seek
it?

* * * * *

_Arona, on the banks of the Lago Maggiore._--Rousseau mentions
somewhere, that it was once his intention to place the scene of the
Heloise in the Borromean Islands. What a French idea! How strangely
incongruous had the pastoral simplicity of his lovers appeared in such
a scene! It must have changed, if not the whole plan, at least the
whole colouring of the tale. Imagine _la divine_ JULIE tripping up and
down the artificial terraces of the Isola Bella, among flower pots and
statues, and colonnades and grottos; and St. Preux sighing towards
her, from some trim fantastic wilderness in the Isola Madre!

The day was heavenly, and