nscious of any
thing around me.

A few days passed here in quiet, and kind Dr. P** have revived me a
little.

All the way from Turin I have slept almost constantly, if that can be
called _sleep_, which was rather the stupor of exhaustion, and left me
still sensible of what was passing round me. I heard voices, though I
knew not what they said; and I felt myself moved from place to place
though I neither knew nor cared whither.

* * * * *

All that I have seen and heard, all that I have felt and suffered,
since I left Italy, recalls to my mind that delightful country. I
should regret what I have left behind, had I not outlived all
regrets--but one--for there, though

I vainly sought from outward forms to win
The passion and the life whose fountains are within;

all feeling was not yet worn out of my heart: I was not then blinded
nor stupified by sorrow and weakness as I have been since.

There are some places we remember with pleasure, because we have been
happy there; others, because endeared to us as the residence of
friends. We love our country because it is _our country_; our home
because it is _home_: London or Paris we may prefer, as comprehending
in themselves, all the intellectual pleasures, and luxuries of life:
but, dear Italy!--we love it, simply for its own sake: not as in
general we are attached to places and things, but as we love a friend,
and the face of a friend; there it was "_luxury to be_,"--there I
would willingly have died, if so it might have pleased God.

Till this evening we have not seen a gleam of sunshine, nor a glimpse
of the blue sky, since we crossed Mount Cenis. We entered Lyons during
a small drizzling rain. The dirty streets, the black gloomy-looking
house, the smoking manufactories, and busy looks of the people, made
me think of Florence and Genoa, and their "fair white walls" and
princely domes; and when in the evening I heard the whining organ
which some wretched Savoyard was grinding near us, I remembered even
with emotion the delightful voices I heard singing "_Di piacer mi
balza il cor_" under my balcony at Turin--my last recollection of
Italy: and to-night, when they opened the window to give me air, I
felt, on recovering, the cold chill of the night breeze; and as I
shivered, and shrunk away from it, I remembered the delicious and
genial softness of our Italian evenings--

* * * * *

22.--No lette