ere also shown the beautifully engraved die for the medal which the
university of Padua presented to Belzoni.

The evening was spent at the Teatro Re, where we saw a bad sentimental
comedy (una Commedia di Carattere) exceedingly well acted. One actor I
thought almost equal to Dowton, in his own style;--we had afterwards
some fine music. Some of the Milanese airs, which the itinerant
musicians give us, have considerable beauty and character. There is
less monotony, I think, in their general style than in the Venetian
music; and perhaps less sentiment, less softness. When left alone
to-night, to do penance on the sofa, for my late walks, and recruit
for our journey to-morrow,--I tried to adapt English verses to one or
two very pretty airs which Annoni brought me to-day, without the
Italian words; but it is a most difficult and invidious task. Even
Moore, with his unequalled command over the lyric harmonies of our
language, cannot perfectly satisfy ears accustomed to the

"Linked sweetness long drawn out"

of the Italian vowels, combined with musical sounds: fancy such
dissonant syllables as _ex_, _pray_, _what_, _breaks_, _strength_,
uttered in minim time, hissing and grating through half a bar, instead
of the dulcet _anima mia_, _Catina amabile_--_Caro mio tesoro_, etc.

STANZAS FOR MUSIC.

All that it hoped
My heart believed,
And when most trusting,
Was most deceived.

A shadow hath fallen
O'er my young years;
And hopes when brightest,
Were quench'd in tears.

I make no plaint--
I breathe no sigh--
My lips can smile,
And mine eyes are dry.

I ask no pity,
I hope no cure--
The heart, tho' broken,
Can live, and endure!

We left Milan two days ago, and arrived early the same day at Brescia;
there is, I believe, very little to see there, and of that little, I
saw nothing,--being too ill and too low for the slightest exertion.
The only pleasurable feeling I can remember was excited by our
approach to the Alps, after traversing the flat, fertile,
uninteresting plains of Lombardy. The peculiar sensation of elevation
and delight, inspired by mountain scenery, can only be understood by
those who have felt it: at least I never had formed an idea of it till
I found myself ascending the Jura.

But Brescia ought to be immortalized in the history of our travels:
for there, stalking down the Corso--_le nez en l'air_--we met our