rive
along the promontory of Sirmione, to visit the ruins of the Villa of
Catullus, was delightful. The fresh breeze which ruffled the dark blue
lake, revived my spirits, and chased away my head-ache. I was inclined
to be enchanted with all I saw; and when our guide took us into an old
cellar choked with rubbish, and assured us gravely that it was the
very spot in which Catullus had written his Odes to Lesbia. I did not
laugh in his face; for, after all, it would be as easy to prove that
_it is_, as that it is _not_. The old town and castle of Sirmio are
singularly picturesque, whether viewed from above or below, and the
grove of olives which crowned the steep extremity of the promontory,
interested us, being the first we had seen in Italy: on the whole I
fully enjoyed the early part of this day.

At Peschiera, which is strongly fortified, we crossed the Mincio.--

O fountain Arethuse, and thou honoured flood,
Smooth-flowing Mincius crowned with vocal reeds.

Its waters were exquisitely transparent; but it was difficult to
remember its poetical pretensions, in sight of those odious barracks
and batteries. The reeds mentioned by Virgil and Milton still flourish
upon its banks, and I forgave them for spoiling in some degree the
beauty of the shore, when I thought of Adelaide of Burgundy, who
concealed herself among them for three days, when she fled from the
dungeon of Peschiera to the arms of her lover. I was glad I had read
her story in Gibbon, since it enabled me to add to classical and
poetical associations, an interest at once romantic and real.

The rest to-morrow--for I can write no more.

_At Verona, Oct. 20._--I had just written the above when I was
startled by a mournful strain from a chorus of voices, raised at
intervals, and approaching gradually nearer. I walked to the window,
and saw a long funeral procession just entering the church, which is
opposite to the door of our inn. I immediately threw over me a veil
and shawl, followed it, and stood by while the service was chaunted
over the dead. The scene, as viewed by the light of about two hundred
tapers, which were carried by the assistants, was as new to me as it
was solemn and striking; but it was succeeded by a strange and forlorn
contrast. The moment the service was over, the tapers were suddenly
extinguished; the priests and the relatives all disappeared in an
inconceivably short time, and before I was quite aware of what was
going forward: