the coffin, stripped of its embroidered pall and
garlands of flowers, appeared a mere chest of deal boards, roughly
nailed together; and was left standing on tressels, bare, neglected,
and forsaken in the middle of the church. I approached it almost
fearfully, and with a deeper emotion than I believed such a thing
could now excite within me. And here, thought I, rests the human
being, who has lived and loved, suffered and enjoyed, and, if I may
judge by the splendour of his funeral rites, has been honoured,
served, flattered while living:--and now not one remains to shed a
last tear over the dead, but a single stranger, a wanderer from a land
he perhaps knew not: to whom his very name is unknown! And while thus
I moralized, two sextons appeared; and one of them seizing the
miserable and deserted coffin, rudely and unceremoniously flung it on
his shoulders, and vanished through a vaulted door; and I returned to
my room, to write this, and to think how much better, how much more
_humanely_, we manage these things in our own England.

_Oct. 21._--Verona is a clean and quiet place, containing some fine
edifices by Palladio and his pupils. The principal object of interest
is the ancient amphitheatre; the most perfect I believe in Italy. The
inner circle, with all its ranges of seats, is entire. We ascended to
the top, and looked down into the Piazza d'arme, where several
battalions of Austrian soldiers were exercising; their arms glittering
splendidly in the morning sun. As I have now been long enough in Italy
to sympathize in the national hatred of the Austrians, I turned from
the sight, resolved not to be pleased. The arena of the amphitheatre
is smaller, and less oval in form than I had expected: and in the
centre, there is a little paltry gaudy wooden theatre for puppets and
tumblers,--forming a grotesque contrast to the massive and majestic
architecture around it: but even tumblers and puppets, as Rospo
observed, are better than wild beasts and ferocious gladiators.

There are also at Verona a triumphal arch to the Emperor Gallienus;
the architecture and inscription almost as perfect as if erected
yesterday;--and a most singular bridge of three irregular arches,
built, I believe, by the Scaligieri family, who were once princes of
Verona.

It is well known that the story of Romeo and Juliet is here regarded
as a traditionary and indisputable fact, and the tomb of Juliet is
shown in a garden near the town. So much has