se he knew it was given in imitation of the
Thessalian river Achelous, that fought for Dejanira; and Servius, who
makes him father to the Syrens, says that many streams, in compliment to
this original one, were represented with horns, because of their winding
course. Whether Monsieur Varillas, or our immortal Addison, mention
their being so perpetuated on medals now existing, I know not; but in
this land of rarities we shall soon hear or see.

Mean time let us leave looking for these weeping Heliades, and enquire
what became of the Swan, that poor Phaeton's friend and cousin turned
into, for very grief and fear at seeing him tumble in the water. For my
part I believe that not only now he

Eligit contraria flumina flammis,

but that the whole country is grown disagreeably hot to him, and the
sight of the sun's chariot so near frightens him still; for he certainly
lives more to his taste, and sings sweeter I believe on the banks of the
Thames, than in Italy, where we have never yet seen but _one_; and that
was kept in a small marble bason of water at the Durazzo palace at
Genoa, and seemed miserably out of condition. I enquired why they gave
him no companion? and received for answer, "That it would be wholly
useless, as they were creatures who never bred _out if their own
country_." But any reply serves any common Italian, who is little
disposed to investigate matters; and if you tease him with too much
ratiocination, is apt to cry out, "_Cosa serve sosistieare cosi? ci fara
andare tutti matti_[V]." They have indeed so many external amusements in
the mere face of the country, that one is better inclined to pardon
_them_, than one would be to forgive inhabitants of less happy climates,
should they suffer _their_ intellectual powers to pine for want of
exercise, not food: for here is enough to think upon, God knows, were
they disposed so to employ their time; where one may justly affirm that,

[Footnote V: What signifies all this minuteness of inquiry?--it will
drive us mad.]

On every thorn delightful wisdom grows,
And in each rill, some sweet instruction flows;
But some untaught o'erhear the murmuring rill,
In spite of sacred leisure--blockheads still.

The road from Padua hither is not a good one; but so adorned, one cares
not much whether it is good or no: so sweetly are the mulberry-trees
planted on each side, with vines richly festooning up and down them, as
if for the decoration of a dance