of all the countries, with which he feels an interest. Of the blind lovers
of my country, I will say here nothing more, than I would of those, who
had no kind feeling for Italy. Besides, there are so many, who wrote on
Italy, that, were I undertaking to comment on them, it would be a work too
long for me, and unfit here. However, as such kind of writers form one of
the most extensive branches of our present literature, I will take up
"Italy and the Italians," by J. T. Headley, for two good reasons. The
first, because I find in it, the least to say against, and the second,
because it is the most recent I know of on the subject.

How could Mr. Headley entitle his short reflections of six months, which
he spent in that country, "Italy and the Italians," I cannot understand.
It seems to me, such a title is rather a too pompous one, when we reflect,
at the same time, that Mr. Headley, by his very confession, we learn, that
he did not know, at that time, the italian language.

It was no more than one or two days Mr. Headley had stepped on a shore of
Italy, Genoa, when he found himself offended by two individuals. The
first, was a mustached officer, who eyed him askance as he passed; and the
second, a black-robed priest, not deigning him even a look, as he went.
Here, I find the very logic of the wolf, disposed to eat the lamb, at a
water spring.--The officer offended the writer, because he looked at him;
and the priest, because he did not deign to look at him! Next, comes an
elegantly dressed woman, who, I suppose, having seen Mr. Headley offended,
because the priest did not look at him, she lifted her quizzing glass,
coolly scanning him from head to foot, and with a smile of
self-satisfaction on her face, walked on.--For me, I always like to see a
lady looking at me: it is a sign of kind feeling, and innocence: and
children, not spoiled by too fond parents, look at strangers with like
pleasing curiosity.

The gentleman went to see an Asylum, where he found an italian woman, who
had lost her mind, because her father forced her to marry a gentlemen,
whom she did not love. This only instance is enough for the writer in
question to say: "When we remember in what manner marriages are contracted
in this country, looseness of morals in italian woman should cease to
surprise us.... Her lover was a young, and melancholy creature.... The
morning after she was led to the alter, she sat by her window with pale
countenance, and swolle