a gem, when the merest daub would answer the same
purpose. It was only by secret bribery I obtained a peep at this
picture, as the room is not publicly shown.

The lower classes at Florence are in general ill-looking; nor have I
seen one handsome woman since I came here. Their costume too is
singularly unbecoming; but there is an airy cheerfulness and vivacity
in their countenances, and a civility in their manners which is
pleasing to a stranger. I was surprised to see the women, even the
servant girls, decorated with necklaces of real pearl of considerable
beauty and value. On expressing my surprise at this to a shopkeeper's
wife, she informed me that these necklaces are handed down as a kind
of heir-loom from mother to daughter; and a young woman is considered
as dowered who possesses a handsome chain of pearl. If she has no hope
of one in reversion, she buys out of her little earnings a pearl at a
time, till she has completed a necklace.

The style of swearing at Florence is peculiarly elegant and classical;
I hear the vagabonds in the street adjuring Venus and Bacchus; and my
shoemaker swore "by the aspect of Diana," that he would not take less
than ten pauls for what was worth about three;--yet was the knave
forsworn.

* * * * *

JOURNEY TO ROME.

SOFFRI E TACI.

Ye empty shadows of unreal good!
Phantoms of joy!--too long--too far pursued,
Farewell! no longer will I idly mourn
O'er vanished hopes that never can return;
No longer pine o'er hoarded griefs--nor chide
The cold vain world, whose falsehood I have tried.
_Me_ never more can sweet affections move,
Nor smiles awake to confidence and love:
To _me_, no more can disappointment spring,
Nor wrong, nor scorn one bitter moment bring!
With a firm spirit--though a breaking heart,
Subdu'd to act through life my weary part,
Its closing scenes in patience I await,
And by a stern endurance, conquer fate.

_December 8._--In beginning another volume, I feel almost inclined to
throw the last into the fire; as in writing it I have generally begun
the record of one day by tearing away the half of what was written the
day before: but though it contains much that I would rather forget,
and some things written under the impression of pain, and sick and
irritable feelings, I will not yet _ungratefully_ destroy it. I have
frequently owed to my little Diary not amusement only, bu