t
consolation. It has gradually become not only the faithful depository
of my recollections, but the confidante of my feelings, and the sole
witness of my tears. I know not if this be wise: but if it be folly, I
have the comfort of knowing that a mere act of my will destroys for
ever the record of my weakness; and meantime a confidante whose mouth
is sealed with a patent lock and key, and whom I can put out of
existence in a single moment, is not dangerous; so, as Lord Byron
elegantly expresses it, "_Here goes_."

We left Florence this morning; and saw the sun rise upon a country so
enchantingly beautiful, that I dare not trust myself to description;
but I felt it, and still feel it--almost in my heart. The blue
cloudless sky, the sun pouring his beams upon a land, which even in
this wintry season smiles when others languish--the soft varied
character of the scenery, comprising every species of natural
beauty--the green slope, the woody hill, the sheltered valley,--the
deep dales, into which we could just peep, as the carriage whirled us
too rapidly by--the rugged fantastic rocks, cultivated plains, and
sparkling rivers, and, beyond all, the chain of the Apennines with
light clouds floating across them, or resting in their recesses--all
this I saw, and felt, and shall not forget.

I write this at Arezzo, the birth-place of Petrarch, of Redi, of
Pignotti, and of that Guido who discovered Counter-point. Whether
Arezzo is remarkable for any thing else, I am too sleepy to recollect:
and as we depart early to-morrow morning, it would only tantalize me
to remember. We arrived here late, by the light of a most resplendent
moon. If such is this country in winter, what must it be in summer?

_9th, at Perugia._--All the beauties of natural scenery have been
combined with historical associations, to render our journey of to-day
most interesting; and with a mind more at ease, nothing has been
wanting to render this one of the most delightful days I have spent
abroad.

At Cortona, Hannibal slept the night before the battle of Thrasymene.
Soon after leaving this town on our left, we came in view of the lake,
and the old tower on its banks. There is an ancient ruin on a high
eminence to the left, which our postilion called the "Forteressa di
Annibale il Carthago." Further on, the Gualandra hills seem to circle
round the lake; and here was the scene of the battle. The channel of
the Sanguinetto, which then ran red with the best bl