nts of marble, porphyry, and granite. I returned by the Forum
and the Capitol, through the Forums of Nerva and Trajan, and so over
the Monte Cavallo, home.

* * * * *

23.--Last night we had a numerous party, and Signor P. and his
daughter came to sing. _She_ is a private singer of great talent, and
came attended by her lover or her _fiance_; who, according to Italian
custom, attends his mistress every where during the few weeks which
precede their marriage. He is a young artist, a favourite pupil of
Camuccini, and of very quiet, unobtrusive manners. La P. has the
misfortune to be plain; her features are irregular, her complexion of
a sickly paleness, and though her eyes are large and dark, they
appeared totally devoid of lustre and expression. Her plainness, the
bad taste of her dress, her awkward figure, and her timid and
embarrassed deportment, all furnished matter of amusement and
observation to some young people, (English of course,) whose
propensities for _quizzing_ exceeded their good breeding and good
nature. Though La P. does not understand a word of either French or
English, I thought she could not mistake the significant looks and
whispers of which she was the object, and I was in pain for her, and
for her modest lover. I drew my chair to the piano, and tried to
divert her attention by keeping her in conversation, but I could get
no farther than a few questions which were answered in monosyllables.
At length she sang--and sang divinely: I found the pale automaton had
a soul as well as a voice. After giving us, with faultless execution,
as well as great expression, some of Rossini's finest songs, she sung
the beautiful and difficult cavatina in Otello, "_Assisa al pie d'un
Salice_," with the most enchanting style and pathos, and then stood as
unmoved as a statue while the company applauded loud and long. A
moment afterwards, as she stooped to take up a music book, her lover,
who had edged himself by degrees from the door to the piano, bent his
head too, and murmured in a low voice, but with the most passionate
accent, "O brava, brava cara!" She replied only by a look--but it was
such a look! I never saw a human countenance so entirely, so
instantaneously changed in character: the vacant eyes kindled and
beamed with tenderness: the pale cheek glowed, and a bright smile
playing round her mouth, just parted her lips sufficiently to discover
a set of teeth like pearls. I could have