of a racer, an antelope, or an Italian
greyhound. She seems very fond of her husband, who is amiable and
accomplished; he has been in England two or three times, and is
young. The sister, a Countess somebody--I forget what--(they are
both Maffei by birth, and Veronese of course)--is a lady of more
display; she sings and plays divinely; but I thought she was a
d----d long time about it. Her likeness to Madame Flahaut (Miss
Mercer that was) is something quite extraordinary.

"I had but a bird's eye view of these people, and shall not
probably see them again; but I am very much obliged to Mengaldo for
letting me see them at all. Whenever I meet with any thing
agreeable in this world, it surprises me so much, and pleases me so
much (when my passions are not interested one way or the other),
that I go on wondering for a week to come. I feel, too, in great
admiration of the Cardinal Legate's red stockings.

"I found, too, such a pretty epitaph in the Certosa cemetery, or
rather two: one was

'Martini Luigi
Implora pace;'

the other,

'Lucrezia Picini
Implora eterna quiete.'

That was all; but it appears to me that these two and three words
comprise and compress all that can be said on the subject,--and
then, in Italian, they are absolute music. They contain doubt,
hope, and humility; nothing can be more pathetic than the 'implora'
and the modesty of the request;--they have had enough of life--they
want nothing but rest--they implore it, and 'eterna quiete.' It is
like a Greek inscription in some good old heathen 'City of the
Dead.' Pray, if I am shovelled into the Lido churchyard in your
time, let me have the 'implora pace,' and nothing else, for my
epitaph. I never met with any, ancient or modern, that pleased me a
tenth part so much.

"In about a day or two after you receive this letter, I will thank
you to desire Edgecombe to prepare for my return. I shall go back
to Venice before I village on the Brenta. I shall stay but a few
days in Bologna. I am just going out to see sights, but shall not
present my introductory letters for a day or two, till I have run
over again the place and pictures; nor perhaps at all, if I find
that I have books and sights enough to do without the inhabitants.
After that, I