a horrid thing called the malaria, that comes to Rome
every summer, and kills one, and I did not care for being killed so far
from Christian burial. We have been jolted to death; my servants let us
come without springs to the chaise, and we are wore threadbare: to add
to our disasters, I have sprained my ancle, and have brought it along,
laid upon a little box of baubles that I have bought for presents in
England. Perhaps I may pick you out some little trifle there, but don't
depend upon it; you are a disagreeable creature, and may be I shall not
care for you. Though I am so tired in this devil of a place, yet I have
taken it into my head, that it is like Hamilton's Bawn,[1] and I must
write to you. 'Tis the top of a black barren mountain, a vile little
town at the foot of an old citadel: yet this, know you, was the
residence of one of the three kings that went to Christ's birthday; his
name was Alabaster, Abarasser, or some such thing; the other two were
kings, one of the East, the other of Cologn. 'Tis this of Cofano, who
was represented in an ancient painting, found in the Palatine Mount, now
in the possession of Dr. Mead; he was crowned by Augustus. Well, but
about writing--what do you think I write with? Nay, with a pen; there
was never a one to be found in the whole circumference _but one_, and
that was in the possession of the governor, and had been used time out
of mind to write the parole with: I was forced to send to borrow it. It
was sent me under the conduct of a serjeant and two Swiss, with desire
to return it when I should have done with it. 'Tis a curiosity, and
worthy to be laid up with the relics which we have just been seeing in a
small hovel of Capucins on the side of the hill, and which were all
brought by his Majesty from Jerusalem. Among other things of great
sanctity there is a set of gnashing of teeth, the grinders very entire;
a bit of the worm that never dies, preserved in spirits; a crow of St.
Peter's cock, very useful against Easter; the crisping and curling,
frizzling and frowncing of Mary Magdalen, which she cut off on growing
devout. The good man that showed us all these commodities was got into
such a train of calling them the blessed this, and the blessed that,
that at last he showed us a bit of the blessed fig-tree that Christ
cursed.

[Footnote 1: Hamilton's Bawn is an old building near Richhill, in the
County of Armagh, the subject of one of Swift's burlesque poems.]

FLORENCE, _J