were placed, and said that I must go to Lord Holland and ask him to give them British passports.  He urged that nothing could be easier, that no objection could possibly be taken to it; that the Tuscan government was by no means desirous of giving up these men, and would only be too glad to get out of it; that England both at Malta and in the Ionian Islands had plenty of Italian subjects—­and in short, I undertook the mission, I confess with very small hopes of success.  Lord Holland laughed aloud when I told my tale, and said he thought it was about the most audacious request that had ever been made to a British minister.  But he ended by granting it.  Doubtless he knew very well the truth of what d’Azeglio had stated—­that the Tuscan government would be much too well pleased to ask any questions; and the passports were given.

It was not long after our establishment in the Via dei Malcontenti that a great disaster came upon Florence and its inhabitants and guests.  Arno was not in the habit of following the evil example of the Tiber by treating Florence as the latter so frequently did Rome.  But in the winter of the year 1844 a terrible and unprecedented flood came.  The rain fell in such torrents all one night that it was feared that the Arno, already much swollen, would not be able to carry off the waters with sufficient rapidity.  I went out early in the morning before breakfast, in company with a younger brother of the Dr. Nicholson of Penrith whom I have mentioned, who happened to be visiting us.  We climbed to the top of Giotto’s tower, and saw at once the terrible extent and very serious character of the misfortune.  One-third, at least, of Florence, was under water, and the flood was rapidly rising.  Coming down from our lofty observatory, we made our way to the “Lung’ Arno,” as the river quays are called.  And there the sight was truly a terrible and a magnificent one.  The river, extending in one turbid, yellow, swirling mass from the walls of the houses on the quay on one side, to those of the houses opposite, was bringing down with it fragments of timber, carcases of animals, large quantities of hay and straw;—­and amid the wreck we saw a cradle with a child in it, safely navigating the tumbling waters!  It was drawn to the window of a house by throwing a line over it, and the infant navigator was none the worse.

But very great fears were entertained for the very ancient Ponte Vecchio, with its load of silversmiths’ and jewellers’ shops, turning it from a bridge into a street—­the only remaining example in Europe, I believe, of a fashion of construction once common.  The water continued to rise as we stood watching it.  Less than a foot of space yet remained between the surface of the flood and the keystone of the highest arch; and it was thought that if the water rose sufficiently to beat against the solid superstructure of the bridge, it must have been swept away.  But at last came the cry from those who were watching it close at hand, that for the last five minutes the surface had been stationary; and in another half hour it was followed by the announcement that the flood had begun to decrease.  Then there was an immense sensation, of relief; for the Florentines love their old bridge; and the crowd began to disperse.