of ground in Southwark some years ago a plant, above all things.  The ground was destined to the purposes of extensive commerce, but the appellation of a plant gave me much disturbance, from my inability to fathom the meaning of it.  I have here found out, that the Lombards call many things a plant; and say of their cities, palaces, &c. in familiar discourse—­che la pianta e buona, la pianta e cattiva[Footnote:  The plant is a good or a bad one], &c.

Thus do words which carry a forcible expression in one language, appear ridiculous enough in another, till the true derivation is known.  Another reflection too occurs as curious; that after the overthrow of all business, all knowledge, and all pleasure resulting from either, by the Goths, Italy should be the first to cherish and revive those money-getting occupations, which now thrive better in more Northern climates:  but the chymists say justly, that fermentation acts with a sort of creative power, and that while the mass of matter is fermenting, no certain judgment can be made what spirit it will at last throw up:  so perhaps we ought not to wonder at all, that the first idea of banking came originally from this now uncommercial country; that the very name of bankrupt was brought over from their money-changers, who sat in the market-place with a bench or banca before them, receiving and paying; till, unable sometimes to make the due returns, the enraged creditors broke their little board, which was called making bancarotta, a phrase but too well known in the purlieus, which because they first settled there in London was called Lombard Street, where the word is still in full force I believe.

              —­oh word of fear! 
    Unpleasing to commercial ear.

A visit to the collection of Signor Vincenzo Bozza best assisted me in changing, or at least turning the course of my ideas.  Nothing in natural history appears more worthy the consideration of the learned world, than does this repository of petrefactions, so uncommon that scarcely any thing except the testimony of one’s own eyes could convince one that flying fish, natives, and intending to remain inhabitants, of the Pacific Ocean, are daily dug out of the bowels of Monte Bolca near Verona, where they must doubtless have been driven by the deluge, as no less than omnipotent power and general concussion could have sufficed to seize and fix them for centuries in the hollow cavities of a rock at least seventy-two miles from the nearest sea.  Their learned proprietor, however, who was obligingly desirous to shew me every attention, answering a hundred troublesome questions with much civility, told us, that few of his numerous visitants gave that plain account of the phenomenon, shewing greater disposition to conjure up more difficult causes, and attribute the whole to the world’s eternity:  a notion not less contrary to found philosophy and common sense, than it is repugnant to faith, and the doctrines of Revelation; which prophesied long ago, that in the last days should come scoffers, walking after their own lusts, and saying, Where is now the promise of his coming? for since the time that our fathers fell asleep, all things continue as they were from the beginning of the creation.