and chilling.  The first turned me quite hot and thirsty, and made me shake so that I could hardly hold the opera-glass (I was close, but was determined to see, as one should see every thing, once, with attention); the second and third (which shows how dreadfully soon things grow indifferent), I am ashamed to say, had no effect on me as a horror, though I would have saved them if I could.  Yours,” &c.

* * * * *

LETTER 281.  TO MR. MURRAY.

     “Venice, June 4. 1817.

“I have received the proofs of the ‘Lament of Tasso,’ which makes me hope that you have also received the reformed third Act of Manfred, from Rome, which I sent soon after my arrival there.  My date will apprise you of my return home within these few days.  For me, I have received none of your packets, except, after long delay, the ‘Tales of my Landlord,’ which I before acknowledged.  I do not at all understand the why nots, but so it is; no Manuel, no letters, no tooth-powder, no extract from Moore’s Italy concerning Marino Faliero, no NOTHING—­as a man hallooed out at one of Burdett’s elections, after a long ululatus of ’No Bastille!  No governor-ities!  No—­’God knows who or what;—­but his ne plus ultra was, ’No nothing!’—­and my receipts of your packages amount to about his meaning.  I want the extract from Moore’s Italy very much, and the tooth-powder, and the magnesia; I don’t care so much about the poetry, or the letters, or Mr. Maturin’s by-Jasus tragedy.  Most of the things sent by the post have come—­I mean proofs and letters; therefore send me Marino Faliero by the post, in a letter.

“I was delighted with Rome, and was on horseback all round it many hours daily, besides in it the rest of my time, bothering over its marvels.  I excursed and skirred the country round to Alba, Tivoli, Frescati, Licenza, &c. &c.; besides, I visited twice the Fall of Terni, which beats every thing.  On my way back, close to the temple by its banks, I got some famous trout out of the river Clitumnus—­the prettiest little stream in all poesy, near the first post from Foligno and Spoletto.—­I did not stay at Florence, being anxious to get home to Venice, and having already seen the galleries and other sights.  I left my commendatory letters the evening before I went, so I saw nobody.

“To-day, Pindemonte, the celebrated poet of Verona, called on me; he is a little thin man, with acute and pleasing features; his address good and gentle; his appearance altogether very philosophical; his age about sixty, or more.  He is one of their best going.  I gave him Forsyth, as he speaks, or reads rather, a little English, and will find there a favourable account of himself.  He enquired after his old Cruscan friends, Parsons, Greathead, Mrs. Piozzi, and Merry, all of whom he had known in his youth.  I gave him as