I witnessed a scene last night, which was a good illustration of that extraordinary indolence for which the Romans are remarkable.  Our laquais Camillo suffered himself to be turned off, rather than put wood on the fire three times a-day; he would rather, he said, “starve in the streets than break his back by carrying burdens like an ass; and though he was miserable to displease the Onoratissimo Padrone, his first duty was to take care of his own health, which, with the blessing of the saints, he was determined to do.”  R——­ threw him his wages, repeating with great contempt the only word of his long speech he understood, “Asino!” “Sono Romano, io,” replied the fellow, drawing himself up with dignity.  He look his wages, however, and marched out of the house.

The impertinence of this Camillo was sometimes amusing, but oftener provoking.  He piqued himself on being a profound antiquarian, would confute Nibby, and carried Nardini in his pocket, to whom he referred on all occasions:  yet the other day he had the impudence to assure us that Caius Cestus was an English Protestant, who was excommunicated by Pope Julius Caesar; and took his Nardini out of his pocket to prove his assertion.

V——­ brought me to-day the “Souvenirs de Felicie,” of Madame de Genlis, which amused me delightfully for a few hours.  They contain many truths, many half or whole falsehoods, many impertinent things, and several very interesting anecdotes.  They are written with all the graceful simplicity of style, and in that tone of lady-like feeling which distinguishes whatever she writes:  but it is clear that though she represents these “Souvenirs” as mere extracts from her journal, they have been carefully composed or re-composed for publication, and were always intended to be seen.  Now if my poor little Diary should ever be seen!  I tremble but to think of it!—­what egotism and vanity, what discontent—­repining—­caprice—­should I be accused of?—­neither perhaps have I always been just to others; quand on sent, on reflechit rarement.  Such strange vicissitudes of temper—­such opposite extremes of thinking and feeling, written down at the moment, without noticing the intervening links of circumstances and impressions which led to them, would appear like detraction, if they should meet the eye of any indifferent person—­but I think I have taken sufficient precautions against the possibility of such an exposure, and the only eyes which will ever glance over this blotted page, when the hand that writes it is cold, will read, not to criticise, but to sympathise.

10.—­A lovely brilliant day, the sky without a cloud and the air as soft as summer.  The carriages were ordered immediately after breakfast, and we sallied forth in high spirits—­resolved as L** said, with his usual felicitous application of Shakspeare,

    “To take the tide in the affairs of men.”