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23.—­Last night we had a numerous party, and Signor P. and his daughter came to sing. She is a private singer of great talent, and came attended by her lover or her fiance; who, according to Italian custom, attends his mistress every where during the few weeks which precede their marriage.  He is a young artist, a favourite pupil of Camuccini, and of very quiet, unobtrusive manners.  La P. has the misfortune to be plain; her features are irregular, her complexion of a sickly paleness, and though her eyes are large and dark, they appeared totally devoid of lustre and expression.  Her plainness, the bad taste of her dress, her awkward figure, and her timid and embarrassed deportment, all furnished matter of amusement and observation to some young people, (English of course,) whose propensities for quizzing exceeded their good breeding and good nature.  Though La P. does not understand a word of either French or English, I thought she could not mistake the significant looks and whispers of which she was the object, and I was in pain for her, and for her modest lover.  I drew my chair to the piano, and tried to divert her attention by keeping her in conversation, but I could get no farther than a few questions which were answered in monosyllables.  At length she sang—­and sang divinely:  I found the pale automaton had a soul as well as a voice.  After giving us, with faultless execution, as well as great expression, some of Rossini’s finest songs, she sung the beautiful and difficult cavatina in Otello, “Assisa al pie d’un Salice,” with the most enchanting style and pathos, and then stood as unmoved as a statue while the company applauded loud and long.  A moment afterwards, as she stooped to take up a music book, her lover, who had edged himself by degrees from the door to the piano, bent his head too, and murmured in a low voice, but with the most passionate accent, “O brava, brava cara!” She replied only by a look—­but it was such a look!  I never saw a human countenance so entirely, so instantaneously changed in character:  the vacant eyes kindled and beamed with tenderness:  the pale cheek glowed, and a bright smile playing round her mouth, just parted her lips sufficiently to discover a set of teeth like pearls.  I could have called her at that moment beautiful; but the change was as transient as sudden—­it passed like a gleam of light over her face and vanished, and by the time the book was placed on the desk, she looked as plain, as stupid, and as statue-like as ever.  I was the only person who had witnessed this little by-scene; and it gave me pleasant thoughts and interest for the rest of the evening.