and they even take slyly an opportunity to throw new insult into her face.  You can easily see that the old spirit is still struggling for empire; that the old contempt is still trying to make light of Italians; and that the old Metternich ideas are still fondly clung to.  Does not this deserve another lesson?  Does not this need another Sadowa to quiet down for ever?  Yes; and it devolves upon Italy to do it.  If so, let only Cialdini’s army alone, and the day may be nigh at hand when the king may tell the country that the task has been accomplished.

A talk on the present state of political affairs, and on the peculiar position of Italy, is the only subject worth notice in a letter from the camp.  Everything else is at a standstill, and the movements of the fine army Cialdini now disposes of, about 150,000 men, are no longer full of interest.  They may, perhaps, have some as regards an attack on Venice, because Austrian soldiers are still garrisoning it, and will be obliged to fight if they are assailed.  It is hoped, if such is the case, that the beautiful queen of the Adriatic will be spared a scene of devastation, and that no new Haynau will be found to renew the deeds of Brescia and Vicenza.

The king has not yet arrived, and it seems probable he will not come for some time, until indeed the day comes for Italian troops to make their triumphal entry into the city of the Doges.

The heat continues intense, and this explains the slowness in advancing.  As yet no sickness has appeared, and it must be hoped that the troops will be healthy, as sickness tries the morale much more than half-a-dozen Custozzas.

P.S.—­I had finished writing when an officer came rushing into the inn where I am staying and told me that he had just heard that an Italian patrol had met an Austrian one on the road out of the village, and routed it.  This may or may not be true, but it was must curious to see how delighted every one was at the idea that they had found ‘them’ at last.  They did not care much about the result of the engagement, which, as I said, was reported to have been favourable.  All that they cared about was that they were close to the enemy.  One cannot despair of an army which is animated with such spirits.  You would think, from the joy which brightens the face of the soldiers you meet now about, that a victory had been announced for the Italian arms.

Dolo, near Venice, July 20, 1866.

I returned from Noale to Padua last evening, and late in the night I received the intimation at my quarters that cannon was heard in the direction of Venice.  It was then black as in Dante’s hell, and raining and blowing with violence—­one of those Italian storms which seem to awake all the earthly and heavenly elements of creation.  There was no choice for it but to take to the saddle, and try to make for the front.  No one who has not tried it can fancy what work it is to find one’s way along a road