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monument it forms to the memory of ages past. Man builds himself a tomb, which scarcely bears his name beyond a single generation, while time leaps up the ruins of a world as records to his footsteps.
The next day, having seen two triumphal arches, which were nothing after the amphitheatre, they proceeded on to Mantua, which city they entered by a fine causeway that joins it to the land. Charles's expectations of Mantua had not been raised very high, and the broad streets, and fine buildings, struck him more than they otherwise would have done. An island in the lake, formed by the Mincia, was pointed out to them as the birthplace of Virgil; but Charles was rather inclined to dispute their authority for the assertion....
From Mantua, and the works of Julio Romano, they proceeded to Parma, where the magnificent dome paintings of Correggio occupied Mr. Melville's principal attention, and looking up, he felt as if he E 6
too was an inhabitant of the skies he saw represented, and that the figures were floating in the air around him.
After leaving Parma, they arrived the same evening at Modena, the seat of the house of Este, famous for the bucket stolen from Bologna, which occasioned a bloody, an inveterate war, and gave rise to the poem, “ La Secchia rapita.” The country from Modena to Bologna seemed excessively fertile, and the people cleaner, and more laborious, than Charles had hitherto seen in Italy.
On arriving at the latter city, Mr. Wilmot proposed to remain there till Charles's return from Florence; but afterwards changing his mind, he accompanied him to a little town on the frontiers of Tuscany, where Charles promising to return in five days, parted from Mr. Wilmot, as it so happened, never to meet him again.
think best. But-consult with my aunt, and do not let yourself be taken in; for, remember, what is given to the unworthy is so much withheld from the deserving. And I want you also to go and pay a visit to a gentleman for me.”
“ That is an extraordinary task, Frederic,” replied his sister; “ pray who may it be?”
" It is my old philosopher,” replied lord Burton ; " you have heard me speak of him, and know where he lives; and he would take it the very highest compliment if you would go and see him.”
“Oh, that I will!" answered lady Mary; “ but how is he, Frederic? Tell my aunt too his history-she has never heard it.”
“I have not been able to see him since I came to Paris,” answered her brother; " but I understand, what between age and sorrow, his health is very much broken; he is considerably above eighty. His his- tory is not a very singular one, I am sorry to say,” continued he, turning to
keep them in their proper state of degradation.
Lady Mary Burton and her aunt felt this much in passing from France towards Florence; for though, as Mary said, it would have been rather difficult to suspect either her aunt or herself of being carbonari, yet numerous were the delays and inquiries they met in their route. But a disturbance of a more alarming nature inclined them still more to hurry their journey, although lady Anne Milsome could not proceed with that speed which would have been agreeable to her more youthful companion. .
. At the slow pace they travelled, they calculated that Turin lay about a day's journey distant, when they arrived at a little village, which seemed to shelter it. self under the giant mountains that shut out Italy from encroaching France. Here it had been proposed that they should make their abode for the night; but the inn was so miserable, and the people ap
peared so ferocious, that Mary took alarm at the sayage countenances she saw around her, and easily persuaded her aunt to proceed to the next stage.
The horses had been taken from the carriage in the first instance, and while the people were occupied in bringing others and harnessing them, a stranger came from the inn, mounted a stout grey horse, that stood saddled close by, and rode away, at the same time looking into the carriage, in a manner that made Mary remark him more particularly than she had done at first, and the idea instantly passed across her mind, that his face was not unknown to her. He rode on so quickly, that she had no opportunity of satisfying herself in regard to who it was, except by inquiring at the inn, which she desired their courier to do, to whom the landlord only replied-“ A friend of mine," which was quite enough to assure Mary that he was no acquaintance of hers, and glad to find herself likely to be soon