LETTER TWELFTH.

PISA, August, 18—.

MY DEAR

As you have repeatedly mentioned, that what chiefly amuses you in my letters, is what is connected with the domestic manners and customs of the people here, I have selected from my journal an account of a visit which I lately made, accompanied by my friend Pesciolini. My English companion I would willingly have taken with us, but he does not speak a word either of French or Italian, and as no one here, except the Rosalmini and her sister, speak English, it would be no amusement to him, where they are not present, so he remained at home with the Pole, and enjoyed the company of his cigar.

I have often mentioned the Countess Flaminia Testa as the most talented and literary lady of this place. I lament to say that we have been lately deprived of the pleasure of her delightful conversation, on account of

indisposition. She is now, however, convalescent, though still confined to bed, and the peculiar trait of manners and customs alluded to is, that her friends assemble every evening in her chamber, in a manner, however, more calm and subdued than usual, and endeavour to amuse and please her by their smiles and conversation. I should be very apt to suppose, however, but of course leave it to her physician, Vaccar, said to be the first medico in Europe, that to so excitable a person as Flaminia, this species of conversazione must undoubtedly retard her recovery. Her chamber is spacious, elegantly furnished, and delightfully cool. The walls are painted white, with devices in gold; the roof in imitation of the firmament—an azure sky, with brilliant golden stars. Her couch, the framework of which is iron, painted green, raised high with French mattresses, hung round with rich silk curtains of pale blue, is exquisitely pure, elegant, and broad, beyond anything I have ever seen. The large down pillows are covered with fine cambric, and the sheets are of the same material. There are no such horrid things as blankets on her bed, but in their stead a cover of light blue silk, partially filled with the finest down, which, when necessary, is shaken to the lower extremity, et vice versa. The intellectual countess lay, or rather sat-her head adorned only with her luxuriant hair; her large oriental eyes and pearly teeth appear

ing more brilliant than usual-not in repose, which, I rather think, is contrary to her nature, but discoursing with nearly her usual animation.

Being the only stranger, I enjoyed a considerable share of the conversation. Her physician, a very superior man-frank, open, manly, and exceedingly popular in this place was one of the circle on this occasion, and was appealed to by Flaminia on all occasions. I was so much amused with their discourse, that I have jotted down a part of it in my journal.

FLAMINIA. I am persuaded that my doctor is better acquainted with the history of England than you, Inglesi-indeed, those I have met could hardly speak even three words of French, and when I suggested this topic as the most interesting to them, they seemed to know little about the matter. Pray, doctor, would you give us a little of the loves of Queen Elizabeth and Essex?

Vaccar then, in his own beautiful language, with perfect fluency and the best accent, ran over with wonderful accuracy, the whole of this extraordinary liaison. His manner was so lively and enthusiastic, that it appeared like the finest colouring to the most beautiful sketch.

FLAMINIA.-You see the wisest and most talented of your Queens, with all her masculine spirit and power of governing, was not exempt from the influence of the

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tender passion which men suppose only subdues the weak part of our sex. In this extraordinary woman, however, there was another passion that fought resolutely with that of love, and seemed to gain the mastery. But why do I call her your Queen? you are Scozzesi, and the beautiful and acccomplished Mary reigned over you at that time-the cousin, the rival, the victim, of the jealous, astute, and cruel daughter of the tyrant Henry the Eighth. Your lovely Queen, who was a hundred years before the ruffian Scotch nobility in civilization, had a difficult card to play. Such was her transcendent charms, that the world was much disposed to view her conduct en couleur de rose. Yet, though much disposed to compassionate one of my own sex, on so slippery a pinnacle, points of history, well confirmed, render it next to impossible to extenuate her conduct. Bred under Catherine de Medici, how could she escape the contamination of her foul spirit of intrigue, bigotry, and revenge? I fear she gratified her mother-in-law by fostering the plot for the murder of Scottish Protestants, un petit Saint Bartholomew. What folly to give influence to such a wretch as Rizzio; how heartless her conduct to Chatelar; what duplicity to Darnley, the privacy to whose murder, as Talleyrand would say, was worse than a crime-it was a blunder-all her connection with Bothwell is revolting.

VACCAR.-Permit me, as a medical man, to say that Darnley's body, unmutilated as it was, could never have been blown up; he must have been suffocated. I am convinced she was privy to the whole matter.

MYSELF.-Though we Scozzesi are at least as brave as the other two nations forming Great Britain, we have been always said to have a soft corner in our hearts that bleeds for the fair sex, and our juries never condemn a pretty woman. I myself feel this national peculiarity, and am glad that Scottish law possesses the medium verdict, of which I willingly give our lovely Queen the benefit. It was, as the lady says, a ruffian period, and when the passions were excited, truth, and every scruple of moral feeling were levelled by a rude people; it indeed became nearly impossible to obtain accurate evidence in this, or any other case, so that mystery still hangs over many events of the period.

FLAMINIA.-I admire your sentiments regarding your beautiful Queen, and believe that if she reigned in the present day, her talents would have secured the approbation of civilised society, and she never would have fallen into any of those errors which throw a cloud of doubt over her fair fame. Her son was surely fatuous, and had the English beheaded him instead of his son, who was a better man, though given to duplicity, it would have been more like poetical justice. Your nation is much improved since that period. You are a laborious,