she is!'-the lady making the remark being quite unconscious that she is as much changed as the friend on whose altered looks she comments. We men, too, would say I used to think B. C. or D. a good-looking fellow, and very agreeable; but he is grown stout, and rather red-faced, and bores one to death about his health, and his schemes for amending it. Hang the fellow! he treats every man he ever chanced to know before, as if they were contemporaries.""

We all laughed at Mr. Dodwell's picture of the pains of meeting, but it did not diminish those of parting.

TERNI, May 9th.-A melancholy presentiment that I shall see no more some of the dear friends left at Rome yesterday, haunted me as I drove from the Eternal City. That I shall see Rome itself no more, I cannot allow myself to think, and yet, with the uncertainty of life, who can count on any remote event? How prone are we to fear for the stability of the existence of those, either older, or more infirm in health than ourselves, notwithstanding that we every day see the young and healthy snatched away from life, and the aged and delicate spared! We fear more for others than for self;

as if we were more exempt from danger and death than they. Strange delusion! that while we tremble for those dear to us, the conviction of the irrevocable certainty of our own dissolution is less vividly felt! we picture our own death as remote, and consequently less to be dreaded; and even when most impressed with the awful conviction that we, like all other mortals, must pass away, though our reason acknowledges the truth, our hearts refuse to believe that the event may be near.

I visited the grave of Sir W. Drummond very early yesterday morning. A blue and cloudless sky canopied the spot, and the air was as fresh and balmy, and the scene as bright, as if no graves were there to remind one of the brief space allotted to us on earth. There stood the pyramid of Caius Sextus, the sunbeams gleaming on its massive walls, whose funereal character seems to consecrate this place of graves, where so many of our countrymen have found a last resting place. There, too, I cast my eyes on the narrow homes of Shelley and Keats; Drummond, himself a poet, would not have disliked the neighbourhood, for he loved and reverenced genius, whether crowned by praise, or persecuted by intolerance.

I wish the mortal remains of my poor departed

friend Drummond might be left to repose here; but they are to be removed to Scotland in the course of a few months. I should like to remember his grave as it now is, with a blue sky above, and gentle breezes fanning it; and not as it will be, overhung by murky clouds, and swept by the hoarse and rude winds of bleak Scotia. I thought of the happy hours passed in his society, as I stood beside his grave-the brilliant conversation, the deep reflections, I have heard from those lips, now silent for ever-I remembered how often the hands, now mouldering in the dust, had been held out in amity to meet mine, and I dropped a tear on the stone inscribed with his name.

The monument erected to the memory of the fair and youthful Miss Bathurst, whose melancholy death excited so much interest at Rome, was glittering in the sun when I passed before it. The poetical and whiteness of the

graceful conception, the snowy

marble, the excellence of the execution, and the bright verdure that surrounds it, render it a peculiar ornament to the burial-ground; while the contrast between it and the massive pyramid in its vicinity, remind one of a delicate snowdrop, germing beneath a colossal oak. This monument, so applicable to the youth and beauty of her whose fate it

commemorates, is the work of Mr. Richard Westmacott, to whose taste and skill it is highly creditable.

Sir William Gell and Count Paul Esterhazy came to see us depart; and never did the Palazza Negroni present such sad faces, as those assembled there when the heavily laden carriages drove round to the door. Poor Gell! I still seem to feel the pressure of his hand, and the tears that bedewed mine as he pressed it to his lips, and murmured his fears that we should meet no more.

"You have been visiting our friend Drummond's grave to-day," said he, "and if you ever come to Italy again, you will find me in mine."

I was tempted to be angry with our courier when I saw his smiling face, and heard the gay cracking of his whip, as we drove away. He, in the excitement of resuming his wonted occupation, after a winter's repose, had little sympathy with our regrets, and probably anticipated with pleasurable emotions the buona mano he may count on receiving at every inn where we stop, for many days to come.

We noticed the whiteness of the cows feeding along the banks of the ancient Clitumnus, a peculiarity ascribed to the effect of its waters. animals looked very picturesque, and reminded one of those offered for sacrifice in days of yore.

The

Saw the celebrated waterfall to-day. I have heard the majority of those who have spoken of it, declare that it disappointed them; but it has not had this effect on me, perhaps because I expected less. One of the advantages of time and travel, is to lower expectations within bounds more likely to be satisfied in reality. I thought of Byron as I gazed on this fine cataract, for he has painted it in never fading colours.

The roar of waters !-from the headlong height
Velino cleaves the wave-worn precipice;

The fall of waters! rapid as the light

The flashing mass foams shaking the abyss;
The hell of waters! where they howl and hiss,
And boil in endless torture; while the sweat
Of their great agony, wrung out from this
Their Phlegethon, curls round the rocks of jet
That gird the gulf around, in pitiless horror set,

And mounts in spray the skies, and thence again
Returns in an unceasing shower, which round,

With its unemptied cloud of gentle rain,

Is an eternal April to the ground,

Making it all one emerald :-how profound

The gulf! and how the giant element

From rock to rock leaps with delirious bound,

Crushing the cliffs, which, downward worn and rent

With his fierce footsteps, yield in chasms a fearful vent.