and soul, to the north, and all longing for those countries utterly extinct among them, that I resolved to undertake the long, solitary journey, and to seek that centre toward which I was attracted by an irresistible impulse. Indeed, for the few last years it had become with me a kind of disease, which could only be cured by the sight and presence of the absent object. Now, at length, I may venture to confess the truth. It reached at last such a height that I durst not look at a Latin book, or even an engraving of Italian scenery. The craving to see this country was over-ripe. Now it is satisfied. Friends and country have once more become right dear to me, and the return to them is a wished-for object; nay, the more ardently desired, the more firmly I feel convinced that I bring with me too many treasures for personal enjoyment or private use, but such as through life may serve others, as well as myself, for edification and guidance.
Well, at last I am arrived in this great capital of the world. If, fifteen years ago, I could have seen it in good company, with a well-informed guide, I should have thought myself very fortunate. But as it was to be that I should thus see it alone, and with my own eyes, it is well that this joy has fallen to my lot so late in life.
Over the mountains of the Tyrol I have as good as flown. Verona, Vicenza, Padua, and Venice I have carefully looked at; hastily glanced at Ferrara, Cento, Bologna; and scarcely seen Florence at all. My anxiety to reach Rome was so great, and it so grew with me every moment, that to think of stopping anywhere was quite out of the question. Even in Florence, I only stayed three hours. Now I am here at my ease, and, as it would seem, shall be tranquillised for my whole life; for we may almost say that a new life
