conversation that can scarcely be called, where one man holds the
company suspended on his account of matters pompously though
instructively related. He staid here a very little while among us; is a
native of France, a grandee of Spain, a man of uncommon talents, and a
traveller. I should be sorry never to meet him more.

The Abate Arteaga, a Spanish ecclesiastic of the same agreeable coterie,
seemed of a very different and far more pleasing character;--full of
general knowledge, eminent in particular scholarship, elegant in his
sentiments, and sound in his learning. I liked his company exceedingly,
and respected his opinions.

Zingarelli, the great musical composer, was another occasional member
of this charming society: his wit and repartie are famous, and his bons
mots are repeated wherever one runs to. I cannot translate any of them,
but will write one down, which will make such of my readers laugh as
understand Italian.--The Emperor was at Milan, and asked Zingarelli his
opinion of a favourite singer? "_Io penso maestà che non è cattivo
suddito del principi,_" replied the master, "_quantunque farà gran
nemico di giove._" "How so?" enquired the King.--"_Maestà,_" answered
our lively Neapolitan, "_ella sà naturalmente che Giove_ tuona, _ma
questo_ stuona." This we see at once was _humour_ not _wit_; and sallies
of humour are scarcely ever capable of translation.

An odd thing to which I was this morning witness, has called my thoughts
away to a curious train of reflections upon the animal race; and how far
they may be made companionable and intelligent. The famous Ferdinand
Bertoni, so well known in London by his long residence among us, and
from the undisputed merit of his compositions, now inhabits this his
native city, and being fond of _dumb creatures_, as we call them, took