310 Mary Somervillc 



man, in a villa not far from Villa Normanby. She 

 gave a musical party, to which she invited us. The 

 music, which was entirely artistic, was excellent, 

 the entertainment very handsome, and it was alto- 

 gether very enjoyable. As we were driving home 

 afterwards, late at night, going down the hill, our 

 carriage ran against one of the dead carts which was 

 carrying those who had died that day to the burying- 

 ground at Trespiano. It was horribly ghastly one 

 could distinguish the forms of the limbs under the 

 canvas thrown over the heap of dead. The burial 

 of the poor and rich in Italy is in singular contrast ; 

 the poor are thrown into the grave without a coffin, 

 the rich are placed in coffins, and in full dress, 

 which, especially in the case of youth and infancy, 

 leaves a pleasant impression. An intimate friend of 

 ours lost an infant, and asked me to go and see it 

 laid out. The coffin, lined with white silk, was on 

 a table, covered with a white cloth, strewed with 

 flowers, and with a row of wax lights on either side. 

 The baby was clothed in a white satin frock, leaving 

 the neck and arms bare ; a rose-bud was in each 

 hand, and a wreath of rose-buds surrounded the 

 head, which rested on a pillow. Nothing could be 

 prettier ; it was like a sleeping angeL 



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Pio Nono had lost his popularity before he came 



