enerally passed part of every evening at Lucien's.
To Edward T. Channing. Leghorn, April 7, 1818.
. . . . At Florence I spent ten days very pleasantly, for Florence is one of the few cities in the world—perhaps the only one—that may be seen with pleasure, as a city, after Rome.
There is a fine society there too,—not so various as the Roman, but still one that is not a little interesting to a stranger.
The Countess of Albany is at the head of it; and you come so near to being an English Jacobite, that I think you will like to hear a little about the wife of the last Pretender, and to know something of the wife whom Alfieri loved with the most devoted passion to the last moment of his life.
I need not tell you she is old, since Dupaty's book is filled with admiration of her, nearly forty years ago; but she has preserved all the vivacity of youth, and takes as strong an interest in the world as she ever did. Every evening at eight o'clock she receives her friends and the strang<