We found a long train at the station--the night express from Rome. The préfet had kept a compartment for us, and Ubaldino Peruzzi, the former sindaco, a great friend of W.'s, went with us as far as Pistoja. Minghetti was on the train, and he came into our compartment for about an hour, but then adjourned to his own carriage as he was composing a great political speech he makes at Bologna to-night. They are all much excited over the elections, which take place Sunday week, so their time is short. Minghetti has lived and fought through so many phases of Italian history that he is most interesting. They say his memory is extraordinary--so accurate. He never forgets a face or a speech. He says whenever he has an important speech to make he goes for a drive or a long walk--the movement helps him. W. is just the contrary. His great speeches (and they were not many) have always been composed sitting in his big arm-chair smoking the beloved old cherry-wood pipe Ségur brought him from Jersey. When he had got his speech quite in his head, he wrote it, and then it went straight on--never a correction or an erasure. I asked Minghetti if he was nervous. He said not in the least--he was always ready for the fray, and the more he was interrupted the better he spoke, as that proved they were listening to him. I remember so well one of the first days I went to the Assemblée Nationale years ago. Somebody was speaking--apparently well--on some question of the day, and nobody was listening. The deputies were walking about, talking, writing letters, just as if there was nothing going on. I looked down to see if W. was listening, but he was talking cheerfully to Léon Say. It seemed to me incredible that the orator could continue under such circumstances, but W. explained it to me. He was speaking for his electors in the country and for the "Journal Officiel," which would publish his speech _in extenso_ the next day. It was most interesting making the journey with these gentlemen as they had their history at their finger ends. All that part of the country had been so fought over--oceans of blood shed in the fierce struggle against Austrian tyranny--particularly as we got near Milan. It seems incredible what a hard iron rule theirs was--especially if one knows Austria and the Austrians a little. They seem such an easy-going, happy people. All their little villages look clean and prosperous, the peasants cheerful and singing and civil to all strangers and travellers.