interesting, like that of Maria Mörl, but rather of an ordinary young countrywoman, of low stature, like her sister. She has ordinarily the appearance of great pain and suffering; but when I spoke to her about England, she lifted her eyes and moved her hands in a way more earnest than _l'estatica_, and showed great feeling at the thought of its conversion. Now for her appearance: her face was almost all covered with clotted blood, which flowed, I suppose, yesterday morning, for so it does every Friday, from the punctures as of thorns on her brow. These were not, as I expected, irregularly placed as by a crown of thorns made at hazard, but they formed a line close together on the forehead, and do not go round the head to the back part. Her legs were gathered up as if the sinews were contracted; her body, the doctor told me, is all covered with sores, which, the more that is done to cure, the worse they grow. She keeps her hands clenched before her heart, and groans slightly with every breath. On her hands were seen stigmata, much more marked than Maria Mörl, like fresh wounds by a nail passing through and sinking into the flesh. Her sister said the same was the case with her side and feet. I only spoke to her a little about England, and was delighted at her manner then, which shows how superior she is to her pains. It seems to distress her to be too near her, and as I have learned since it does. She is always hot; her sister was fanning her all the time, and in the depth of winter it is the same thing, when snow drives into her room. She also gives her prints; she made her sister show her prints out of a little case, and when she has chosen them she kisses them and gives them to each with great kindness. There were a young man and woman there, who offered money for them to her sister, but she will take nothing. The sight of her is not at first so striking and pleasing as of la Mörl, but the remembrance is more impressive. It seems a state more meritorious, more humble. It is more poor, and patient. {316} Having been delayed so long, I could not get to Cavallesi till 3; the sulky face of the driver betokened no good for my return; the horse, too, he said was ill, and in fine, he brought me to Egna just too late for the still-wagen to Lavorno, and I was not so patient as I ought to have been after seeing that example, but I was helped by it a little. I had to take a carriage for myself and the same miserable driver, who was going to sleep all the way, and grunted at me once when I awoke him. I got to a nice inn at Lavorno, the white house again.