I danced! The Italians are fond to a degree of our country dances:  Cold and raw they only know by the tune; Blowzybella is almost Italian, and Buttered peas is Pizelli al buro.  There are but three days more; but the two last are to have balls all the morning at the fine unfinished palace of the Strozzi; and the Tuesday night a masquerade after supper:  they sup first, to eat gras, and not encroach upon Ash-Wednesday.  What makes masquerading more agreeable here than in England, is the great deference that is showed to the disguised.  Here they do not catch at those little dirty opportunities of saying any ill-natured thing they know of you, do not abuse you because they may, or talk gross bawdy to a woman of quality.  I found the other day, by a play of Etheridge’s, that we have had a sort of Carnival even since the Reformation; ’tis in She would if She could, they talk of going a-mumming in Shrove-tide.—­

After talking so much of diversions, I fear you will attribute to them the fondness I own I contract for Florence; but it has so many other charms, that I shall not want excuses for my taste.  The freedom of the Carnival has given me opportunities to make several acquaintances; and if I have not found them refined, learned, polished, like some other cities, yet they are civil, good-natured, and fond of the English.  Their little partiality for themselves, opposed to the violent vanity of the French, makes them very amiable in my eyes.  I can give you a comical instance of their great prejudice about nobility; it happened yesterday.  While we were at dinner at Mr. Mann’s, word was brought by his secretary, that a cavalier demanded audience of him upon an affair of honour.  Gray and I flew behind the curtain of the door.  An elderly gentleman, whose attire was not certainly correspondent to the greatness of his birth, entered, and informed the British minister, that one Martin, an English painter, had left a challenge for him at his house, for having said Martin was no gentleman.  He would by no means have spoke of the duel before the transaction of it, but that his honour, his blood, his &c. would never permit him to fight with one who was no cavalier; which was what he came to inquire of his excellency.  We laughed loud laughs, but unheard:  his fright or his nobility had closed his ears.  But mark the sequel:  the instant he was gone, my very English curiosity hurried me out of the gate St. Gallo; ’twas the place and hour appointed.  We had not been driving about above ten minutes, but out popped a little figure, pale but cross, with beard unshaved and hair uncombed, a slouched hat, and a considerable red cloak, in which was wrapped, under his arm, the fatal sword that was to revenge the highly injured Mr. Martin, painter and defendant.  I darted my head out of the coach, just ready to say, “Your servant, Mr. Martin,” and talk about the architecture of the triumphal arch that was building there; but he would not know me,