which they probably owe to the lapse of time.  Besides the main aisle, which occupies the centre, there is added a chapter-house in which the knights were wont to hold their meetings.  At the upper end of this chapter-house is the fine Martyrdom of St. John the Baptist, by Caravaggio, though this has been disputed.  On the left hand of the body of the church lie a series of subordinate aisles or chapels, built by the devotion of the different languages,[496] and where some of the worthies inhabit the vaults beneath.  The other side of the church is occupied in the same manner; one chapel in which the Communion was imparted is splendidly adorned by a row of silver pillars, which divided the worshippers from the priest.  Immense riches had been taken from this chapel of the Holy Sacrament by the French; a golden lamp of great size, and ornaments to the value of 50,000 crowns are mentioned in particular; the rich railing had not escaped the soldiers’ rapacity had it not been painted to resemble wood.  I must visit this magnificent church another time.  To-day I have done it at the imminent risk of a bad fall.  We drove out to see a Maltese village, highly ornamented in the usual taste.  Mrs. Bathurst was so good as to take me in her carriage.  We dined with Colonel Bathurst.

November 26.—­I visited my old and much respected friend, Mr. John Hookham Frere,[497] and was much gratified to see him the same man I had always known him,—­perhaps a little indolent; but that’s not much.  A good Tory as ever, when the love of many is waxed cold.  At night a grand ball in honour of your humble servant—­about four hundred gentlemen and ladies.  The former mostly British officers of army, navy, and civil service.  Of the ladies, the island furnished a fair proportion—–­ I mean viewed in either way.  I was introduced to a mad Italian improvisatore, who was with difficulty prevented from reciting a poem in praise of the King, and imposing a crown upon my head, nolens volens.  Some of the officers, easily conceiving how disagreeable this must have been to a quiet man, got me out of the scrape, and I got home about midnight; but remain unpoetised and unspeeched.

November 28.—­I have made some minutes, some observations, and could do something at my Siege; but I do not find my health gaining ground.  I visited Frere at Sant’ Antonio:  a beautiful place with a splendid garden, which Mr. Frere will never tire of, unless some of his family come to carry him home by force.

November 29.—­Lady Hotham was kind enough to take me a drive, and we dined with them—­a very pleasant party.  I picked up some anecdotes of the latter siege.

Make another pilgrimage, escorted by Captain Pigot and several of his officers.  We took a more accurate view of this splendid structure [Church of St. John].  I went down into the vaults and made a visiting acquaintance with La Valette,[498] whom, greatly to my joy, I found most splendidly provided with a superb sepulchre of bronze, on which he reclines in the full armour of a Knight of Chivalrie.