Naples.

Theodore to day gained some credit, which was very flattering. We dined at the French Ambassador's, where one meets the best company; there were seven or eight people, three or four of them of distinguished knowledge and wit; of whom two were Englishmen. I had business with the Ambassador, who took me after dinner into his closet. I left Theodore for near an hour with the company. At our return the conversation was animated, and on the subject of literature: the Englishmen maintained, against the Marquis d’ Hernay, who pretended to understand, and against two Italians who really did understand English, that the Paradise Lost was the finest poem in any living language. They told us, that to support their opinion they wished to quote many passages in the first and fourth books, but their memories failed them: they asked if the Ambassador had a Milton? No, said he; but Monsieur d’ Almane used to have it by heart: he, perhaps, can assist you. My memory, replied I, is not so good as it was; my son must make up for it. Every eye was now turned with surprise on Theodore, who had hitherto listened in silence to the debates; no one having applied to him. They exclaimed, Does your son understand English? – From his infancy, replied I: the lines you allude to being very remarkable, I am sure he recollects them. Theodore endeavours to repeat them! He, blushing, recited near 200 verses without a blunder, and with a just English pronounciation. Much praise was given to his memory, and more to his modesty. When alone, embracing him, I said, You have given me great pleasure: I could not be vain of your repeating Milton; a fool, had he learned it, would have done the same: it was your reserve of modesty that gave me such satisfaction: preserve these valuable qualities, they will increase your success, and disarm envy.