at Florence, and to bring with them these remains of their former treasure. The esteem created in my mind by the character of Cosimo, invests his degenerate successors with an interest which their own demerits were well calculated to destroy, and softens the asperity with which they ought to be judged. A Petrarch was shown me, with portraits of the poet and his Laura, said to be drawn from life. Neither possesses any of the attributes supposed to distinguish beauty or genius; but this may have been the fault of the artist who has perpetuated their countenances. The finger of Galileo is among the treasures of this library. It is placed under a glass case, and points to the skies, which his daring and vigorous mind contemplated, until its mysteries were solved by him, and the wonderful phenomena of its movements explained to his contemporaries. It saddens the mind to reflect on the treatment experienced by Galileo; and makes one rejoice that the terrible engine of superstition and bigotry, the Inquisition, has been destroyed. 24th.-Saw the church of Santa Croce, which contains the tombs of Galileo, Michael Angelo, Boccaccio, Machiavelli, Guicciardini, and Alfieri. That of the last, is by Canova, and is adorned by a female figure representing Italy, which has rather a theatrical effect. There is something calm and, though sad, soothing to the mind, in contemplating the last earthly resting-place of men whose works have often beguiled many an hour. The facility with which churches are entered in Italy, and the opportunity thus afforded to the living of standing by the narrow homes of the illustrious dead, are most conducive to reflections of a salutary nature. The feverish excitements of life are calmed during such visits; and we return to the busy haunts of men, less disposed to participate in, yet more charitable to, their follies. The positive enjoyment of the balmy air, blue skies, and all the charms of ever beautiful nature, are felt too with a keener zest when they are encountered after an hour or two passed in "the dim religious light" of a church, and the contemplation of the dwellings of the dead. A sentiment of pity, that they who once as keenly tasted the pleasures we now experience, are shut out for ever from them, is mingled VOL. II. K with our feelings, and a sense of the brevity of existence is forced on us, that, to some minds, is not without a charm, though it be a mournful one. Florence and its environs, beautiful as they are, acquire fresh attraction from the memories with which they are blended. What English visitors can look at Faesolé without remembering that our own Milton has visited it too; and commemorated it and Galileo in his Paradise Lost? "His ponderous shield, Ethereal temper, massy, large, and round, Hung on his shoulders like the moon, whose orb At evening from the top of Fesolé, Or in Valdarno, to descry new lands, Rivers, or mountains, on her spotty globe." Who can forbear dwelling with deep interest on the meeting of two such master minds as those of the starry Galileo" and Milton, and fancying their conversation? Galileo, already with impaired vision in those eyes which had so long contemplated the heavens, and made such discoveries in their starry lore, that dazzled by the wonders they descried, they became at a later period shrouded in darkness; and Milton, doomed to lose his sight, which seemed to have been only granted to him long enough to have filled his glorious mind with images whose brightness never escaped from it, but embued his works with unfading light long after he himself had ceased to enjoy all physical sense of it. I love to think of this meeting, when my eyes dwell on the sunny Fesolé, and people its summit with two such spirits. I love, too, to turn to the spot where Boccaccio led his companions, to escape the ravages of the plague and beguiled the hours by relating the Decameron; although I wonder how, flying from a pestilence that had torn from them dear and fond ties, they could still enjoy existence, and indulge in a levity so ill suited to the time and circumstance. Mysterious and inexplicable human nature! in which selfishness is so deeply rooted as to teach us a lesson that love deems to be impracticableforgetfulness. 25th.-Saw the cathedral to-day, founded by Sapo, in 1298, and which boasts the magnificent cupola of Brunelleschi. The architecture of this church is different from that of all the others at Florence, and is neither Greek nor Gothic. Con noisseurs affirm it to be Roman, and to them will I leave the task of demonstration, confining myself to the simple fact, that of whatever order the architecture may be, the effect is imposing. Two portraits in this cathedral attracted my attention; and one of them possessed a peculiarly strong interest for me I refer to that of Dante, the Shakspeare of Italy, by Orcagna. This portrait, although but a posthumous one, cannot be viewed without strong feelings of interest; and these are increased by reflecting, that the same people who banished the original, were afterwards proud to possess this likeness of him. The ill treatment experienced by poets from their country would form no bad subject for a work in the hands of D'Israeli, whose contemplative and philosophical mind is so well calculated to render justice to it. How much of this ill-treatment, from the days of Dante down to those of Byron, might, if analysed, be attributed to the baleful passion of envy? But to return to the cathedral: the other portrait is that of an Englishman, John Agesto, who fought, Condottiero-like, in the service of those who best paid, and served with the Pisans. I tried in vain to imagine some English name re |