himself with his trowel if he likes it? As to the Prince of Carignano,
I give him up to her lash--_le traitre_--but perhaps he thought he was
doing right: and at all events there are not flatterers wanting, to
call his perfidy patriotism.

* * * * *

I am told that Florence retains its reputation of being the most
devout capital in Italy, and that here love, music, and devotion hold
divided empire, or rather are _tria juncta in uno_. The liberal
patronage and taste of Lord Burghersh, contribute perhaps to make
music so much a _passion_ as it is at present. Magnelli, the Grand
Duke's Maestra di Cappella, and director of the Conservatorio, is the
finest tenor in Italy. I have the pleasure of hearing him frequently,
and think the purity of his taste at least equal to the perfection of
his voice; rare praise for a singer in these "most brisk and
giddy-paced times." He gave us last night the beautiful recitative
which introduces Desdemona's song in Othello--

"Nessun maggior dolore,
Che ricordarsi del tempo felice
Nella miseria!"

and the words, the music, and the divine pathos of the man's voice
combined, made me feel--as I thought I never could have felt again.

TO ----

As sounds of sweetest music, heard at eve,
When summer dews weep over languid flowers,
When the still air conveys each touch, each tone,
However faint--and breathes it on the ear
With a distinct and thrilling power, that leaves
Its memory long within the raptur'd soul.--
--Even _such_ thou art to me!--and thus I sit
And feel the harmony that round thee lives,
And breathes from every feature. Thus I sit--
And when most quiet--cold--or silent--_then_
Even then, I feel each word, each look, each tone!
There's not an accent of that tender voice,
There's not a day-beam of those sunbright eyes,
Nor passing smile, nor melancholy grace,
Nor thought half utter'd, feeling half betray'd
Nor glance of kindness,--no, nor gentlest touch
Of that dear hand, in amity extended,
That e'er was lost to me;--that treasur'd well,
And oft recall'd, dwells not upon my soul
Like sweetest music heard at summer's eve!

Yesterday we visited the church of San Lorenzo, the Laurentian
library, and the Pietra Dura manufactory, and afterwards spent an hour
in the Tribune.

In a little chapel in the San Lorenzo are Michel Angelo's famous
statues, th