antomime, the
assistants smirking and whispering, the singers grinning at each
other between every solemn strain of melody, and blowing their noses
and spitting about like true Italians--in short, the want of keeping
in the _tout ensemble_ shocked my taste and my imagination, and, I may
add, better, more serious feelings. It is well to see these things
once, that we may not be cheated with fine words, but judge for
ourselves. I foresee, however, that I shall not be tempted to
encounter any of the more crowded ceremonies.

I remarked that all the Italians wore black to-day.

We spent the afternoon at the Vatican. We found St. Peter's almost
deserted; few people, no music, the pictures all muffled, and the
altars hung with black drapery. The scaffolding was preparing for the
ceremonies of the week; and, on the whole, St. Peter's appeared, for
the first time, disagreeable and gloomy.

_Monday, April 1._--Non riconosco oggi la mia bella Italia! Clouds,
and cold, and rain, to which we have been so long unaccustomed, seem
unnatural; and deform that peculiar character of sunny loveliness
which belongs to this country: and, a-propos to climate, I may as well
observe now, that since the 1st of February, when we left Rome for
Naples, up to this present 1st of April, not one day has been so rainy
as to confine us to the house: and on referring to my memoranda of the
weather, I find that at Naples it rained one day for a few hours only,
and for about two hours on the morning we left it: since then, not a
drop of rain has fallen: all hot, cloudless, lovely weather. We have
been for the last three weeks in summer costume, and guard against the
heat as we should in England during the dog-days. To have an idea of
an Italian summer, Mr. W** says we must fancy the present heat
_quadrupled_.

The day, notwithstanding, has been unusually pleasant, the afternoon,
though not brilliant, was clear and soft; and we drove in the open
carriage first to the little church of Santa Maria della Pace, to see
Raffaelle's famous fresco, the Four Sybils. It is in the finest
preservation, and combines all his peculiar graces of design and
expression. The colouring has not suffered from time and damp like
that of the frescos in the Vatican, but it is at once brilliant and
delicate. Nothing can exceed the exquisite grace of the Sibilla
Persica, nor the beautiful drapery and inspired look of the Cumana.
Fortunately, I had never seen any copy or engravin