Venus, which is placed in one of the Grand Duke’s private apartments.  She stands in the centre of a small cabinet, pannelled with mirrors, which reflect her at once in every possible point of view.  This statue was placed on the pedestal of the Venus de’ Medicis during her forced residence at Paris; and is justly considered as the triumph of modern art:  but though a most beautiful creature, she is not a goddess.  I looked in vain for that full divinity, that ethereal something which breathes round the Venus of the Tribune.  In another private room are two magnificent landscapes by Salvator Rosa.

Every good catholic has a portrait of the Virgin hung at the head of his bed; partly as an object of devotion, and partly to scare away the powers of evil:  and for this purpose the Grand Duke has suspended by his bed-side one of the most beautiful of Raffaelle’s Madonnas.  Truly, I admire the good taste of his piety, though it is rather selfish thus to appropriate such a gem, when the merest daub would answer the same purpose.  It was only by secret bribery I obtained a peep at this picture, as the room is not publicly shown.

The lower classes at Florence are in general ill-looking; nor have I seen one handsome woman since I came here.  Their costume too is singularly unbecoming; but there is an airy cheerfulness and vivacity in their countenances, and a civility in their manners which is pleasing to a stranger.  I was surprised to see the women, even the servant girls, decorated with necklaces of real pearl of considerable beauty and value.  On expressing my surprise at this to a shopkeeper’s wife, she informed me that these necklaces are handed down as a kind of heir-loom from mother to daughter; and a young woman is considered as dowered who possesses a handsome chain of pearl.  If she has no hope of one in reversion, she buys out of her little earnings a pearl at a time, till she has completed a necklace.

The style of swearing at Florence is peculiarly elegant and classical; I hear the vagabonds in the street adjuring Venus and Bacchus; and my shoemaker swore “by the aspect of Diana,” that he would not take less than ten pauls for what was worth about three;—­yet was the knave forsworn.

* * * * *

JOURNEY TO ROME.

SOFFRI E TACI.

Ye empty shadows of unreal good!  Phantoms of joy!—­too long—­too far pursued, Farewell! no longer will I idly mourn O’er vanished hopes that never can return; No longer pine o’er hoarded griefs—­nor chide The cold vain world, whose falsehood I have tried. Me never more can sweet affections move, Nor smiles awake to confidence and love:  To me, no more can disappointment spring, Nor wrong, nor scorn one bitter moment bring!  With a firm spirit—­though a breaking heart, Subdu’d to act through life my weary part, Its closing scenes in patience I await,