is situated, the first on the left as you enter, was restored by public subscription in 1857, in a manner which does not reflect much credit upon the artistic taste of modern Rome.  Previous to this the remains of the poet reposed for two hundred years in an obscure part of the church close to the door, indicated by a tablet.  Above this spot there is a portrait of the time, which from an artistic point of view is very poor, but is said to be a good likeness.  Removed on the anniversary of his death, about thirty years ago, to the chapel of St. Jerome, the poet’s remains are now covered by a huge marble monument in the cinque-cento style, adorned by a bas-relief of his funeral and a statue of him by Fabris.  Whatever may be said regarding the artistic merits of this monument, no one who has read the poet’s immortal epic, and is conversant with the sad incidents of his life, can stand on the spot without being deeply moved.

Connected with the church is a monastery dedicated to St. Jerome.  In one of the upper corridors is a beautiful arched fresco of the Madonna and Child, by Leonardo da Vinci, with the donor of the picture in profile kneeling before her.  The picture is surrounded by a frame of fruit and flowers on an enamelled ground.  The soft, tender features of the infant Jesus, and the quiet dignity and grace of the smiling Madonna, are so characteristic of the style of Leonardo da Vinci that the picture would be at once referred to him by one who did not know its origin.  The chamber where Tasso spent the last days of his life is on the upper floor, and is the most conveniently situated in the whole building.  It is left very much in the same state as when he lived in it.  The walls and ceiling are bare and whitewashed, without any decoration.  Here and there are several pale marks, indicating the places of objects that had been removed.  In one part is painted on the plaster a false door partially open, behind which is seen the figure of Tasso about to enter; but every person of good taste must condemn the melodramatic exhibition, and wish that he could obliterate it with a daub of whitewash.  The custode directed my attention to it with an air of great admiration, and could not understand the scowl with which I turned away my face.  There are several most interesting relics of Tasso preserved in this chamber—­his table, with an inkstand of wood; his great chair covered with Cordova leather, very aged and worn-looking; the belt which he wore; a small German cabinet; a large China bowl, evidently an heirloom; a metal crucifix of singular workmanship, given to him by Pope Clement VIII., which soothed his dying moments; several of his letters, and an autograph copy of verses.  In one corner is the leaden coffin, much corroded, in which his remains were originally deposited.  On the table is a mask in reddish wax moulded from the dead face of the poet, and placed upon a plaster bust—­a most fantastic combination.  From this mask, which