t visited during the merry days of the carnival, I
saw a large figure of our Saviour suspended on the cross, dressed in a
crimson domino, and blue sash. To what a pitch, thought I, must the
love of white-washing and masquerading be carried in this strange
city, where the Deity himself is burlesqued, and bad taste is carried
to profanation! To-day I saw the same crucifix in a suit of mourning;
why should not our South Sea missionaries come and preach here?

The church of San Severo is falling to ruins, owing to some defect in
the architecture. It is only remarkable for containing three
celebrated statues. The man enveloped in a net, and the Pudicita
draped from head to foot, pleased me only as specimens of the patience
and ingenuity of the sculptor. The dead Christ covered with a veil, by
Corradini, has a merit of a higher class: it is most painful to look
upon; and affected me so strongly, that I was obliged to leave the
church, and go into the air.

I went to-day with two agreeable and intelligent friends, to take
leave of the Studeo and the Museum. I have often resolved not to make
my little journal a mere catalogue of objects, which are to be found
in my pocket guide, and bought for a few pence; but I cannot resist
the temptation of making a few notes of admiration, and commemoration,
for my own peculiar use.

The Gallery of Painting contains few pictures; but among them are some
master-pieces. The St. John of Leonardo da Vinci (exquisite as it is,
considered as a mere painting), provoked me. I am sick of his eternal
simpering face: the aspect is that of a Ganymede or a young Bacchus;
and if instead of _Ecce Agnus Dei_, they had written over it, _Ecce
vinum bonum_, all would have been in character.

How I coveted the beautiful "Carita," the Capo d'Opera of
Schidone!--and next to it, Parmegiano's Gouvernante--a delicious
picture. A portrait of Columbus, said to be by the same master, is not
like him, I am sure; for the physiognomy is vacant and disagreeable.
Domenichino's large picture of the Angel shielding Innocence from a
Demon pleases me, as all his pictures do--but not perfectly: the devil
in the corner, with his fork, and hoofs, and horns, shocks my taste as
a ludicrous and vulgar idea, far removed from poetry; but the figure
of the angel stretching a shield over the infant, is charming. There
are also two fine Claudes, two Holy Families, by Raffaelle, in his
sweetest style; and one by Correggio, scarcely le