walked through the whole gyro of the Museum, examining the busts and
pictures particularly, with the help of Este's admirable catalogue
raisonnee, and at half-past five I reached the Sistine just in time to
hear the second Miserere: neither the music nor the effort were equal
to the first evening. The music, though inferior to Allegri's, was
truly beautiful and sublime; but the scenic pageantry did not strike
so much on repetition: the chapel was insufferably crowded, I was sick
and stupid from heat and fatigue, and to crown all, just in the midst
of one of the most overpowering strains, the cry of condemned souls
pleading for mercy, which made my heart pause, and my flesh creep--a
lady behind me whispered loudly, "Do look what lovely broderie Mrs.
L** has on her white satin spencer!"

After the Miserere, we adjourned to St. Peter's, to see the
illumination of the Girandola. I confess the first glance disappointed
me; for the cross, though more than thirty feet in height, looks
trivial and diminutive, compared with the immensity of the dome in
which it is suspended; but just as I was beginning to admire the
sublime effect of the whole scene, I was obliged to leave the church,
being unable to stand the fatigue any longer.

* * * * *

To-day we have remained quietly at home, recruiting after the
exertions of yesterday. After dinner, Colonel ---- and Mr. W** began
to discuss the politics of Italy, and from abusing the governments
they fell upon the people; and being of very opposite principles and
parties, they soon began an argument which ended in a warm dispute,
and sent me to take refuge in my own room. How I detest politics and
discord! How I hate the discussion of politics in Italy! and, above
all, the discussion of Italian politics, which offer no point upon
which the mind can dwell with pleasure. I have not wandered to
Italy--"this land of sun-lit skies and fountains clear," as Barry
Cornwall calls it, only to scrape together materials for a quarto
tour, or to sweep up the leavings of the "fearless" Lady Morgan; or to
dwell upon the heart-sickening realities which meet me at every turn;
evils of which I neither understand the cause nor the cure. And yet
say not to Italy

"Caduta e la tua gloria--e tu nol' vedi!"

She does see it,--she does feel it. A spirit is silently and gradually
working its way beneath the surface of society, which must, erelong,
break forth either for go