one's own soul only to behold. The light in these pictures is a thing of beauty to me. It proceeds from the new-born child, but without visible rays. All the countenances are illumined by this light, even some small angel-heads which peep forth out of the darkness, up in the roof, and who too also participate in the human joy.
These pictures are being copied by more than one artist. Amongst the amateurs copying in the gallery were several ladies, none of whom, it seems to me, have more talent, or come near to that of the Swedish artist, Sophie Adlersparre. Of the portraits, I return in memory to those of Alfieri,—a proud, but nobly beautiful exterior—and his female friend, the Countess of Albano—full of mild and womanly beauty. The celebrated Bianca Capella appears, on the canvas, to be a handsome woman, but of the ordinary, almost simple, character, loving pleasure, and rule, but not of a nobler nature.
There is an apartment in this gallery which I never entered without a sense of satisfaction, a feeling which I will call, olympic peace. This apartment is designated La Tribuna, and contains the choicest works of art which are possessed by Florence. Let me add to the abundant praise which has been given to the beautiful rotunda and the works of art which it contains, a word of grateful acknowledgment; because I have so much enjoyed them. I have questioned with myself whence proceeds this feeling of peace and satisfaction in a room filled with so many dissimilar objects? The magnificent proportions of the beautiful rotunda; its splendid cupola; the harmonious light, all these
