On the promenade lungo l’Arno near the Cascino is a fountain with a statue of Pegasus, with an inscription in Italian verse purporting that Pegasus having stopped there one day to refresh himself at this fountain, found the place so pleasant that he remained there ever since.  This is a poetic nation par excellence. Affiches are announced in sonnets and other metres; and tho’ in other countries the votaries of the Muses are but too apt to neglect the ordinary and vulgar concerns of life, yet here it by no means diminishes industry, and the nine Ladies are on the best possible terms with Mr Mercury.

I shall not attempt a description of the various palazzi and churches of Florence, tho’ I have visited, thanks to the zeal and importunity of my cicerone, nearly all, except to remark that no one church in Florence, the Cathedral and Baptistery on the Piazza del Duomo excepted, has its facade finished, and they will remain probably for ever unfinished, as the completion of them would cost very large sums of money, and the restored Government, however anxious to resuscitate the ancient faith, are not inclined to make large disbursements from their own resources for that purpose.  I wish however they would finish the facade of two of these churches, viz., that of Santa Maria Novella and that of Santa Croce. Santa Maria Novella stands in the Piazza of that name which is very large.  It is a beautiful edifice, and can boast in the interior of it several columns and pilasters of jaune antique and of white marble.  But they have a most barbarous custom in Florence of covering these columns with red cloth on jours de Fete, which spoils the elegant simplicity of the columns and makes the church itself resemble a theatre des Marionnettes.  But the Italians are dreadfully fond of gaudy colours.  In the church of Santa Croce what most engaged my attention was the monument erected to Vittorio Alfieri, sculptured by Canova.  It is a most beautiful piece of sculpture.  A figure of Italy crowned with turrets seems fully sensible of the great loss she has sustained in one who was so ardent a patriot, as well as an excellent tragic poet.  This monument was erected at the expence of the Countess of Albany (Queen of England, had legitimacy always prevailed, or been as much in fashion as it now is) as a mark of esteem and affection towards one who was so tenderly attached to her, and of whom in his writings Alfieri speaks with the endearing and affectionate appellation of mia Donna.  The beautiful sonnet to her, which accompanies the dedication of his tragedy of Mirra, well deserves the monument; there is so much feeling in it that I cannot retrain from transcribing it: 

  Vergognando talor, che ancor si taccia,
  Donna, per me l’almo tuo nome in fronte
  Di queste omai gla troppe a te ben conte
  Tragedie, ond’io di folle avrommi taccia;