There are few contrasts more striking than that which is presented by the memoirs of Goldoni and Alfieri.  Both of these men bore names highly distinguished in the history of Italian literature.  Both of them were framed by nature with strongly marked characters, and fitted to perform a special work in the world.  Both have left behind them records of their lives and literary labours, singularly illustrative of their peculiar differences.  There is no instance in which we see more clearly the philosophical value of autobiographies, than in these vivid pictures which the great Italian tragedian and comic author have delineated.  Some of the most interesting works of Lionardo da Vinci, Giorgione, Albert Duerer, Rembrandt, Rubens, and Andrea del Sarto, are their portraits painted by themselves.  These pictures exhibit not only the lineaments of the masters, but also their art.  The hand which drew them was the hand which drew the ‘Last Supper,’ or the ’Madonna of the Tribune:’  colour, method, chiaroscuro, all that makes up manner in painting, may be studied on the same canvas as that which faithfully represents the features of the man whose genius gave his style its special character.  We seem to understand the clear calm majesty of Lionardo’s manner, the silver-grey harmonies and smooth facility of Andrea’s Madonnas, the better for looking at their faces drawn by their own hands at Florence.  And if this be the case with a dumb picture, how far higher must be the interest and importance of the written life of a known author!  Not only do we recognise in its composition the style and temper and habits of thought which are familiar to us in his other writings; but we also hear from his own lips how these were formed, how his tastes took their peculiar direction, what circumstances acted on his character, what hopes he had, and where he failed.  Even should his autobiography not bear the marks of uniform candour, it probably reveals more of the actual truth, more of the man’s real nature in its height and depth, than any memoir written by friend or foe.  Its unconscious admissions, its general spirit, and the inferences which we draw from its perusal, are far more valuable than any mere statement of facts or external analysis, however scientific.  When we become acquainted with the series of events which led to the conception or attended the production of some masterpiece of literature, a new light is thrown upon its beauties, fresh life bursts forth from every chapter, and we seem to have a nearer and more personal interest in its success.  What a powerful sensation, for instance, is that which we experience when, after studying the ‘Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire,’ Gibbon tells us how the thought of writing it came to him upon the Capitol, among the ruins of dead Rome, and within hearing of the mutter of the monks of Ara Coeli, and how he finished it one night by Lake Geneva, and laid his pen down and walked forth and saw the stars above his terrace at Lausanne!