I am not subject to idle fears, and least of all to superstitious fears—­but last night, at Covigliajo, I could not sleep—­I could not even lie down for more than a few minutes together.  The whispered voices and hard breathing of the men who slept in the corridor, from whom only a slight door divided me, disturbed and fevered my nerves; horrible imaginings were all around me:  and gladly did I throw open my window at the first glimpse of the dawn, and gladly did I hear the first well-known voice which summoned me to a hasty breakfast.  How reviving was the breath of the early morning, after leaving that close, suffocating, ill-omened inn! how beautiful the blush of light stealing downwards from the illumined summits to the valleys, tinting the fleecy mists, as they rose from the earth, till all the landscape was flooded with sunshine:  and when at length we passed the mountains, and began to descend into the rich vales of Tuscany—­when from the heights above Fesole we beheld the city of Florence, and above it the young moon and the evening star suspended side by side; and floating over the whole of the Val d’Arno, and the lovely hills which enclose it, a mist, or rather a suffusion of the richest rose colour, which gradually, as the day declined, faded, or rather deepened into purple; then I first understood all the enchantment of an Italian landscape.—­O what a country is this!  All that I see, I feel—­all that I feel, sinks so deep into my heart and my memory! the deeper because I suffer—­and because I never think of expressing, or sharing, one emotion with those around me, but lock it up in my own bosom; or at least in my little book—­as I do now.

Nov. 10.—­We visited the gallery for the first time yesterday morning; and I came away with my eyes and imagination so dazzled with excellence, and so distracted with variety, that I retained no distinct recollection of any particular object except the Venus; which of course was the first and great attraction.  This morning was much more delightful; my powers of discrimination returned, and my power of enjoyment was not diminished.  New perceptions of beauty and excellence seemed to open upon my mind; and faculties long dormant, were roused to pleasurable activity.

I came away untired, unsated; and with a delightful and distinct impression of all I had seen.  I leave to catalogues to particularise; and am content to admire and to remember.

I am glad I was not disappointed in the Venus which I half expected.  Neither was I surprised:  but I felt while I gazed a sense of unalloyed and unmingled pleasure, and forgot the cant of criticism.  It has the same effect to the eye, that perfect harmony has upon the ear:  and I think I can understand why no copy, cast, or model, however accurate, however exquisite, can convey the impression of tenderness and sweetness, the divine and peculiar charm of the original.

After dinner we walked in the grounds of the Cascine,—­a dairy farm belonging to the grand Duke, just without the gates of Florence.  The promenade lies along the bank of the river, and is sheltered and beautiful.  We saw few native Italians, but great numbers of English walking and riding.  The day was as warm, as sunny, as brilliant as the first days of September in England.