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7.—­Last night we visited the theatre of San Carlo.  It did not strike me as equal to the Scala at Milan.  The form is not so fine, the extent of the stage is, or appeared to be, less; but there is infinitely more gilding and ornament; the mirrors and lights, the sky-blue draperies produce a splendid effect, and the coup-d’oeil is, on the whole, more gay, more theatre-like.  It was crowded in every part, and many of the audience were in dominos and fancy dresses:  a few were masked.  Rossini’s Barbiere di Seviglia, which contains, I think more melody than all his other operas put together, (the Tancredi perhaps excepted,) was most enchantingly sung, and as admirably acted; and the beautiful classical ballet of “Niobe and her Children,” would have appeared nothing short of perfection, had I not seen the Didone Abbandonata at Milan.  But they have no actress here like the graceful, the expressive Pallerini; nor any actor equal to the AEneas of the Scala.

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The Austrians, who are paramount here, allow masks only twice a week, Sundays and Thursdays.  The people seem determined to indemnify themselves for this restriction on their pleasures by every allowed excess during the two days of merriment, which their despotic conquerors have spared them.  I am told by M** and S**, our Italian friends, that the Carnival is now fallen off from its wild spirit of fanciful gaiety; that it is stupid, dull, tasteless, in comparison to what it was formerly, owing to the severity of the Austrian police.  I know nothing about the propriety of the measures which have been resorted to for curbing the excesses of the Carnival:  I think if people will run away instead of fighting for their national rights, they must be content to suffer accordingly—­but I meddle not with politics, and with all my heart abhor them.  Whatever the gaities of the Carnival may have been formerly, it is scarce possible to conceive a more fantastic, a more picturesque, a more laughable scene than the Strada di Toledo exhibited to-day; the whole city seemed to wear “one universal grin;” and such an incessant fire of sugar-plums (or what seemed such) was carried on, and with such eagerness and mimic fury, that when our carriage came out of the conflict, we all looked as if a sack of flour had been shaken over us.  The implements used in this ridiculous warfare, are, for common purposes, little balls of plaster of Paris and flour, made to resemble small comfits:  friends and acquaintances pelted each other with real confetti, and those of the most delicious and expensive kinds.  A double file of carriages moved in a contrary direction along the Corso; a space in the middle and on each side being left for horsemen and pedestrians, and the most exact order was maintained by the guards and police; so that if by chance a carriage lost its place in the line it was impossible to recover