After so heavenly an object, one is particularly struck with Salvator Rosa's Prometheus, in the same collection. He is stretched upon his back, with his hands and feet chained down, and the vulture preying on his liver. His excruciating torments are so forcibly expressed, that they fill one with horror. I therefore turned away, and hurried by Dido and Æneas, by Battoni; and the Martyrdom of St. Andrew, by Carlo Dolce, and several other admirable paintings, to gaze once more on the divine Clorinda. The best pieces in the Palace Ricardi, are, the four Evangelists, by Carlo Dolce; St. John is incomparable; a Roman Charity, and six figures, representing basso relievo. The house in which Michael Angelo lived, is still preserved, and his history and principal works represented in a collection of paintings, with which the walls were hung by his scholars. It also contains some few pieces of his own, most of them unfinished. LETTER XXIII. TO CAPTAIN SMITH. Florence, March 26th, 1789. MY DEAR FRIEND, When I inform you, that the Catalogue alone of the Gallery of Florence, fills a large volume, what an unconscionable request will my dear friend appear to have made, in demanding a regular description of this superb and invaluable collection. From so young an Amateur as I am, such an attempt, methinks, would be the height of presumption--I had almost said, of profanation. But, to convince you how much I would undertake to oblige you, suffice it to say, that the part properly called the Gallery, consists of two sides of a parallelogram of considerable length, joined together by a third, much shorter. Round the cornice, the portraits of every great character, of whatever nation he belonged to, from Artaxerxes Memnon, King of Persia, to Dr. Anthony Cocchi, who died at Florence in 1758, are ranged according to their country. Among the English, I observed Wolsey, Cranmer, Cromwell, and Monk. The wall between the cornice and the moulding, is lined with about an hundred and thirty paintings, by the most celebrated masters: all are admirable; but that which particularly strikes me, is the Mary Magdalen from the Tuscan school. Her hands are joined together with an expression which evinces the anguish of her soul, and the sincerity of her repentance. A skull is on the table before her. Remorse and Despair, in their most aggravated forms, are preying upon her; and yet her beauty is in all its captivating charms. Her face surpasses every conception; and the vest, which has fallen from her shoulders, displays a neck which even an Anchorite would for ever hang upon. She herself, with all the earnestness of her supplication, seems scarce to dare hope to be forgiven.--But, were there a doubt of it, sweet Penitent! I should die distracted.