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 façade 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 façade 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 Fête_, which spoils the elegant simplicity of the columns and makes the church itself resemble a _théâtre 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 glà troppe a te ben conte Tragedie, ond'io di folle avrommi taccia; Or vo' qual d'esse meno a te dispiaccia Di te fregiar; benchè di tutte il fonte Tu sola fosti, e'l viver mio non conte Se non dal Di, ch'al viver tuo si allaccia. Della figlia di Ciniro infelice L'orrendo a un tempo ed innocente amore Sempre da' tuoi begli occhi il planto elice; Prova emmi questo, ch'al mio dubbio core Tacitamente imperiosa dice, Ch'io di Mirra consacri a te il dolore.