reggio. All heaven upsidedown; fat angels turning somersaults, saints like butchers, and martyrs simpering feebly. Like C.'s babies much better. Heaven can't be painted, and they'd better not try. Madonna, by Girolamo, was lovely. Room of the Abbess, with rosy children peeping through the lattice, very charming. Madonna della Scodella—the boy Christ very beautiful. The old Farnese Theatre most interesting; got a scrap of canvas from a mouldy scene. Dead old place is Parma.
"Bologna.—Drove in a pelting rain to the Academy, and saw many pictures. A Pieta, by Guido, was very striking. The desolate mother, with her dead son on her knees, haunted me long afterward. St. Jerome and the infant Christ, by Elisabeth Sirani, I liked. Raphael won't suit yet. Sad for me, but I cannot admire Madonnas with faces like fashion-plates, or dropsical babies with no baby sweetness about them.
"Florence.—Bought furs. Nice climate to bring invalids into. Always did think Italy a humbug, and I begin to see I was right. Acres of pictures. Like about six out of the lot. Can't bear the Venus, or Titian's famous hussy hanging over it. Like his