edge of a great oasis in the Sienese desert--an oasis formed
by the waters of the Orcia and Asso sweeping down to join Ombrone,
and stretching on to Montalcino. We put up at the sign of the 'Two
Hares,' where a notable housewife gave us a dinner of all we could
desire; _frittata di cervello_, good fish, roast lamb stuffed with
rosemary, salad and cheese, with excellent wine and black coffee, at
the rate of three _lire_ a head.

The attraction of S. Quirico is its gem-like little collegiata, a
Lombard church of the ninth century, with carved portals of the
thirteenth. It is built of golden travertine; some details in brown
sandstone. The western and southern portals have pillars resting on
the backs of lions. On the western side these pillars are four
slender columns, linked by snake-like ligatures. On the southern
side they consist of two carved figures--possibly S. John and the
Archangel Michael. There is great freedom and beauty in these
statues, as also in the lions which support them, recalling the
early French and German manner. In addition, one finds the usual
Lombard grotesques--two sea-monsters, biting each other;
harpy-birds; a dragon with a twisted tail; little men grinning and
squatting in adaptation to coigns and angles of the windows. The
toothed and chevron patterns of the north are quaintly blent with
rude acanthus scrolls and classical egg-mouldings. Over the western
porch is a Gothic rose window. Altogether this church must be
reckoned one of the most curious specimens of that hybrid
architecture, fusing and appropriating different manners, which
perplexes the student in Central Italy. It seems strangely out of
place in Tuscany. Yet, if what one reads of Toscanella, a village
between Viterbo and Orbetello, be true, there exist examples of a
similar fantastic Lombard style even lower down.

The interior was most disastrously gutted and 'restored' in 1731:
its open wooden roof masked by a false stucco vaulting. A few
relics, spared by the eighteenth-century Vandals, show that the
church was once rich in antique curiosities. A marble knight in
armour lies on his back, half hidden by the pulpit stairs. And in
the choir are half a dozen rarely beautiful panels of tarsia,
executed in a bold style and on a large scale. One design--a man
throwing his face back, and singing, while he plays a mandoline;
with long thick hair and fanciful beretta; behind him a fine line of
cypress and other trees--struck me as s