citizens of Pisa, who locked them up
and threw the keys into the Arno, has lately been destroyed.

An Italian gentleman having made a bargain in the meantime with our
vetturino, we found every thing ready on returning to the hotel. On the
outside of the town we mounted into the vehicle, a rickety-looking
concern, and as it commenced raining, I was afraid we would have a bad
night of it. After a great deal of bargaining, the vetturino agreed to
take us to Florence that night for five francs a piece, provided one
person would sit on the outside with the driver. I accordingly mounted
on front, protected by a blouse and umbrella, for it was beginning to
rain dismally. The miserable, bare-boned horses were fastened with
rope-traces, and the vetturino having taken the rope-lines in his hand,
gave a flourish with his whip; one old horse tumbled nearly to the
ground, but he jerked him up again and we rattled off.

After riding ten miles in this way, it became so wet and dreary, that I
was fain to give the driver two francs extra, for the privilege of an
inside seat. Our Italian companion was agreeable and talkative, but as
we were still ignorant of the language, I managed to hold a scanty
conversation with him in French. He seemed delighted to learn that we
were from America; his polite reserve gave place to a friendly
familiarity and he was loud in his praises of the Americans. I asked him
why it was that he and the Italians generally, were so friendly towards
us. "I hardly know," he answered; "you are so different from any other
nation; and then, too, you have so much sincerity!"

The Appenines were wreathed and hidden in thick mist, and the prospect
over the flat cornfields bordering the road was not particularly
interesting. We had made about one-third of the way as night set in,
when on ascending a hill soon after dark, F---- happened to look out,
and saw one of the axles bent and nearly broken off. we were obliged to
get out and walk through the mud to the next village, when after two
hours' delay, the vetturino came along with another carriage. Of the
rest of the way to Florence, I cannot say much. Cramped up in the narrow
vehicle, we jolted along in the dark, rumbling now and then through some
silent village, where lamps were burning before the solitary shrines.
Sometimes a blinding light crossed the road, where we saw the
tile-makers sitting in the red glare of their kilns, and often the black
boughs of trees were p