elow us. We asked a peasant boy we met,
how much land the Monks of Vallombrosa possessed. "_All that you see_!"
was the reply. The dominion of the good fathers reached once even to the
gates of Florence. At length, about noon, we emerged from the woods into
a broad avenue leading across a lawn, at whose extremity stood the
massivs buildings of the monastery. On a rock that towered above it, was
the _Paradisino_, beyond which rose the mountain, covered with forests--

"Shade above shade, a woody theatre.
Of stateliest view"--

as Milton describes it. We were met at the entrance by a young monk in
cowl and cassock, to whom we applied for permission to stay till the
next day, which was immediately given. Brother Placido (for that was his
name) then asked us if we would not have dinner. We replied that our
appetites were none the worse for climbing the mountain; and in half an
hour sat down to a dinner, the like of which we had not seen for a long
time. Verily, thought I, it must be a pleasant thing to be a monk, after
all!--that is, a monk of Vallombrosa.

In the afternoon we walked through a grand pine forest to the western
brow of the mountain, where a view opened which it would require a
wonderful power of the imagination for you to see in fancy, as I did in
reality. From the height where we stood, the view was uninterrupted to
the Mediterranean, a distance of more than seventy miles; a valley
watered by a brunch of the Arno swept far to the east, to the mountains
near the Luke of Thrasymene; northwestwards the hills of Carrara
bordered the horizon; the space between these wide points was filled
with mountains and valleys, all steeped in that soft blue mist which
makes Italian landscapes more like heavenly visions than realities.
Florence was visible afar off, and the current of the Arno flashed in
the sun. A cool and almost chilling wind blew constantly over the
mountain, although the country below basked in summer heat. We lay on
the rocks, and let our souls luxuriate in the lovely scene till near
sunset. Brother Placido brought us supper in the evening, with his
ever-smiling countenance, and we soon after went to our beds in the
neat, plain chambers, to get rid of the unpleasant coldness.

Next morning it was damp and misty, and thick clouds rolled down the
forests towards the convent. I set out for the "Little Paradise," taking
in my way the pretty cascade which falls some fifty feet down the rocks.
The