beauty. As we
wound out of the deep glen, the broad valleys and ranges of the
Appenines lay before us, forests, castles and villages steeped in the
soft, vapory blue of the Italian atmosphere, and the current of the Arno
flashing like a golden belt through the middle of the picture.

The sun was nearly down, and the mountains just below him were of a
deep purple hue, while those that ran out to the eastward wore the most
aerial shade of blue. A few scattered clouds, floating above, soon put
on the sunset robe of orange and a band of the same soft color encircled
the western horizon. It did not reach half way to the zenith, however;
the sky above was blue, of such a depth and transparency, that to gaze
upward was like looking into eternity. Then how softly and soothingly
the twilight came on! How deep a hush sank on the chesnut glades, broken
only by the song of the cicada, chirping its "good-night carol!" The
mountains, too, how majestic they stood in their deep purple outlines!
Sweet, sweet Italy! I can feel now how the soul may cling to thee, since
thou canst thus gratify its insatiable thirst for the Beautiful. Even
thy plainest scene is clothed in hues that seem borrowed of heaven! In
the twilight, more radiant than light, and the stillness, more eloquent
than music, which sink down over the sunny beauty of thy shores, there
is a silent, intense poetry that stirs the soul through all its
impassioned depths. With warm, blissful tears filling the eyes and a
heart overflowing with its own bright fancies, I wander in the solitude
and calm of such a time, and love thee as if I were a child of thy soil!

CHAPTER XXXVI.

WALK TO SIENA AND PRATOLINO--INCIDENTS IN FLORENCE.

_October 16._--My cousin, being anxious to visit Rome, and reach
Heidelberg before the commencement of the winter semestre, set out
towards the end of September, on foot. We accompanied him as far as
Siena, forty miles distant. As I shall most probably take another road
to the Eternal City, the present is a good opportunity to say something
of that romantic old town, so famous throughout Italy for the honesty of
its inhabitants.

We dined the first day, seventeen miles from Florence, at Tavenella,
where, for a meagre dinner the hostess had the assurance to ask us seven
pauls. We told her we would give but four and a half, and by assuming a
decided manner, with a plentiful use of the word "Signora" she was
persuaded to be fully satisfied with