d it a good joke, and laughed till his
fat sides shook. We asked the sacristan why he sent us up, and he
answered:--"To see _the construction of the Church_!"

I attended service in the Cathedral one dark, rainy morning, and was
never before so deeply impressed with the majesty and grandeur of the
mighty edifice. The thick, cloudy atmosphere darkened still more the
light which came through the stained windows, and a solemn twilight
reigned in the long aisles. The mighty dome sprang far aloft, as if it
enclosed a part of heaven, for the light that struggled through the
windows around its base, lay in broad bars on the blue, hazy air. I
would not have been surprised at seeing a cloud float along within it.
The lofty burst of the organ, that seemed like the pantings of a
monster, boomed echoing away through dome and nave, with a chiming,
metallic vibration, that shook the massive pillars which it would defy
an earthquake to rend. All was wrapped in dusky obscurity, except where,
in the side-chapels, crowns of tapers were burning around the images.
One knows not which most to admire, the genius which could conceive, or
the perseverance which could accomplish such a work, On one side of the
square, the colossal statue of the architect, glorious old Brunelleschi,
is most appropriately placed, looking up with pride at his performance.

The sunshine and genial airs of Italy have gone, leaving instead a cold,
gloomy sky and chilling winds. The autumnal season has fairly commenced,
and I suppose I must bid adieu to the brightness which made me in love
with the land. The change has been no less sudden than unpleasant, and
if, as they say, it will continue all winter with little variation, I
shall have to seek a clearer climate. In the cold of these European
winters, there is, as I observed last year in Germany, a dull, damp
chill, quite different from the bracing, exhilarating frosts of America.
It stagnates the vital principle and leaves the limbs dull and heavy,
with a lifeless feeling which can scarcely be overcome by vigorous
action. At least, such has been my experience.

We lately made an excursion to Pratolino, on the Appenines, to see the
vintage and the celebrated colossus, by John of Bologna. Leaving
Florence in the morning, with a cool, fresh wind blowing down from the
mountains, we began ascending by the road to Bologna. We passed Fiesole
with its tower and acropolis on the right, ascending slowly, with the
bold peak