here fully
represented. To stand before canvas which the world has crowned with
undivided approval, to realize that the finest copies which we have seen
are but faint shadows of the originals, is a privilege which makes us
forget all petty annoyances, all cost of time and money in the
accomplishment. One pauses with more than ordinary curiosity before the
Madonna della Seggiola, one of the most famous pictures of Raphael, and
indeed of all art. We fancy that we have seen it faithfully reproduced,
but a glance at the original convinces us that, like the Beatrice Cenci,
it cannot be copied, but only imitated.

The Uffizi and Pitti Palaces are connected, and really form but one
great gallery of art. In the Uffizi division is what is known as the
Tribune,--the throne room of art, where stands "the statue that enchants
the world,"--the Venus de Medici,--dividing its homage with that equally
exquisite painting, Titian's recumbent Venus, declared to be the
masterpiece of color. These two works are surrounded by others almost as
perfect, and which in the eyes of trained artists share their loyalty.
No wonder the student of art selects Florence as a place of residence,
where he can visit as often as he pleases such models, without cost,
works which cannot fail to inspire artistic genius in whomsoever the
germs exist. But not alone those who wield the pencil and the chisel
come hither to seek a congenial home. The soft beauty of the scenery,
the delightful climate, and the poetic associations have tempted artists
and literary people in other lines to pitch their tents hereabouts.
Mario, the great tenor, once lived yonder; in that villa on the sloping
hillside, Taglioni once made her home; Walter Savage Landor sheltered
his gray hairs in this cottage home overlooking the valley of the Arno,
and died here. This old church not far away is that of St. Miniato al
Monte, nearly ten centuries in age, famous for its carved work and
paintings.

The common people of Florence seem actuated by a universal spirit of
industry; and as to beggars, we see none upon its streets--a fact worthy
of note in Italy. The women fruit-dealers on the corners of the streets
are busy with their needles, while awaiting customers; the flower-girls
are equally industrious, sitting beside their fragrant wares; the girl
who opens the gate for us and guides us to the tombs of Mrs. Browning
and Theodore Parker, in the city burial grounds, knits steadily as she
wa