ng the red are very
pleasant. One of the objects cut off by the cathedral dome is the
English cemetery, but the modern Jewish temple stands out as noticeably
almost as any of the ancient buildings. The Pitti looks like nothing
but a barracks and the Porta Ferdinando has prominence which it gets
from no other point. The roof of the Mercato Centrale is the ugliest
thing in the view. While I was there the midday gun from the Boboli
fortress was fired, instantly having its punctual double effect of
sending all the pigeons up in a grey cloud of simulated alarm and
starting every bell in the city.

Those wishing to make either the campanile or Duomo ascents must
remember to do it early. The closing hour for the day being twelve,
no one is allowed to start up after about a quarter past eleven: a
very foolish arrangement, since Florence and the surrounding Apennines
under a slanting sun are more beautiful than in the morning glare,
and the ascent would be less fatiguing. As it was, on descending, after
being so long at the top, I was severely reprimanded by the custodian,
who had previously marked me down as a barbarian for refusing his offer
of field-glasses. But the Palazzo Vecchio tower is open till five.

The Baptistery is the beautiful octagonal building opposite the
cathedral, and once the cathedral itself. It dates from the seventh
or eighth century, but as we see it now is a product chiefly of the
thirteenth. The bronze doors opposite the Via Calzaioli are open every
day, a circumstance which visitors, baffled by the two sets of Ghiberti
doors always so firmly closed, are apt to overlook. All children born
in Florence are still baptized here, and I watched one afternoon an old
priest at the task, a tiny Florentine being brought in to receive the
name of Tosca, which she did with less distaste than most, considering
how thorough was his sprinkling. The Baptistery is rich in colour
both without and within. The floor alone is a marvel of intricate
inlaying, including the signs of the zodiac and a gnomic sentence which
reads the same backwards and forwards--"En gire torte sol ciclos et
roterigne". On this very pavement Dante, who called the church his
"beautiful San Giovanni," has walked. Over the altar is a gigantic
and primitive Christ in mosaic, more splendid than spiritual. The
mosaics in the recesses of the clerestory--grey and white--are the
most soft and lovely of all. I believe the Baptistery is the most
restful p