s the refreshing beverage. Watermelons, in all the gushing
richness of color, are at every corner, and piles of delicious fruit lie
under the motley glare from many a paper lantern. Along the quays and
bridges, on wide terraces or jutting bastions, wherever a breath of
fresh air can be caught, crowds are seated, quietly enjoying the cool
hour. Not a sound to be heard, save the incessant motion of the fan,
which is, to this season, what is the cicala to the hot hour of noon.
One cannot help feeling struck by the aspect of a people come thus to
blend, like the members of one large family. There they are, of every
age and of every condition, mingling with a sort of familiar kindliness
that seems like a domesticity.

In all this open-air life, with its inseparable equality, one sees the
embers of that old fire which once kindled the Italian heart in the days
of their proud and glorious Republics. They are the descendants of those
who, in the self-same spots, discussed the acts of Doges and Senates,
haughty citizens of states, the haughtiest of all their age--and now--

Whether come by chance or detained by some accident, two English
travellers were seated one evening in front of the Cafe Doney, at
Florence, in contemplation of such a scene as this, listlessly smoking
their cigars; they conversed occasionally, in that "staccato" style of
conversation known to smokers.

One was an elderly, fine-looking man, of that hale and hearty stamp we
like to think English; the young fellow at his side was so exactly his
counterpart in lineament and feature that none could doubt them to
be father and son. It is true that the snow-white hair of one was
represented by a rich auburn in the other, and the quiet humor that
lurked about the father's mouth was concealed in the son's by a handsome
moustache, most carefully trimmed and curled.

The _cafe_ behind them was empty, save at a single table, where sat a
tall, gaunt, yellow-cheeked man, counting and recounting a number of
coins the waiter had given him in change, and of whose value he seemed
to entertain misgivings, as he held them up one by one to the light and
examined them closely. In feature he was acute and penetrating, with
a mixture of melancholy and intrepidity peculiarly characteristic; his
hair was long, black, and wave-less, and fell heavily over the collar
of his coat behind; his dress was a suit of coffee-colored brown,--coat,
waistcoat, and trousers; and even to his high