After the luxury of a profound siesta for an hour, we made a meal on such fare as the friars could bring forth on a Friday. Soup and coffee with caviare and bread and butter spread the board. Tea we had brought with us from Florence, and it now proved a welcome treat.

This spot, though it can lay no claim to the beauties of Vallombrosa or Camaldoli, is as interesting as either of them. The rock is precipitous on three sides, with a depth varying from 200 to 300 feet; on the fourth side it runs out into a natural causeway, with buttresses of a columnar form, at sight of which it is said Hannibal turned back when meditating his descent on Valdarno. However this be, the features of the place are those of a fortress where much might be done at little cost to repel an invader.

The extent of the monastery is enormous; besides a very complete system of cells, here is the library, the refectory, and the kitchen and other offices, also a monk's farmacia. The beautiful church stands in a paved court edging on the cliff, a scene well fitted for contemplation. A long gallery is frescoed with the principal "events" in their founder's life, a series of daring impostures on the

part of certain monks improved upon from time to time. We heard as much of the marvellous as we could well digest at once, but a fresh batch of country people arriving, the young frate very soon heightened the picture. "Here," said he, "is the ledge of rock from which the blessed St. Francis was pitched by the devil into that field below." I rejected this, as being dishonouring to the saint's reputation, who was a right holy man, and noways devil-possessed; but our "cicerone" contended for the privilege of landing with unbroken bones, which certainly under the circumstances would be desirable.

It is a pity that they will insist upon "puffing" a man who stands as little in need of it as any who ever wore the hood and amice and went barefoot.

The caverns in the face of the cliff are an undeniable wonder. You descend, perhaps, 100 feet by a winding stair outside, and enter by a natural portal. Here the scene was singular: huge blocks of stone, some of them 20 and 30 feet in length, and of all conceivable shapes, lay piled one upon another, far below the foundation of the monastery, in such utter confusion that they

reminded me of pebbles shot out of a wheelbarrow. One mass with a keel rides upon the back of another. The place has none of the features of a quarry. I asked the frate what he thought of it, geologically: "E miracolo," was the ready reply, which he explained by saying that when the rocks were rent at the crucifixion of our blessed Lord, this rending of the bowels of Laverna's mountain took place simultaneously. This was not so bad; indeed I never heard a Roman Catholic make a foolish answer when he had been at the trouble of thinking for himself; which latter is a rare thing with them.

As no woman may pass a night within these convent walls, I descended the cliff late in the evening with J. to see that she was well cared for: a bed for us both in the little village could not be got, but we applied at the nunnery, where two sisters, advanced in life, agreed to make her comfortable; a pledge which they fulfilled well and kindly. Re-ascending the "poggio faticoso ed alto," I leaned on a stout ash-stick which I had cut in the meadow below. "Un buon cavallo !" said my guide, and quoted the proverb of " Andare col cavallo di San Francesco." It is certainly the

best horse hereabouts, for I remounted in half the time our four-footed friends had required in the morning. This frate was very inquisitive on the subject of the English railways.

An early ride of twenty miles next morning, and a drive of near fifty, brought us back to the banks of the Arno at the witching hour of eve," Come la mosca cede alla Zanzara." On our way we passed the Campoldino, where Dante fought; and were shown, in a parish church, the "natural mummy" of his commentator, the Landino, dried like a plant in a herbarium!—a singularity upon which I feel no inclination to comment myself. I hear, however, these sort of things are by no means rare in Ireland; and I know that among the Scotch Highlands the bodies of such as die in winter are sometimes "salted up" in a chest until spring comes.

POGGIERELLO, NEAR SIENA.

Poggierello, near Siena, end of September.

This villa is a pretty spot in the immediate neighbourhood of the old Etruscan town; and we have had a month's cooling here after the sultry heats of Florence. Many things remind me of an English mansion in this place; we have a tidy lawn and a labyrinth of evergreens, and there is a great round well in the court behind. The main difference lies in the acres round the house being planted out with vines and olives, instead of apple trees and cabbages. Further, we have a hall with frescoes, twice as many rooms as we want, and a cast of Apollo in the garden. If that don't content us, we must be difficult to please.

The Northern Gate of Siena is but a mile distant, and whenever you lift your eyes to a block over the gateway you are invited to enter the city by an old legend which it bears; "Cor magis tibi Sena pandit!" Sena being the Julian name. promise of hospitality is well kept. We have long since presented our letters, and have been kindly

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