than compensates the difference in time. We leave Florence by the Porta alla Croce, and pass along the Via Aretina, the great thoroughfare to Florence from the east, which is full at this morning hour of market wagons, heavily laden donkeys and their shrill - voiced drivers, fruit venders with their hand-carts piled with luscious grapes, and calessini with groups of ruddy, laughing peasant women driving merrily into town to sell their straw plaits, or bargain for winter gear under the arches of the Mercato Nuovo.

We are glad to come to the end of this closely built suburb at last, and though still upon the high-road, to have the freshness of the morning fields about us, and the glittering river at our side. This is the Val d' Arno, and we follow the course of the stream, which, shrunken from summer drought, now winds in a narrow channel through its broad pebbly bed. The hills rise closely to right and left, thickly set with the villas of the Florentines, amid their olive groves and vineyards, with here and there a little village

nestling close to the river. It was as obligatory in the olden time for every Italian family of any pretensions to eminence to own at least two or three country places as for a Nantucketer to have an interest in whale ships. They might be sadly neglected, and the houses bare and comfortless, but they were no less a pledge of good and regular standing in society; and though hard times and a new régime have changed matters somewhat for the worse with many of the proprietors, they still cling to their landed possessions with great tenacity.

supposed to be in villeggiatura for the period required by fashion. The time of vintage is indeed a charming one in the country; it was just over as we passed through the Val d' Arno, and both masters and peasants looked happy, for it had been a fruitful season, and wine and oil and bread were plentiful.

Pontassieve is a busy little town at the mouth of the Sieve, a small tributary of the Arno. We clattered through the paved main street, between rows of staring contadini, and accompanied by a dozen gamins, who held out their grimy hands for centesimi; and passing over the picturesque bridge, high above the Sieve (and doubtless none too high when the spring floods swell in one night the diminutive streamlet

to a raging torrent), we came out again into the open country. The road begins to ascend, though still keeping the course of the river. Grim-looking buildings, half castle, half farm-house, some of them evidently remnants of older and more pretentious edifices, crown the heights about us. After some miles we left the highway to Arezzo, which we had been following, and turned to the left, zigzagging up the face of the hill. The pretty village of Pelago lies in a hollow to the left; but on our way the houses became rarer and the views finer as we went up and up, sometimes among chestnut groves, and sometimes on the bare hill-side. The chestnuts were noble trees, the finest I had seen in Tuscany. The fruit had filled out well that year, our driver told us, with a satisfaction which we, who knew how largely the Italian peasantry depend upon the chestnut for winter food, could well appreciate. We climbed a bad bit of road, and turned the shoulder of a hill, and there in front of us was the hamlet of Tosi, at the foot of the Pratomagno Mountain. It was seemingly near, but separated from us by

One may remain in the city all summer with social impunity; neither the baths nor the mountains are imperatively prescribed; but it is not "the thing" to be seen there in September and October. Nay, in some of the smaller cities, where the old customs linger longest, the matter is carried so far that those who have no villas, and can not by any means procure an invitation to other people's, deliberately shut themselves up at home with the front shutters closed, and are charitably

a deep ravine, around which the road must make a circuit of a mile before we crossed the bridge over the stream at its bottom, and were set down close to the mill of Tosi, the stopping-place for all wheeled vehicles. It is a lovely spot, and we were not sorry to wait, and enjoy the view for a half-hour, while the driver went up to the village on its rocky height a hundred feet above us, to procure conveyance for the remainder of the way. The air was fine, with just enough of the morning's frost in it to give it vigor; the sun was only just peeping into this dell, though it was not far from noon; the village clamor did not reach us here, and all was quiet except an occasional rush of water from the mill-race and the tinkle of the sheep bells on the hills. The heights whither we were bound were still half veiled in mist, as they had been all the morning, but as it opened from time to time we could see the patches of snow left by the last week's storm on the bare mountain-top above Vallombrosa.

After the usual delay the guides appeared with donkeys, rather sorry-looking animals, it must be confessed, but better than the treggia, to which, unless you were a pedestrian, you were then obliged to intrust yourself. This treggia is a sort of sledge, with a stout wicker basket fastened upon it, and half filled with straw, upon which (or upon chairs, if you choose, but you will not after a short trial!) you dispose yourself and your belongings as best you may, holding on for dear life to the side of the basket. The treggia is drawn by oxen, and is incomparable for safety and discomfort.

trees shot up a hundred feet or more, so close together that scarcely a ray of sunlight reached the ground; no bird's voice was heard here, and not a flower was seen.

It took twenty minutes of steep climbing to cross this pine belt, and then we came out into a soft green meadow, in the midst of which, at the end of a long, shaded avenue, rose the pile of buildings which constitute the Convent of Vallombrosa. We were the only guests at the primitive hotel which had been improvised out of the ancient forestieria, or strangers' quarter, a long, low building just outside the convent walls. The summer visitors had been driven away by the cold weather of the preceding week; from June to September there were always as many as could be accommodated (not more than thirty), and Vallombrosa during "the season" presented on a small scale the attractions and distractions of other summer resorts. We were not sorry to find it deserted, and thus to put ourselves more in harmony with the spirit of the place and of those who anciently inhabited it.

This level spot or pause in the mountain-side is some three thousand feet above the level of the sea. It comprises but a few acres, and close behind it the Pratomagno rises to the height of another thousand feet. The pine belt reaches half-way up this peak, which is called the Secchietta, and from whose top a magnificent prospect is beheld. Eastward lies the fertile Casentino Valley, bounded by the main chain of the Apennines, among which is prominent the lofty Monte Falterona, the birthplace of the Arno and the Tiber. Westward the eye wanders over the loveliest part of Tuscany. Florence and its Duomo are distinctly seen; the Arno and its tributaries are like silver threads; the hills and valleys are dotted with white villages; and in the far distance, beyond the southernmost peaks of the Carrara mountains, stretches the glittering line of the Mediterranean.

sino, a little building ten minutes' walk above the convent, and so situated as to command, through a gap in the hills, a prospect of the Val d'Arno, which is shut out from the convent itself. For the latter, probably shelter from the winter winds was more considered in locating it

CONVENT OF VALLOMBROSA.

than the beauty of the view; indeed, in general the dwellers in convents are entirely indifferent to nature. "We do not come here to look at the mountains," was the reply of a monk to a traveller who congratulated him on the fine situation of his Alpine monastery.

The afternoon of our October day fulfilled in beauty the promise of the morning. We wandered through the pine groves, inhaling their delicious fragrance; we sat on the soft turf of the convent meadow, and listened to the torrent which rushes down beside it, and looked out over the fair landscape, identifying here and there a point familiar to us; we planned excursions on some future day to the convents of Camaldoli and Alvernia, still deeper in the mountain recesses. We saw the sunset from the heights above the valley, and when the frosty night air drove us in-doors we gathered around such a huge wood fire as I had not seen before in Italy, and passed a long evening happily in hearing and telling all that could be remembered by one and another of our party in regard to the history of Vallombrosa. The ancient chronicles, which it

would have been charming to read on

the spot, were transferred with the rest of the convent library, at the time of the suppression of the monasteries, to the Biblioteca Nazionale at Florence.

The order of Vallombrosans was founded in the early part of the eleventh century, by St. Giovanni Gualberto, of Florence. The abbots of Vallombrosa sat in the Florentine Senate, with the title of Counts of Montevelde and Gualdo; they wielded temporal as well as spiritual authority in their domains, and were renowned for their learning and courtesy. Ariosto mentions this convent as "ricca e bella non men che religiosa, e cortese a chiunque venia."

At the time of Milton's visit the Vallombrosan order was at its high tide of prosperity. Its revenues were enormous. The convent of San Salvi and the church of the Santa Trinità in Florence belonged to it; in the latter was preserved the marvellous crucifix which had wrought such a change in the life of St. Gualberto; and the refectory of the former was illuminated by Andrea del Sarto's fresco of the Last Supper, to behold the still beautiful remains of which every visitor to Florence makes pilgrimage. For the Vallombrosans Cimabue had painted his celebrated Madonna; and over the high altar of the Vallombrosa church was an Assumption by Perugino. Raphael himself had visited the sacred valley, and left traces of his genius there in the portraits of two of the brotherhood.

"high

Of Providence, foreknowledge, will, and fate." The dress of the Vallombrosan monks was gray, or ash-color, but in later years they adopted a black hat and cloak. They were unwearied in manual labor: from 1750 to 1753, 40,300 beech-trees were planted by them, and the magnificent pine forests which surround the convent are also in great part the work of their hands. Their prosperity was undiminished down to the time of the French Revolution, but from this devastating storm they suffered severely. It is said to have been debated in council, when Napoleon himself was present, whether in the general suppression of the monasteries an exception should not be made in favor of Vallombrosa, on account of the usefulness of the monks in keeping this solitude free from wild beasts and open to travel by their constant habitation. The debate was prolonged, and at last one of the council, losing patience, cried out, "Signori! o monaci, o lupi?" (Gentlemen, shall we have monks or wolves?) "Lupi!" was the general response, and the monastery shared the common fate.

After these troublous times were over, the Vallombrosans again sought their desolated abode, and inhabited it until the disestablishment of the monasteries by Victor Emanuel in 1860. Since 1869 it has been used as an agricultural school, for which its surroundings are certainly favorable. There is a corps of nine resident professors, and lectures are also given by some of the most eminent scientists of Florence. Besides the strictly agricultural branches, the course of study (which is of three years' duration) includes the modern languages and drawing. The winters are so severe in those high regions that from November 15 to March 1 there is vacation, such of the pupils as wish to continue their studies without interruption being transferred to Paterno, the monastery farm at Tosi.

At the time of our visit only one monk

Such was Vallombrosa when I first visited it. Five years later, in 1882, I was there again, and found many changes in the quiet valley. A broad, smooth carriage-road from Tosi to the very door of the convent had taken the place of the steep and stony mule-path, and the miserable hamlets on the mountain-side were fast growing into thriving villages, thanks to this new means of communication with the world below. The traveller, leaning back at ease in his carriage, was at leisure to enjoy the charming views which every turn of the zigzag road revealed. It was the beginning of May, and the fruit trees, which in the lower Arno Valley had already shed their blossoms, were here in full bloom. The banks were purple with crocuses, and the fields of sprouting grain gave an intense green to the fields, which in Italy is seen only at this season, for Italian grass is never vivid in its color, and is soon parched by the summer sun. When we emerged from the forest, it seemed strange to see painted boldly across the humble forestieria building of other days the sign, Albergo della Croce di Savoia." This building had grown outward and upward, and its interior was even more changed than the outside. We were introduced into rooms comfortably furnished with carpets, sofas, easy-chairs, and spring beds; and the most welcome change was from filthiness to perfect cleanliness and order. We sat down to a repast which would have done credit to a city hotel.

66

Thus, if something of the primitive. charm of Vallombrosa is gone forever, it is in return made accessible to hundreds who could not reach it by the rough conveyances formerly necessary. And nothing can render less the charm of those deep forests, or that wonderful panorama of mountain and valley, or the sparkling freshness of the pine-scented air.