Alinari

DETAIL OF THE GRILLE

CHAPEL OF THE SACRED GIRDLE, CATHEDRAL, PRATO

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Taking another road, we saunter on a mile or so to the Villa Tolomei, belonging to an old Tuscan family, whose arms are a gold band with three green vine leaves on a blue field, and above a red label with the three gold lilies of Anjou. The grounds are pleasant, though somewhat neglected, but the prospect looking toward the mountains is entrancing; and the walk back toward Scarperia gives us a continual view of the fine campanile. By this time all the rebel blood of the Mugello is burning in our veins, and we demand a drive back to Florence; no railroads and tunnels for us if we must leave these "dear country places." We long to push eastward, only three paltry miles away, up to the very crests of the Apennines, where all the rivers hasten joyfully to the Adriatic. But not to-day may we follow fancy's lead eastward along curving Ronco's flowing stream, but again, with chestnuts and calash, are constrained to hold our way along the river bank, returning over the road to Piero a Sieve—was it only yesterday that we first knew it?—and strike at once into the famous old highway leading from Bologna to Florence, as it has done almost since the beginning of the Christian era. What a thoroughfare it has been! What mighty personages have trod this path with high hopes, burning spirits, and breaking hearts!

"There is a joy in every spot made known in times of old,

New to the feet, although each tale a hundred times be told."