We strolled through the square and then accompanied our friend to the Roman gate, where we took leave of him for six months at least.  He felt lonely at the thought of walking in Italy without a companion, but was cheered by the anticipation of soon reaching Rome.  We watched him awhile, walking rapidly over the hot plain towards Radicofani, and then, turning our faces with much pleasure towards Florence, we commenced the return walk.  I must not forget to mention the delicious grapes which we bought, begged and stole on the way.  The whole country is like one vineyard—­and the people live, in a great measure, on the fruit, during this part of the year.  Would you not think it highly romantic and agreeable to sit in the shade of a cypress grove, beside some old weather-beaten statues, looking out over the vales of the Appenines, with a pile of white and purple grapes beside you, the like of which can scarcely be had in America for love or money, and which had been given you by a dark-eyed peasant girl?  If so, you may envy us, for such was exactly our situation on the morning before reaching Florence.

Being in the Duomo, two or three days ago, I met a German traveler, who has walked through Italy thus far, and intends continuing his journey to Rome and Naples.  His name is Von Raumer.  He was well acquainted with the present state of America, and I derived much pleasure from his intelligent conversation.  We concluded to ascend the cupola in company.  Two black-robed boys led the way; after climbing an infinite number of steps, we reached the gallery around the foot of the dome.  The glorious view of that paradise, the vale of the Arno, shut in on all sides by mountains, some bare and desolate, some covered with villas, gardens, and groves, lay in soft, hazy light, with the shadows of a few light clouds moving slowly across it.  They next took us to a gallery on the inside of the dome, where we first saw the immensity of its structure.  Only from a distant view, or in ascending it, can one really measure its grandeur.  The frescoes, which from below appear the size of life, are found to be rough and monstrous daubs; each figure being nearly as many fathoms in length as a man is feet.  Continuing our ascent, we mounted between the inside and outside shells of the dome.  It was indeed a bold idea for Brunelleschi to raise such a mass in air.  The dome of Saint Peter’s, which is scarcely as large, was not made until a century after, and this was, therefore, the first attempt at raising one on so grand a scale.  It seems still as solid as if just built.

There was a small door in one of the projections of the lantern, which the sacristan told us to enter and ascend still higher.  Supposing there was a fine view to be gained, two priests, who had just come up, entered it; the German followed, and I after him.  After crawling in at the low door, we found ourselves in a hollow pillar, little wider than our bodies.  Looking up, I saw the German’s legs