tombs of the English, Irish and Scotch are extremely numerous; but none of them are very remarkable or interesting to a stranger, except that of Dr. Smollett, the immortal historian, novelist and poet. His monument is a plain pyramid, rising on a square pedestal, inscribed merely with the date of his death at Leghorn, his age, and his country. He could scarcely have selected a more rural and quiet spot for his grave, even upon the banks of his native Leven, whose praises he has so sweetly sung. Some of our friends in France were so kind as to give us several letters to Leghorn; but our stay was so short, and our anxiety to reach the South of Italy before the beginning of summer was so great, that none of them were delivered. We had not even time in this short visit, to pay our respects to the veteran American Consul, the correspondent and friend of Mr. Jefferson, who has been here many years, and if reports be true, has amassed a handsome fortune. After dining comfortably at the Royal Oak, we returned to Pisa on the same evening, highly gratified with the incidents and pleasures of the excursion. LETTER LII. VALE OF THE ARNO--ARRIVAL AT FLORENCE--SKETCH OF THE CITY-EXTERNAL APPEARANCE--BRIDGES-CATHEDRAL-BAPTISTRY-CAMPANILE. April, 1826.-At Pisa a coach was chartered to take us to Florence, with the express condition of furnishing a relay of horses midway, to relieve us from the necessity of resting two or three hours at some unimportant village or dirty hotel; and early on the morning of the 14th instant, we set out for the capital of Tuscany, under the auspices of a bright and charming day. The distance is about fifty English miles, in an eastern direction, and the journey was accomplished in nine hours, giving us ample time to examine the little which is to be seen between the two places. An excellent road, sometimes hilly, but always smooth, pursues the left bank of the Arno the whole way, often on the very margin, and seldom out of sight of the river. A classic stream of so much celebrity was a welcome companion, and its banks were surveyed with an attention proportioned to their fame. The outlines of the Vale of the Arno may be conveyed to the reader in few words. On leaving Pisa, or more properly Lucca, the Apennines make a bold sweep towards the Adriatic, receding from the western coast of Italy, and their declivities sinking into swells of moderate elevation. The loftier peaks in the chain, still covered with snow, are seen in the distance, rising in a long line round the head of the vale, and behind the green slopes, which form the fore-ground. On the left bank of the river, none of the hills exceed a few hundred feet in height; and on both sides, the formation is the same, consisting of chalky limestone and argillaceous slate, imperfectly shaded with verdure. Plantations of olives occupy the bases, and above these rise groves of fir, chestnut, and pine, generally of a dwarfish growth towards the summits. The Arno itself, like almost every river we have yet seen in Italy, partakes of the character of a torrent, forming little else than a channel for the floods, which descend from the mountains at certain seasons. It may be considered as an extremely sensitive hydrometer, swelling with every shower, and shrinking almost to a rill during a drought. Its bed is two or three times the breadth of its ordinary current, exposing to view long tracts of naked gravel, washed down from the hills, and presenting a picture of perfect desolation. Here no plants nor flowers, as on some of our streams, skirt the very brink, deriving nutriment from a rich animal deposit, playing as it were with the gentle current, and hanging enamoured over its glassy surface. On the contrary, the Arno scourges a hundred times a year whatever falls within its reach, piling still higher its wastes of sands. In many places dikes are thrown up, to confine its floods within due limits. Neither the complexion of the hurried, turbid waters, nor the aspect of the misshapen boats by which they are navigated, affords much relief to the eye, and the stream itself is, on the whole, far from being picturesque or interesting. But the secondary banks, spreading from the shores to the foot of the hills, are rich, green and beautiful. The vale is often several miles in width, and one of the most highly cultivated, as well as of the most productive in the world. It appeared to me, that no soil, however manured and tilled, could support the exuberance of foliage sometimes found along the road. The ground is laid out in small squares, or parallelograms, bordered with thick rows of elms, mulber ries or poplars, with heavy vines hanging in luxuriant festoons from tree to tree. These plantations are so dense over the whole landscape, as to constitute a perfect forest, through which the eye can penetrate but a short distance, till from some eminence it stretches over wide tracts of matted verdure. very The beds opening between the lines of trees, and cultivated with as much precision as an ordinary garden, are sown with flax, wheat, grain, and vegetables of all descriptions, one crop succeeding another in rapid succession, and indeed often seen mingled together in the same field. All the tillage is done by manual labour, and the mode is similar to that described in my notice of Lucca. But exact as this culture now is, it might evidently be much improved, by adopting the French mode of cultivating the vine, and by removing the trees, which exhaust the soil; though this would make serious innovations upon the beauty of the landscape. Flax is a staple article in all this part of Italy. Females are seen along the roads, with the distaff stuck in a belt at the left side, twirling the spool dangling below, and spinning as they walk, or while engaged in watching their flocks. Fields of the raw material, hanging its blue biossoms, by the side of patches of wheat full in the ear, and beneath vines shooting their tendrils from branch to branch, presented novel scenery for the middle of April. The Vale of the Arno is as populous, as it is productive, though the houses are so constructed and situated, as to add nothing to the beauty of the landscape, except when seen at a distance. Here are no neat little cottages, sprinkled over the fields, half concealed by foliage, and wreathed with flowers, as in some parts of England. What relief and what an additional charm would such lodges, peeping from among the trees, and overshadowed by the vine, furnish in this hot climate ! But with very few exceptions, the people of Italy seem to have no taste for retirement and a rural life. Even the peasantry are fond of herding together, in crowded, dirty towns, and often walk several miles to their daily labours. This circumstance, together with the paucity of animals both domesticated and wild, renders the Italian landscape extremely inanimate, in comparison either with our own, or that of Great-Britain. No children are seen frolicking at cottage doors; no cattle are heard to low in their pastures; and the rustic laugh, after the toils of the day, never gives cheerfulness to the fields. At evening the country is as solitary as the desert. The labourers retire to their villages, shutting themselves up within high walls, confined streets, and cheerless houses. We passed something like a dozen of these populous villages between Pisa and Florence, scattered at distant intervals along the road. When occupying eminences, they appear remarkably well as a distance, as the buildings are generally white, and contrast finely with the green slopes on which they are seated, often exhibiting a liberal share of domes and pinnacles. But the moment you enter the gates, the charm vanishes. Though the pavements are uniformly good, the streets are dark and narrow, lined with houses built of small stones and mortar, with stuccoed walls, and often without window sashes, giving them an unfinished and gloomy appearance. I have not yet seen a village in Italy, which may not be considered a prison, in comparison with those of New-England and the Middle States. The travel ler dreads to enter, and rejoices when he again breathes a free air. The Tuscan peasantry have perhaps justly been ranked among the better portions of the population of Italy. So far as my observation has extended, they are generally industrious, temperate, and frugal in their habits, cultivating their lands with neatness, and pursuing their respective occupations with assiduity. But to this remark there are many exceptions, and there is certainly among them a great deal of poverty. Our coach was pursued by beggars half of the way between Pisa and Florence. This may probably be in part owing to an overstocked population, but still more to a bad government and worse religion. In the age of the Republic, Tuscany supported twice the number of inhabitants within the same territory. Swarms of mendicants are now seen, either from a want of employment, or a want of inclination. The pictures of rural industry along the road were, however, often striking and agreeable, particularly among the females, who were busy in weeding their fields, training their vines, and braiding their straw hats. In the latter employment thousands are engaged. The peasant girls are celebrated for their persona! accomplishments. Many of them have pretty faces, and a mall fur hat, often poised on one side of the head, with red bodices tightly laced, gives. them an air of nonchalance and archness. From costume as well as from a general resemblance of character, it has been inferred that they are of Grecian origin. It is certain that the Etrurians were a powerful and comparatively a civilized people, acquainted with letters and the arts, before the foundation of Rome; and many of the improvements of the latter were borrowed from the former. In the vicinity of Florence, the Vale of the Arno becomes wide, and the river makes a bold sweep to the west, passing near the base of the hills on the left bank, and leaving a broad basin on the opposite side, rising by gentle slopes to the height of the Apennines. The scenery is here in the highest degree rich and picturesque. Numerous white villages, and villas of the Florentine nobility, are seated upon the acclivities, swelling stage above stage, and beautifully shaded with foliage of a luxuriant growth and deep verdure. Italian scenery, like a splendid painting, seems to be made purposely for show; and to appear to advantage it must be seen under a favourable light, and at a proper distance. Its strong lights and shades often produce a fine coup d'œil; but its lines will not bear a close inspection. In running down one of these showy villas, and in attempting to seize the elements of the picture, I was often reminded of the rustic in chase of a rainbow. The bright illusion vanishes on a nearer approach, and the traveller is left to wonder, how coarse stucco walls, gardens and evergreens shorn into fantastic shapes, and weatherbeaten statues could by any possible combination thus allure and deceive his eye. Passing the long Faubourg, which extends several miles on the road towards Pisa, we reached the gates of Florence at about 3 o'clock in the afternoon. The city stands so low, and the walls are so high, that the environs and a few of the more elevated towers only can be seen in approaching on this side. A stately and handsome arch forms an entrance through the massive ramparts, which are so thick and strong as to appear impregnable. The portals are guarded by a troop of soldiers, custom-house officers, and placemen of a subordinate rank, who gave us as much trouble as possible. After examining our passports, and inquiring if our trunks contained any contraband articles, one of them opened the coach door, and intimated in an under-tone, that by the payment of a liberal fee our luggage might be exempted from inspection. As we were in no particular haste, entertained no fears of an examination, and did not feel disposed to |