slopes down towards the valley of the Arno. A mist hung over the scene; but in summer-time it must be—what it is named—Paradise.
Vallombrosa is situated on the verge of the mountainous region of the Casentino. This district is little known; it vies with Switzerland or the Tyrol in beauty; covered by forests, resonant with streams, the valleys that intervene are green and fertile. Cortona is its capital. Its nobility is of high antiquity, and the peasantry are attached to it with a sort of feudal sense of vassalage.
We arrived wet through. The lay-brother made a good fire, and asked us what refreshment we would have. We had already dined, so he brought us some excellent coffee, and a chasse of rosolio, such as is only to be found distilled by the Monks of this Convent.
The rain made the scene dreary; but it ceased at last, and we mounted our ponies. The sun broke out as we descended; and the sparkling torrent murmured softly as it danced along. I hailed it with delight, as one of—
“Li ruscelletti, che de’ verdi colli
Del Casentin discendon giuso in Arno,
Facendo i lor canali e freddi e molli;”—
Verses are these that might refresh a thirsty wanderer in a hot sandy desert. There is scarcely a
