They were all perfectly civil, and I think
I must own that the manners of this second-class would compare favorably
with those of an American first-class one.
At Empoli, about an hour after we started, we had to change carriages,
the main train proceeding to Leghorn. . . . . My observations along the
road were very scanty: a hilly country, with several old towns seated on
the most elevated hill-tops, as is common throughout Tuscany, or
sometimes a fortress with a town on the plain at its base; or, once or
twice, the towers and battlements of a mediaeval castle, commanding the
pass below it. Near Florence the country was fertile in the vine and
olive, and looked as unpicturesque as that sort of fertility usually
makes it; not but what I have come to think better of the tint of the
olive-leaf than when I first saw it. In the latter part of our journey I
remember a wild stream, of a greenish hue, but transparent, rushing along
over a rough bed, and before reaching Siena we rumbled into a long
tunnel, and emerged from it near the city.
Pages:
652
653
654
655
656
657
658
659
660
661
662
663
664
665
666
667
668
669
670
671
672
673
674
675
676