Our way wound
downward, round the hill on which Siena stands, and gave us views of the
Duomo and its campanile, seemingly pretty near, after we had walked long
enough to be quite remote from them. Sitting awhile on the parapet of a
bridge, I saw a laborer chopping the branches off a poplar-tree which he
had felled; and, when it was trimmed, he took up the large trunk on one
of his shoulders and carried it off, seemingly with ease. He did not
look like a particularly robust man; but I have never seen such an
herculean feat attempted by an Englishman or American. It has frequently
struck me that the Italians are able to put forth a great deal of
strength in such insulated efforts as this; but I have been told that
they are less capable of continued endurance and hardship than our own
race. I do not know why it should be so, except that I presume their
food is less strong than ours. There was no other remarkable incident in
our walk, which lay chiefly through gorges of the hills, winding beneath
high cliffs of the brown Siena earth, with many pretty scenes of rural
landscape; vineyards everywhere, and olive-trees; a mill on its little
stream, over which there was an old stone bridge, with a graceful arch;
farm-houses; a villa or two; subterranean passages, passing from the
roadside through the high banks into the vineyards.
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