in the water or
out of the water, are the real walls, and windows, and bridges, and
people, and churches. The only difference is that, down below, there
is a double movement; the movement of the stream besides the movement
of life. For the rest, the distinctness of the eye is as great in one
as in the other.... Remember me to such of my friends as remember me
kindly when unreminded by me. I am very happy--happier and happier.

ELIBET.

Robert's best regards to you always.

[Footnote 159: It will be remembered that Mr. Boyd took a great
interest in bells and bell ringing. The passage omitted below contains
an extract from Murray's _Handbook_ with reference to the bells of
Pisa.]

[Footnote 160: This bell was tolled on the occasion of an execution.]

_To Mrs. Jameson_
Palazzo Guidi, Via Maggio, Florence:
August 7, 1847 [postmark].

You will be surprised perhaps, and perhaps not, dearest friend,
to find that we are still at Florence. Florence 'holds us with a
glittering eye;' there's a charm cast round us, and we can't get away.
In the first place, your news of Recoaro came so late that, as you
said yourself, we ought to have been there before your letter reached
us. Nobody would encourage us to go north on any grounds, indeed,
and if anybody speaks a word now in favour of Venice, straight comes
somebody else speaking the direct contrary. Altogether, we took to
making a plan of our own--a great, wild, delightful plan of plunging
into the mountains and spending two or three months at the monastery
of Vallombrosa, until the heat was passed, and dear Mr. Kenyon
decided, and we could either settle for the winter at Florence or pass
on to Rome. Could anything look more delightful than that? Well, we
got a letter of recommendation to the abbot, and left our apartment,
Via delle Belle Donne, a week before our three months were done,
thoroughly burned out by the sun; set out at four in the morning,
reached Pelago, and from thence travelled five miles along a 'via non
rotabile' through the most romantic scenery. Oh, such mountains!--as
if the whole world were alive with mountains--such ravines--black in
spite of flashing waters in them--such woods and rocks--travelled
in basket sledges drawn by four white oxen--Wilson and I and the
luggage--and Robert riding step by step. We were four hours doing the
five miles, so you may fancy what rough work it was. Whether I was
most tired or charmed was a _tug_ between body and sou