ial was
convinced that we were quite wet, and wished to enter in order to find
shelter, and that we were truly a foreign lady and her daughter, on a
sight-seeing tour, did he let us pass through the gates and enter the
city.

And now, after our month's visit, I have a Florentine mosaic to take
to America with my Venetian necklace.

The golden background of my mosaic is another sunset; one which we saw
from the Shepherd's Tower, with the sky a rosy-pink, the River Arno
taking its slow course through the city and reflecting the rosy light,
and the surrounding hills all deep blue and amethyst.

The most precious stone of my mosaic is the glorious statue of David,
on the heights of San Miniato. Perhaps, if Michael Angelo could have
known, four hundred years ago, that I was going to have one minute of
such very great happiness as when I first saw his work, he would have
been very glad.

What a splendid fashion the Italians have of placing beautiful statues
out of doors where everyone may see and admire them often! In America
we crowd them all together in museums and charge an admission fee, so
that one sees them but seldom, if at all.

There are many stones in my mosaic. Florence is well called the "City
of Flowers." One sees flower-girls everywhere, and little Bianca, with
the tanned face and the big black eyes, who comes to our door every
morning with the sweetest and freshest of roses, is one of my friends.

Every Friday we have been to the market-place to see the peasants, who
come in from the surrounding hillsides with loads of peaches, figs,
grapes, pumpkins, watermelons, squashes,--all kinds of beautiful
fruits and vegetables.

But I like best the boys who carry trays of plaster images which have
been made in their little villages up among the mountains, and which
they bring here just as they sometimes take them to America.

We saw also the straw market, and the women braiding the straw and
making hats. You shall see the one which Mother bought for me, and
which I wear every day.

And this brings me to the reason for writing you this letter. We are
going to leave the music of the churches, the pictures, the
sculptures, the peasants and the market-place, and go into the country
to see the harvests.

I shall miss hearing the constant ringing of the church bells, and
seeing the squads of soldiers marching to the sound of military music.
And perhaps I shall never again sleep in a room with barred windows
ove