This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1846 Excerpt: ...Divided by the river Arno, it presents a goodly spectacle of magnificent palaces, churches, libraries, academies, and museums. The picture gallery Palazzo Vecchio, and that of the Pitti palace, are beyond praise. Vine and olive emulate each other in decorating the sunny slopes; and the towering Apenines in the distance ...
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This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1846 Excerpt: ...Divided by the river Arno, it presents a goodly spectacle of magnificent palaces, churches, libraries, academies, and museums. The picture gallery Palazzo Vecchio, and that of the Pitti palace, are beyond praise. Vine and olive emulate each other in decorating the sunny slopes; and the towering Apenines in the distance stand as mighty bulwarks, invested with grandeur, power, and durability. The old streets of this old city are too narrow to admire; it is well that I am on foot, for two carriages can not pass. I have been to Santa Croce, which has been called the " Mecca of Italy;" and well it may be so called, if sculptured marble can make it such. Here are the monuments of Dante, Galileo, Alfieri, Machiavel, and Michael Angelo. But is there no place where the dead repose, that ranks in my estimation higher than Santa Croce? My heart cries, " There is! Westminster abbey is worth a hundred Santa Croces." At another time, led by fancy, I may stroll through ' imperial Rome," and other Italian cities; but the thought of Westminster abbey has brought me back again to the land of my birth, and my ramble for the present must be brought to a close. Italy is a fair domain, a galaxy of glorious things; but Italy is not England. Once more am I at home! The map of Europe is laid aside, and 1 am sitting with a grateful spirit by my own humble, happy hearth, my heart filled with kindly desires for every country under heaven, but more than all for old England. AN IMAGINARY STROLL. My last ramble was an ideal one. Seated by the fire on a gloomy day, with the map of Europe before me, I wandered, as fancy led, through some of the cities of far-famed Italy, making such remarks as memory and reflection suggested to my mind. I did not notice imperial Ro...
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