THE JEWELLERS' BRIDGE IN FLORENCE. N nothing perhaps does the difference between the working classes of the English and of the Italian nations strike one more forcibly than in the greater appreciation of objects of beauty shown by the latter. An English labouring man will go daily to and from his business, and, though his road may take him among the choicest works of art, unless they have some special professional interest for him, in nine cases out of ten he will pass on unobservant and unmoved. Not so an Italian, even among the poorest, whose daily labour may be of the humblest kind. He can always find a moment to linger and look at a fine view, or a grand building, or some ancient masterpiece made in a far-off time by human hands like his own. If these are in his own town he admires them the more, and he looks at them with a sense of proprietorship which adds to the feeling of pride with which he regards the achievements of his ancestors. This can be explained in various ways. Not only are the Italians gifted by nature with more artistic taste, but their country is calculated to develop it, for they seldom see murky skies, ugly manufacturing works, or miles of black country;' and not only has Nature been kind to them in climate and scenery, but the giant artists of the middle ages have left them the fruits of their labours-labours which time has not spoilt, and succeeding generations have not equalled. Be he a Roman, Venetian, Neapolitan, or Florentine, he will be no true, emotional, patriotic Italian, if he does not see and feel the beauty of the churches, the grandeur of the palaces, and the wonder of the sculptures and paintings which abound in their cities. Moreover, there are objects not strictly beautiful, but merely singular and ancient, which claim the attention of the passer-by. Under this last head only can the Ponte Vecchio the 'Old' or Jewellers' Bridge, be classed; for the eyes, daily accustomed to the Cathedral and Brunelleschi's dome, to the Shepherd's Tower, and the Gates of Paradise,' could not find points of artistic beauty in that quaint old structure, but they find singularity, and the historical interest which seems inseparable from almost every building in Italy. The bridge existed in the Roman period, and was then only of wood. After repeated demolition it was re-constructed, as at present, in 1362. Thirty years before it had been totally destroyed by an inundation. The bridge is flanked with very small shops, at one time all belonging to the butchers of the city; in 1593, however, the goldsmiths replaced them, and they have held their position up to the present day. One of the reigning Dukes of the Medicean family, Cosimo I., established them there, and a romantic and very sad story is told of the daughter of one of the jewellers, who, through her grace and beauty, took captive the heart of this Duke, and, after many vicissitudes, eventually became his wife. His successor shut her up in the convent of the Murate-immured, where the bitter disappointment caused by her sudden fall from greatness, and the enforced isolation from the world, rendered her so troublesome and undesirable a companion that her sister-nuns begged for her removal to another convent. Eventually she became insane. The 'Old' or Jewellers' Bridge in Florence. It was this same Duke who built the famous covered passage communicating from the picture-gallery to the royal palace, a walk of nearly ten minutes. It was a wonderful undertaking and carried out regardless of difficulties, making an archway across a street, passing over roofs of houses, cutting through buildings, and forming a projecting gallery outside a church. He had it constructed to enable him to visit with greater ease the art treasures of his city, but also to facilitate escape if needful-no empty fear in those troublous times. Now, in these more civilised and peaceful days, as one studies the fine engravings on the walls of that labyrinth of narrow passages, or the original sketches of the great masters, the portraits of the reigning family and other famous men and women, one finds it difficult to realise the tragedies caused or lived through by the very people whose features one is examining. The windows, some round like portholes, others square, give one an occasional glimpse of the fine and cheerful town, and of the river flowing so peacefully under the arches of that ancient bridge; but happily one sees no signs of the turbulent past, no visions of the despairing souls who sought fancied rest or oblivion in the depths of those calm waters. The bridge consists of three arches. There are various coats of arms upon it of the guilds which at different times contributed to its repair; also there is an inscription commemorating a flood. Recently, when the floods were devastating northern Italy, on more than one night the jewellers thought it prudent to take away their property; however, the damage to Florence on that occasion was trifling, and no injury at all was sustained by the 'old' bridge. In the centre there is on each side an open Loggia Terrace, the effect of which is very fine as one suddenly comes upon them. The views are seen as in a frame, and they are most picturesque: palaces, turrets, domes and towers, gardens above on the slopes, hills beyond, and the brilliant hue of the southern sky over all. The neighbouring bridge (alle Grazie, or Rubaconte), though now modernised, up to the year 1292 also had shops upon it. They were then all pulled down, and about that time some devout ladies of noble families built some other houses upon it, which were left untouched until a recent date. About a score of years back all these houses were taken down to widen the bridge, and it is said that more than once the question of also taking away the shops on the Ponte Vecchio has been considered. In all probability, notwithstanding adverse opinions, the demolition of the quaint buildings on the Jewellers' Bridge will not now be very remote. They are supposed not to be in a very safe condition, also to endanger the whole structure. So this remnant of the far Past will go ere long, for the age for expensive repairs, which would be more for the sake of traditional interest than for the actual use or profit, is over. Still there will be many a one, whether Florentine, Italian, or even mere foreign visitor, who will feel the loss almost of an old friend, when he finds himself standing on that 'Old' Bridge, stripped of the little buildings which have belonged to the jewellers of Florence for close upon three centuries. MARGARET MUDIE. AF ROUSE ye, men of England, Of home and liberty! By the cry of hopeless anguish, And make the tyrant quail! By manhood's strength dishonoured, Only a demon left; By woman's form degraded, Whence the mother's heart has flown, In rags and crime and woe ;- By the floods of bitter weeping, Shed o'er an erring child, By youth's bright promise blighted, No tampering with the foe! By the sounds of strife and bloodshed By the house of prayer forsaken But dens of crime within; With deeds of evil stained; A RANDOM SHAFT. AFTER FIVE YEARS. T was a pleasant summer evening, and the men were slowly dispersing from their work at the Dallard stone-quarries. The greater number of them were setting off along the road which led to the neighbouring village of Chillerton, some few were taking the field-path to Summerbourne Mavis, while others remained behind to collect their tools. Amongst these last was a tall, thin man, with dark eyes, and almost white hair, which gave a curious appearance of premature age to one who would otherwise have been supposed to be still in early middle life. There was a strange, dreamy look about him, as of a man who had lived apart from his kind, and who shunned the society of his fellow-creatures. This attitude on his part was not likely to make him popular with his companions, who were already disposed to look upon him as a newcomer with suspicion and distrust. If we could have overheard the conversation of the various groups of workmen that evening, we should have found much grumbling |