but cheerfully, without confusion and disturbance; carriages are rolling along incessantly; the sun shines with summer splendor and life, over the green hills, and parks, amidst which Florence stands like a flower of cities, affluent in beauty and life-enjoyment.
We have obtained good rooms in the hotel New York, by the Arno, and are delighted to be here, where Jenny beams in emulation with every thing that is gay and beautiful around us.
November 22d.—After nearly two weeks' residence here, and rambling about, I will collect the pure residue of all that I have seen and heard. I term “my residue” that which has entered into my soul, so fixed itself in my memory, as an image, or as knowledge, and which, from that moment, becomes my property,—a portion of my inner world. In this, my inner world, there is a museum, and in it, a little cabinet of curiosities. In my museum are contained all sights and forms which strongly impress my mind, and which arrange themselves, as by an inner necessity. There, too, is also a book, which I do not know how to designate, but in which all that I have learned of mankind, or of things in general, inscribe themselves without my having any trouble therewith; and so that I can thence derive a certain result for my truth-seeking spirit. I believe, my R——, that if thou wilt look carefully into thyself, thou wilt also find a similar museum, and a similar book.
My first ramble in Florence, was a little solitary expedition of discovery, such as I always like to undertake in every new place, and in every city which is new to me. I look about me in this way, far better
