Longing for the open country came with the early Italian spring, and a hillside villa just outside the walls of Florence was secured.  A narrow lane ran between this villa St. Illario and its rustic church of the same name.  The villa had two projecting wings with belvederes and roofed terraces, one of which connected with the author’s study.  Herein he wrote of “the witchery of Italy”—­the land he loved next to his own.  His letters give glorious glimpses of the Arno, their strolls to Bellosguardo’s heights, the churches, monasteries, costumes, and songs of the peasants—­all attuned to poesy.  Frequent were the exchanges of civility between the author’s study and the good old curato across the lane.  Cooper wrote of him:  “The man has some excellent figs, and our cook, having discovered it, lays his trees under contribution.”  He continues:  “One small, green-coated, fresh fig is the precise point of felicity.  But the good curato, besides his figs, has a pair of uneasy bells in his church-tower that are exactly forty-three feet from my ears, which ring in pairs six or eight times daily.  There are matins, noontide, vespers, to say nothing of christenings, weddings, and funerals.”

Then follows a rare account of a night funeral service ending beneath his study walls.

[Illustration:  CHURCH OF ST. ILLARIO AND NARROW LANE.]

[Illustration:  VILLA, ST. ILLARIO.]

During the great Florentine fete of St. John, the patron saint of the city,—­from the Count St. Leu’s windows on the Arno,—­the author and his family saw the display of gala-boats decked with thousands of colored-paper lanterns.

[Illustration:  CHARIOT RACES, FLORENCE.]

They enjoyed the chariot races in the wide Piazza Santa Maria Novella, where the small obelisks point the start and finish of the races.  These were followed by the corso dei barberi—­barbed horse-races without riders—­down the longest street of the town.  Then followed the French Minister’s masked ball, amusing as well as splendid, readers of Cooper’s “Italy” will find.  But more than all, on their return to Villa St. Illario, were they charmed with the brilliant illumination of the noble cathedral dome, which against the dark skies “looked like a line engraving of fire.”  So closed this festa of Florence in the grand-ducal days, bright in gay gear and alive with everybody, from prince to contadini.  Then he came in happy touch with the impulsive, laughing, singing, dark-haired Italians, and to the finer aspects of their nature he was partial.  They were in sharp contrast to the Puritan band in the valley of the Connecticut, which his pen pictured in the finishing touches of “The Wept of Wish-ton-Wish,” when in his study at Casa Ricasoli.

[Illustration:  GENOA.]