With this are a few lines to his sons Lampridio and Fedro, in which he gives some directions about his small property. This letter thus begins:

:

"My most courteous lords (the Inquisitors) are not wanting in politeness to me to the very last, and allow me to write to you. It pleases God to call me to Himself by means that you will understand, though they will appear bitter and sharp to you. If, however, you consider that it is with my entire contentment and satisfaction, in order to conform myself to the will of God, so it ought to content you."

It was on the evening of the 2nd of July that eight members of the Confraternity of "San Giovanni decollato," a philanthropic society which devoted itself to rendering services to the condemned in the hour of death, presented themselves at the prison of Tordinona, and informed Paleario that he had only a few hours to live. They obtained permission for him to write the letters above quoted, and faithfully transmitted them to his wife at Colle. Just as day was breaking over the eternal city, he was led out to die. The scaffold was erected on the bridge of St. Angelo. He was strangled, and his body was then thrown into the flames. Truly, never did Christian philosopher and confessor go forth to meet his death with more sublime serenity. It may be asked, how stands it now with Protestantism in the city of Ochino and Paleario? As in the greater part of Italy, in Spain, and elsewhere, the Holy Office did its work thoroughly, and crushed and burned out the Reformation. So far as I know, beyond one or two Swiss and English, there are no Protestants in Siena. A very handsome Waldensian temple was erected in a leading boulevard near to the Church of St. Dominic more than a year ago, and though no service has yet been held there, yet as a large building is now in process of construction beside it to serve as a presbytery, it may be hoped that the church will soon be opened. Occasional Waldensian services are now held in the house of a Swiss resident.

But I have dwelt, I fear, too long upon the memory of some of those who shed lustre upon Siena by their genius and virtue in the past.

The old city sits a queen upon three hills, and from every point in the surrounding country its cathedral, its towers and walls form a picture of singular beauty. In its mediæval walls, still intact and perfect, were once no fewer than thirty-eight gates; of these, thirty have been closed, so that eight remain open. The circuit of the walls is seven kilometres, and they enclose an irregular star-shaped space, a good deal of which is laid out in olive-yards and gardens. Once Siena numbered 100,000 inhabitants; now there are but 24,000. After the ravages of the plague, in 1348, and the last struggle for the freedom of the Republic in 1554-5, many houses were razed, and the ground occupied by them was

turned into gardens, as we now see them. The surrounding country, as seen from the walls of the fortress, appears one great olive-yard and vineyard. The vines are either trained upon mulberries or upon other trees, rarely upon olives. In the winter the grey silvery sheen of the olives stands out against the bright red earth, which has given its name to "burnt Siena;" but with the spring the young corn planted everywhere between the olives and the mulberries covers the ground with exquisite verdure; and when the vines and other trees put out their leaves towards the middle of May, it is difficult to conceive of a fairer green than the country exhibits.

In a month or six weeks all is changed; hill and valley alike are golden with ripe grain, and as soon as the grain is harvested the land reverts to its native redness, though late in the autumn this is relieved by some green crops, as welcome to the eye as they doubtless are to the cattle for whose sustenance they are intended. Last year the yield of grapes was exceptionally abundant, and it was curious, as one drove along distant country lanes, to see great purple clusters hanging by the roadside from the topmost branches of oaks and other trees upon which the vines had been trained. At this season, too, women and boys are to be seen up among the branches gathering the grapes, and the great white, large-horned, meek-eyed oxen draw primitive vans through the fields on which are the tubs or baskets in which the grapes are collected. The landscape, as seen from the walls, is occasionally relieved by groves of the stone pine and copses of oak and other trees. These latter are, I fear, becoming scarcer year by year, for the Sienese seem to have less respect for trees than even the Italians generally, and to have no compunction in cutting them down. There is but one exception to this sad rule, and that is the cypress, a grove or avenue of which every Italian gentleman strives to have around his villa. Very beautiful is its flame-like form, but after all not so beautiful as the oak, which nowhere flourishes better than here in Tuscany, if only allowed to do so. It is painful to look at the denuded condition of Italy as regards wood,* and then think of the magnificent forests of oak that have been felled within the last thirty years to provide sleepers for its railway system.

*Since this article has been in type, I have heard of an English family who thirty years ago found the neighbourhood of Siena beautifully wooded with oaks. Twenty years later they returned to find the greater part felled, and two years since nearly all were gone. Men of good position and in other respects sane seem afflicted with a mischievous madness which shows itself in an utter hatred of trees. A few years back between the outer and inner gate at Camollia was a superb avenue of ilex. Every tree was felled in one year by a tree-hating "Sindaco," and now in this most exposed place there is not a particle of shade against the blazing Italian sun. A mile outside the city are some fine villas, and there used to be some lovely shady lanes, with fine old oaks on either side, through whose umbrageous foliage the hot sun could not penetrate. These oaks have nearly all been slaughtered, the proprietor having no other idea but to make what he calls a Campo pulito"-a clean field; and even where along a little hollow flows a rivulet, erst shaded by willows, the fiat has gone forth, and all the trees are at this moment being felled. They make a desolation, and call it a "Campo pulito."

To

To return to the view from the walls of Siena. The distant hillsides are covered with ilex and oak, but for the most part only scrub, as the charcoal-burner is always at work, and long before the trees have reached maturity they fall before the inexorable axe. These hills stretch away, range beyond range, into the distance, and in the soft waning light present the most exquisite shades of purple. the south the wooded Monte Amiata rises to a height of 5,600 feet, about half-way distant between Siena and Rome, while to the north the main chain of the Apennines, on the confines of Modena, rises high above the other hills by which the city is surrounded, and in winter, deep in snow, and gleaming white in the sunshine, presents a truly Alpine appearance. When you enter one of the gates of Siena, you pass along narrow streets, many of which are so steep as to be impassable to vehicles. Along the more level streets come lumbering country wains, each drawn by two milk-white oxen, with great branching horns, and large soft eyes. The Contadine from the surrounding district, with bright, handsome, wholesome faces and immense waving Tuscan hats, give much picturesqueness to the streets, as do the numerous ecclesiastics in their shovel hats and knee-breeches.

In August comes the great festival of the city, the Palio. Its origin is lost in hoar antiquity. In fact, there is reason to believe that when only the summits of the three hills upon which Siena sits were built upon, the inhabitants used to come down to meet one another into what is now the Piazza del Campo, the great marketplace. It is a true amphitheatre, having exactly the form of an immense upturned cockle-shell, and probably it was once the crater of a volcano. Its size may be estimated by the fact that it is said to hold, and indeed on at least one occasion has held, as many as 35,000 people, though half that number is sufficient to give it a crowded appearance. The principal building in the Piazza is the magnificent Palace of the Republic, standing now as strong and intact and perfect as if it had not witnessed the daily life, the games, and the life and death struggles of Siena in countless revolutions throughout nearly six centuries-for it was commenced in 1284 and finished about 1330. Rising gracefully by the side of the Palace of the Republic is the so-called Mangia Tower, which from every part of the city and for many miles around is visible, a miracle of lightness and strength. The Palazzo Pubblico, with the Mangia Tower, forms the diameter or base of the semicircle, and stands at the lowest part of the Piazza, while the semicircle of palaces faces it from higher ground in a regular amphitheatre. In remote times the citizens used here to celebrate a game called "Elmora," which was in truth more than a game; it was a regular battle with sticks and stones and other weapons, and always caused the death of at least one citizen. For this, in 1291, was substituted boxing, which continued to be practised down to the

beginning of the present century. But the public games of the "Contrade" began in 1482, in which year, for the first time, jousts and tourneys were held by them in the Piazza. From 1500 to 1599 the Contrade had annual bull-fights, to which each Contrada brought its own bull. A little fortress, too, was constructed and adorned with banners by each Contrada, in which the bull-fighters. sought refuge when too closely pressed by the tormented animals. This cruel sport gave place, from 1600 to 1650, to races between buffaloes, each ridden by a jockey; but as this also was almost always accompanied by death or severe wounds to some of the competitors, in 1650 horses were substituted for buffaloes, and the races have thus been run down to the present day. The word "Contrada" simply means a street or district of the city, but the Contrade are more than lay corporations; each has a church, a distinctive banner, and special regulations of its own. They are probably as old as the Republic itself. In 1328 there were fifty-nine of these Contrade. Thirteen ceased to exist at the time of the plague. and twenty-three more after the siege. Six were suppressed in 1675 for having insulted the judges at the tourney of that year, thus leaving the seventeen which still remain. The Contrade mostly take their name from some animal, a picture of which is emblazoned upon their respective banners. These emblems are as follows-the tortoise (the most ancient), the goose, the tower, the giraffe, the conch-shell, the wood, the caterpillar, the wolf, the eagle, the owl, the wave, the dragon, the snail, the panther, the sheep, the unicorn, and the porcupine. Of these only ten are allowed to run horses at the Palio, the course being too narrow to admit of more with safety. For weeks before the event actually comes off the greatest excitement prevails throughout the city, every one being anxious for the success of the horse belonging to his or her Contrada. At length the great day arrives. The ten horses that are to run are led into the churches of their respective Contrade, and are there blessed by the priests. The banners of all the seventeen Contrade wave everywhere throughout the city. The people are crowded into the immense shell-like space of the Piazza del Campo, the centre of which is occupied by the spectators, as are tier upon tier of seats arranged against the ground floor of the palaces, and also balconies at a higher level.

The course is a stone pavement, about thirty feet wide, on the outside circumference of the Piazza, and exactly below the tiers of seats at the base of the palaces. It is now covered three or four inches deep with sand and earth, and even with this concession it seems a desperate course for mortal horses to run. Not only are the turns short and sharp, but there are constant steep ascents and descents. Where the descending slope is steepest, near the beautiful little chapel erected hard by the Palazzo Pubblico, not only have hoardings been

freely erected, but they have been well padded with beds and mattresses, to give if possible a soft reception to any unfortunate rider who may be spilt here. A troop of Carbineers, who, throughout Italy, are employed on police duty, and who are particularly fine" men, well horsed, and with superb uniforms, canter round the course two or three times to clear it of people.

The appearance of the Piazza during last year's Palio was at this moment very striking. An old gentleman, in one of the balconies, who said he was seventy-four years old, and that he had witnessed more than fifty Palios, estimated the number of people present at nearly 30,000. He was, of course, a laudator temporis acti, and thought the present show very inferior to those of his youth. Probably, however, the change was more in the spectator than in the scene. The tiers of seats crowded with gaily dressed spectators, the bright coloured clothing of the crowd, the characteristic immense broad waving Tuscan hats of the country women, the waving of fans, the hum of many voices, like the roar of the sea when the wind drives shorewards its thundering breakers, the grand old palaces decked out for the occasion, on whose topmost balconies up to the towers and roofs were grouped spectators, the music of the bands, the roll of the drums, the waving of banners, the signal shots from mortars, the capering of the horses, and the wild joy of an entire people, together formed a strange and intoxicating tout ensemble of movement, colour, and sound. The clusters of many-coloured elastic balloons, inflated by the vendors and floated up almost to the level of the roofs of the palace, were a distinct addition to the brightness of the scene.

But now, in a moment, every voice is hushed and every neck is craned. From the street Casato, preceded by a band of music, appear the representatives of the seventeen Contrade, greeted by the applause of their respective partisans. Each Contrada is represented by a Captain, clothed in splendid armour, two ensigns, who act as wavers of banners, a first page, who walks by himself, carrying a banner on his shoulder, a drummer, and four other pages, all attired in the brilliant and picturesque fashion of the Middle Ages. Then follows the horse of parade, a show horse, richly caparisoned, bearing a rider armed cap-à-pie as a knight, and, lastly, the horse that is to do the running, without even a saddle, and quite without ornament. Where these horses are procured, or how selected, I do not know; they must be chosen for qualities of speed or endurance, but they are said to be horses that, except on this festal day, are busy all the year round drawing carts and performing other humble duties. They are little creatures and have a weedy appearance. The bright colours of the costumes of the Middle Ages, the plumes on the helmets, the burnished cuirasses, the rich caparisons of the horses, the flashing swords, the gracefully attired pages, the bold knights, the dexterous ensigns,—