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GERMAN SKITTLE GROUND.

117

THE SOLDIER'S WIDOW.

We never had much sympathy with war. Sir Harry Smith has told us, that if glorious, it is still likewise a horrible vocation. If men would suffer themselves to be less dazzled with pomp, and would reflect upon the miseries and horrors experienced by millions of innocent individuals, they would pause before they spoke so lightly. If nations could learn by experience the statement of the sacrifices incurred by wars, and of the very doubtful advantages resulting from them, would form a very valuable and instructive volume. England, by her insular position, is less justified than most of her neighbours, in rushing heedlessly into the field, and yet how many thousands of her children have perished, how many millions of pounds have been added to her national debt! At this present moment how many discordant elements are at work, which may soon light up the flame of discord! It is by the improved feelings of the people that we can alone hope to avert the evil, the nations are brought nearer together, mighty interests formed, which, suddenly broken, would cause the ruin of millions, the legislature must follow in the better path which the wise leaders have opened. The whole world is wanted, what would have become of Ireland, had not the distant nations, by the blessing of peace, been enabled to contribute to her wants? "Blessed are the peace-makers, for theirs is the kingdom of Heaven."

GERMAN SKITTLE GROUND.

THERE are some habits and customs to which we cannot at all accommodate ourselves, and we must own to some slight aversion to the game of skittles. There must, doubtless, be some great interest attached to it in the minds of our German brethren which we have not been able to fathom, or else there would not be displayed that universal interest in it, from the school-boy to the grave and reverend signor. We have seen the most highly distinguished men in Germany, grave professors whose fame is spread throughout the world, take as much interest in the game as if a new reading had been found, or a lost dialect recovered; gallant veterans who loved to hear the balls roll round them; nay, even ladies, fair and fashionable, grasp the Brobdignaggian globe in their aristocratic hands. We quarrel with no man's hobby, we can only ride our own, and we must therefore leave it to the experienced and initiated to explain the mysterious pleasure of the German Skittle Ground.

VOL. III.

2 H

FLORENCE.

THE city of Florence, in the beautiful valley of the Arno, contrasts favourably with most of the sombre and uncleanly cities of the south of Italy. The traveller unconsciously breathes more freely, and feels that he is in a land which enjoys the advantages of a liberal and enlightened government. The inhabitants are well informed and cheerful, and although the dialect of the lower orders is somewhat harsh and unpleasant, the structure of the sentences is almost invariably classically correct or poetically bold. The Florentine women may perhaps yield the palm of dignity to their Roman sisters, but are justly celebrated for their beauty. The celebrated cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore with the adjacent belfry are perhaps a little too gaudy, but the richness of the marble up to the very pinnacles produces a grand and imposing effect, and that this effect is durable is proved by the example of Dante, who was in the habit of sitting on a stone bench opposite to the cathedral, which even to this day retains the name of Il sasso di Dante, and of contemplating this magnificent edifice. The beauty of the cupola has been acknowledged by Michael Angelo in his own terse rhyme,

Vado a Roma per far la tua sorella
Più grande si, ma non di te più bella.

(I go to Rome to make your sister, larger indeed, but not more beautiful than thou) and it is probable that the boast of the Florentines is well founded, that had not the cupola of Florence existed, that of Rome would never have been built. Michael Angelo was accustomed to call the church of Santa Maria Novella his bride. Nevertheless the churches of Florence can hardly sustain a comparison with the sombre sublimity of some of the other Italian cathedrals, particularly that of Pisa. The traveller should by no means omit to visit the burial place of the Medici, in San Lorenzo.

The palaces of Florence, of which the Pitti, Strozzi and Ricardi, are the most remarkable, produce a singular effect. The long lines of consolidated building recall involuntarily the period of the stern civil wars, of which Florence in the middle ages was so often the theatre. Perhaps amidst all the treasures of art, in which Florence excels all other cities, the most eminent are the celebrated gates of the Florentine Battisterio, by Ghiberti. The beautiful bassi relievi in bronze, will ever form an object of instructive contemplation and admiration. Nowhere can the history of Italian art be studied with greater advantage than in the unrivalled Gallery of Florence; a single room would suffice to form the glory of a modern town. The gradual advance

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