“Can any good come out of Nazareth?” was asked of old. “Can any good come elsewhere than from Arezzo?” one is ready to inquire, on beholding the numerous tablets in the streets of that city, recording the unparalleled virtues and talents of her sons. Here dwelt “the monarch of wisdom,” —there “an incomparable pupil of Melpomene,” —this was “the stoutest champion of Tuscany, the dread and terror of the Turks,” —and that,—the world ne'er saw his like,—for

no unapt metaphor for a city of potters, as this was of old. Verily may it be said, “Parlano in Arezzo ancora i sassi ” —the very stones are eloquent of the past glories of Arezzo, and of her maternal pride. Yet some of her children's names have filled the trump, not of Tuscan, but of universal fame; and the city which has produced a M%cenas and a Petrarch may be pardoned for a little vanity.

It is not for me to set forth the modern glories of Arezzo —her Cathedral with its choice monuments of sculpture and painting—the quaint-fashioned church of La Pieve— the localities“ immortalised by Boccaccio—the delightful promenade on the ramparts—the produce of her vineyards, renowned in ancient times, and sung at the present day, as the juice which

But I may assure the traveller that nowhere on his journeyings in Etruria will he find better accommodation than at La Posta or Le Armi d’ Inghilterra, at Arezzo.