November 26th.

To-day our poor horses had a hard time of it.  Up hill and down hill, and past yawning chasms, our way lay for a long time through a desert and barren district, until, at a little distance from the village of Buonconvento, the scene suddenly changed, and a widely-extended, hilly country, with beautiful plains, the lovely town of Siena, numerous villages great and small, with homesteads and handsome farms, and solitary churches built on hills, lay spread before us.  Every thing shewed traces of cultivation and opulence.

Most of the women and girls we met were employed in plaiting straw. Here all wear straw hats—men, women, and children.  At five in the evening we at length reached