I alluded in May to a book called 'Earth-work out of Tuscany.' The introductory chapter contains the following passage, which comes home to me most strongly as I begin to write a few notes about my visit to Florence: 'Has any city, save perhaps Cairo, been so written out as Florence? . . . . Florence has often been sketched before - putting Browning aside, with his astounding fresco music - by Ruskin and George Eliot and Mr. Henry James, to name only masters. But that is no reason why I should not try my prentice hand. Florence alters not at all; men do. My picture, poor as you like, shall be my own.' I, too, can only in great humility beg you to accept this little account of my June near Florence, 'not as what I would fain offer, but what I am able to present.'