Florence twenty days. I spent September in snaring thrushes; but at the
end of the month, even this rather tiresome sport failed me. I rise with
the sun, and go into a wood of mine that is being cut, where I remain
two hours inspecting the work of the previous day and conversing with
the woodcutters, who have always some trouble on hand amongst themselves
or with their neighbours. When I leave the wood, I go to a spring, and
thence to the place which I use for snaring birds, with a book under my
arm--Dante or Petrarch, or one of the minor poets, like Tibullus or
Ovid. I read the story of their passions, and let their loves remind me
of my own, which is a pleasant pastime for a while. Next I take the
road, enter the inn door, talk with the passers-by, inquire the news of
the neighbourhood, listen to a variety of matters, and make note of the
different tastes and humours of men.

'This brings me to dinner-time, when I join my family and eat the poor
produce of my farm. After dinner I go back to the inn, where I generally
find the host and a butcher, a miller, and a pair of bakers. With these
companions I play the fool all day at cards or backgammon: a thousand
squabbles, a thousand insults and abusive dialogues take place, while we
haggle over a farthing, and shout loud enough to be heard from San
Casciano.

'But when evening falls I go home and enter my writing-room. On the
threshold I put off my country habits, filthy with mud and mire, and
array myself in royal courtly garments. Thus worthily attired, I make my
entrance into the ancient courts of the men of old, where they receive
me with love, and where I feed upon that food which only is my own and
for which I was born. I feel no shame in conversing with them and asking
them the reason of their actions.