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Mornings in Florence by John Ruskin
page 109 of 149 (73%)
fully so understood here in commercial Florence.

Her hand lifted, with two fingers bent, two straight, solemnly
enforcing on your attention her primal law--Two and two are--four, you
observe,--not five, as those accursed usurers think.

Under her, Pythagoras.

Above, medallion of king, with sceptre and globe, counting money. Have
you ever chanced to read carefully Carlyle's account of the foundation
of the existing Prussian empire, in economy?

You can, at all events, consider with yourself a little, what empire
this queen of the terrestrial sciences must hold over the rest, if they
are to be put to good use; or what depth and breadth of application
there is in the brief parables of the counted cost of Power, and number
of Armies.

To give a very minor, but characteristic, instance. I have always felt
that with my intense love of the Alps, I ought to have been able to
make a drawing of Chamouni, or the vale of Cluse, which should give
people more pleasure than a photograph; but I always wanted to do it as
I saw it, and engrave pine for pine, and crag for crag, like Albert
Durer. I broke my strength down for many a year, always tiring of my
work, or finding the leaves drop off, or the snow come on, before I had
well begun what I meant to do. If I had only _counted_ my pines
first, and calculated the number of hours necessary to do them in the
manner of Durer, I should have saved the available drawing time of some
five years, spent in vain effort.

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