Badia a Prataglia lies at about an hour’s distance below the pass of the driving road from the Casentino into Romagna. The place boasted of one of the oldest abbacies in the Apennines, which dated its foundation further back than St Romuald and Camaldoli. But in course of time the abbacy of Prataglia lost its standing, while that of the monastery of Camaldoli increased, with the result that the older abbey became a dependency of the newer monastery. At present nothing remains of the old settlement but the convent church. But Prataglia itself is a growing place. Its numerous houses lie scattered in groups up and down the valley, and there are several new villa residences belonging to families who come up from Romagna and Tuscany to escape the heat of the summer. A _pension_ situated some distance above the place on the hills is fast becoming a favourite summer resort. The Rossi at whose house we stayed are the originators and the owners of a home industry which has considerably raised the standard of comfort throughout the district. The firm exports simple wooden furniture, the different parts of which are cut and carved to certain patterns in the various homes and fitted together on the premises. That evening being Saturday, men were coming to the house bringing their week’s work, in exchange for which they carried away payment in money or payment in kind from the store kept by the Rossi. We were shown examples of the articles manufactured--chairs, stools, cradles and such like, all of the simplest shape. Among other things, we were shown a spinning-wheel, but we were told that the attempt to introduce it has failed. The Italian women prefer spinning from the distaff, and it seems obvious that they will continue to do so till the use of machines supersedes hand-labour. Rain, wind, hail, a thunderstorm and a snowstorm, we experienced them all in the one day which we spent exploring the heights of the neighbouring pass. But with a good road within reach and food awaiting one under cover, battling with the elements for a time adds to one’s enjoyment. Then the reflection came that the snow prevented progress along the mountain paths, and we determined to return into the valley. We left Prataglia white in its wintry garb, and in the short space of an afternoon we passed from the nipping blasts of winter into the bright geniality of spring. Below Serravalle the falling snowflakes changed into driving mists. As the mountains receded, the valley of the Arno lay before us, its vineyards and cornfields brown and golden in the light of the afternoon sun. We were bound for Poppi, which lies at about an hour’s distance up the valley from Bibbiena--“Poppi, the capital of the Casentino,” as Vasari called it. VI _Poppi and Counts Guidi_ “Pupium agri Clusentini caput.” (_Vasari._)