some of marble and some of granite, with Corinthian capitals that were

handsome when they were new. It is a bell tower, and in its top hangs a

chime of ancient bells. The winding staircase within is dark, but one

always knows which side of the tower he is on because of his naturally

gravitating from one side to the other of the staircase with the rise or

dip of the tower. Some of the stone steps are foot-worn only on one end;

others only on the other end; others only in the middle. To look down

into the tower from the top is like looking down into a tilted well. A

rope that hangs from the centre of the top touches the wall before it

reaches the bottom. Standing on the summit, one does not feel altogether

comfortable when he looks down from the high side; but to crawl on your

breast to the verge on the lower side and try to stretch your neck out

far enough to see the base of the tower, makes your flesh creep, and

convinces you for a single moment in spite of all your philosophy, that

the building is falling. You handle yourself very carefully, all the

time, under the silly impression that if it is not falling, your trifling

weight will start it unless you are particular not to "bear down" on it.

The Duomo, close at hand, is one of the finest cathedrals in Europe. It

is eight hundred years old. Its grandeur has outlived the high

commercial prosperity and the political importance that made it a

necessity, or rather a possibility. Surrounded by poverty, decay and

ruin, it conveys to us a more tangible impression of the former greatness

of Pisa than books could give us.

The Baptistery, which is a few years older than the Leaning Tower, is a

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The Innocents Abroad