still lives, and he appears
instantly to the new-comer; he has an understanding with the dryads who
keep him supplied with boughs from the Washington Elm, and his
wood-house is full of them.

Among memorable cicerones in Italy was one whom we saw at Pisa, where we
stopped on our way from Leghorn after our accident in the Maremma, and
spent an hour in viewing the Quattro Fabbriche. The beautiful old town,
which every one knows from the report of travellers, one finds possessed
of the incommunicable charm which keeps old towns forever novel to the
visitor. Lying on either side of the Arno, it mirrors in the flood
architecture almost as fair and noble as that glassed in the Canalazzo,
and its streets seemed to us as tranquil as the canals of Venice. Those
over which we drove, on the day of our visit, were paved with broad
flag-stones, and gave out scarcely a sound under our wheels. It was
Sunday, and no one was to be seen. Yet the empty and silent city
inspired us with no sense of desolation. The palaces were in perfect
repair; the pavements were clean; behind those windows we felt that
there must be a good deal of easy, comfortable life. It is said that
Pisa is one of the few places in Europe where the sweet, but timid,
spirit of Inexpensiveness--everywhere pursued by Railways--still
lingers, and that you find cheap apartments in those well-preserved old
palaces. No doubt it would be worth more to live in Pisa than it would
cost, for the history of the place would alone be to any reasonable
sojourner a perpetual recompense and a princely income far exceeding his
expenditure. To be sure, the Tower of Famine, with which we chiefly
associate the name of Pisa, has been long razed to the ground, and built
piecemeal into the neighboring palaces; but you may still visit the dead
wall which hides from view the place where it stood, and you may thence
drive on, as we did, to the great Piazza where stands the unrivalledest
group of architecture in the world after that of St. Mark's Place in
Venice. There is the wonderful Leaning Tower, there is the old and
beautiful Duomo, there is the noble Baptistery, there is the lovely
Campo Santo. There, too,--somewhere lurking in portal or behind pillar,
and keeping out an eagle eye for the marvelling stranger,--is the much
experienced cicerone who shows you through the edifices. Yours is the
fourteen-thousandth American family to which he has had the honor of
acting as guide, and he makes y