The Senator counted eighty tunnels--he wants that fact mentioned too--some of them so short that it was like shutting one's eyes for an instant on the olives and the sea.

Nevertheless it was an idyllic journey, and at four o'clock in the afternoon we saw the Leaning Tower from afar, describing the precise angle that it does in the illustrated geographies.

Momma was charmed to recognise it, she blew it a kiss of adulation and acclaim, while we yet wound about among the environs, and hailed it "Pisa!" It was as if she bowed to a celebrity, with the homage due.
What the Senator called our attention to as we drove to the hotel was the conspicuous part in municipal politics played by that little old brown river Arno.

In most places the riparian feature of the landscape is not insisted on--you have usually to go to the suburbs to find it, but in Pisa it is a sort of main street, with the town sitting comfortably and equally on each side of it looking on.

Momma and I both liked the idea of a river in town scenery, and thought it might be copied with advantage in America, it afforded such a good excuse for bridges.