Standing in one of the many studii of Carrara，that afternoon--for it is a great workshop，full of beautifully-finished copies in marble，of almost every figure，group，and bust，we know—il seemed，at first，SO strange to me that those exquisite shapes，replete with grace，and thought，and delicate repose，should grow out of all this toil，and sweat，andtorture!But I soon found a parallel to it，and an explanation of it，in everyvirtue that springs up in miserable ground，and every good thing thathas its birth in sorrow and distress．And，looking out of the sculptor’Sgreat window，upon the marble mountains，all red and glowing in thedecline of day，but stem and solemn to the last，I thought，my God!Howmany quarries of human hearts and souls，capable of far more beautifulresults，are left shut up and mouldering away：while pleasure-travellersthrough life，avert their faces，as they pass，and shudder at the gloom andruggedness that conceal them! The then reigning Duke of Modena，to whom this territory in partbelonged，claimed the proud distinction of being the only sovereign inEurope who had not recognized Louis-Philippe as King of the French!He was not a wag，but quite in earnest．He was also much opposed torailroads；and if certain lines in contemplation by other potentates，oneither side of him，had been executed，would have probably enjoyed thesatisfaction of having an omnibus plying to and fro across his not veryvast dominions，to forward travelers from one terminus to another． Carrara，shut in by great hills，is very picturesque and bold．Fewtourists stay there；and the people are nearly all connected，in one wayor other，with the working of marble．There are also villages among thecaves，where the workmen live．It contains a beautiful little Theatre，newly built；and it is an interesting custom there，to form the chorus oflabourers in the marble quarries，who are self-taught and sing by ear．I heard them in a comic opera，and in an act of“Norma”；and theyacquitted themselves very well；unlike the common people of Italygenerally，who(with some exceptions among the Neapolitans)sing vilelyout of tune，and have very disagreeable singing voices． From the summit of a lofty hill beyond Carrara，the first view ofthe fertile plain in which the town of Pisa lies—with Leghorn．a purple spot in the flat distance--is enchanting．Nor is it only distance that lends enchantment to the view；for the fruitful country，and rich woods of olive—trees through which the road subsequently passes，render it delightful．
The moon was shining when we approached Pisa，and for a long time we could see，behind the wall，the leaning Tower，all awry in the uncertain light；the shadowy original of the old pictures in school—books，setting forth“The Wonders of the World．’’Like most things connected in their first associations with school—books and school-times，it was too small．I felt it keenly．It was another of the many deceptions practiced by Mr．Harris，Bookseller，at the comer of St．Paul’S Churchyard，London．His Tower was a fiction，but this was a reality--and，by comparison，a short reality．Still，it looked very well，and very strange，and was quite as much out of the perpendicular as Harris had represented it to be．The quiet air of Pisa too；the big guard-house at the gate，with only two little soldiers in it；the streets with scarcely any show of people in them；and the Amo，flowing quaintly through the centre of the town；were excellent．So，I bore no malice in my heart against Mr．Harris(remembering his good intentions)，but forgave him before dinner，and went out，full of confidence，to see the Tower next morning． ’I might have known better；but，somehow，I had expected to see it，casting its long shadow on a public street where people came and went all day．It was a surprise to me to find it in a grave retired place，apart from the general resort，and carpeted with smooth green turf．But，the group of buildings，clustered on and about this verdant carpet：comprising the Tower，the Baptistery，the Cathedral，and the Church of the Campo Santo：iS perhaps the most remarkable and beautiful in the whole world；and from being clustered there，together，away from the ordinary transactions and details of the town，they have a singularly venerable and impressive character．It is the architectural essence of a rich old citv with a11 its cornnlon life and common habitations pressed out，and filtered away．
SIMOND compares the Tower to the usual pictorial representationsin children’S books of the Tower of Rabel．It is a happy simile，and conveys a better idea of the building than chapters of laboured description．Nothing can exceed the grace and lightness of the structure；nothing can be more remarkable than its general appearance．In the course of the ascent to the top(which is by an easy staircase)，the inclination is not very apparent；but，at the summit，it becomes SO，and gives one the sensation of being in a ship that has heeled over，through the action of an ebb—tide．The effect upon the low side，SO to speak--looking over fromthe gallery，and seeing the shaft recede to its base—_is very startling；and I saw a nervous traveller hold on to the Tower involuntarily，after glancingdown，as if he had some idea of propping it up．The view within，fromthe ground—looking up，as through a slanted tube——is also very curious．Itcertainly inclines as much as the most sanguine tourist could desire．Thenatural impulse of ninety—nine people out of a hundred，who were abouttO recline upon the grass below it，to rest，and contemplate the aajacentbuildings would probably be，not to take up their position under theleaning side；it is SO very much aslant．
