and at length, towards midnight, had the enjoyment of food and rest in the hotel, Della Minerva.
And now a word regarding our journey hither.
We left Florence by railway, and hoped, in three hours, to reach Sienna. Towards the close of the three hours, we beheld objects which denote a city, but—most extraordinary!—these objects appear to us as familiar, as if we had seen them lately; and there—is there not? Yes, actually a leaning tower. Oh! horror! We are at Pisa! The negligent conductor of the railway train had forgotten to tell us when the line branched off for Sienna. What was to be done?
There was nothing for it but to remain at Pisa, until a train some hours later went thence to Sienna. But the sun shone; the functionaries at the railway were particularly kind and sympathetic in our fate, and leaving our luggage in their charge, we resolved, not only to take the whole thing coolly, but cheerfully and easily. We therefore again went up into the city, which now, in the sunshine, looked quite different to what it did when we last left it. Many well-dressed people were walking in the streets; there were fewer beggars, and those not so importunate, and the Arno reflected the brightness of the sun. I again saw the leaning tower, Campo Santo, and Catharina Ferucci. All looked brighter, even the sorrowing mother. She had resumed her work, and that with a smile upon her agreeable, expressive countenance. We talked and disputed a little about Catholicism and the evangelical doctrines, but in a friendly spirit. Catharina Ferucci, as little understands as most Catholics do, what this latter doctrine really is. I am pleased,
