d.

The government took possession of this church and convent of San
Damiano, the first home of St. Clara and her companions, and proposed
establishing there a school of arts and trades; but Lord Ripon
persuaded them to sell the property to him, and in his turn presented
it to the _frati_ from whom it had been taken. It is a rough place, but
interesting in memories.

"I have a book _in petto_," the professor said, "which will, I think,
be more valuable and interesting than the others. I have collected
material for a history of the church and convent of St. Francis, and
shall write it as soon as I have time. I should be glad if it could be
illustrated."

While he spoke my imagination was already turning over the leaves of a
history of that stately monument, around which clusters so much of
Middle-Age story, and looking at copies of forms and faces which to
remember is a dream of rainbows and angels. There should be that quaint
Madonna who points her thumb over her shoulder at St. Francis while she
asks her Son to bless him, and the three saints and the Madonna of the
north transept, and the pictures at the entrance of the chapel of San
Martino, and the vault of the chapel of St. Louis, and a thousand other
lovely things.

And, "Signor Professore," I said eagerly, "how I should like to
translate that work, pictures and all, into English!"

He cordially consented, with many compliments.

As we left the loggia he pointed to the arch opposite the
entrance-door. "That is the arch of suicides," he said: "more than one
man has thrown himself down that precipice."

We were joined by a Benedictine monk as we went but, who proposed that
we should go up the campanile. It is pleasant to visit the bells of a
famous or favorite church. It is like seeing a poet whose songs we have
heard, and pleasanter in some respects; for while the poet may mantle
himself in commonplace at our approach, like Olympus in clouds, one can
always waken the spirit of song in these airy singers.

The way up this campanile is very rough, a mere gravelly path, and one
can only maintain his footing by holding a rope that runs all the way
up, following the four sides. Reaching the large chamber at the top, we
paid our respects to the seven bells, whose intricate changes I had so
many times tried to follow. Their ringing is a puzzle. In the middle
hung the melancholy _campanone_, with a silvery soprano by its side--a
very Dante and Beatrice among bells