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CHAPTER VII.Quite in the east of Rome, nigh the PortaTiburtina, on the way that goes to Tivoli, thereis an old brick tower, whose age nomanknows,and whose walls are all scarred and burned withwar.The winding streets are set about it ina strange network, and at its base there is agreat stone basin, where the women wash theirlinen and the pretty pigeons bathe. From itscasements,barred with iron, you looked downwardinto one of the green gardens, shadowedwith leaning pines and massive ilex,that are theespecial glory of our city; and outward you sawoverall the majestic width of Rome, away to thefar distance where the trees ' of Monte Mario