By five successive shocks, the cities were toppled down, and where they had stood great columns of dust were rising. Men, women and children, soldiers in barracks, the sick in hospital and prisoners in gaol were killed together as they slept. They died like ants in a blown up nest."

A survivor from Messina says: "The town is nothing but a dust heap, even the railway station is swallowed up, the railwaymen are nearly all killed." Another says: "It is too horrible to describe." The Pope has shown the greatest anxiety; has even asked permission at the Quirinal to transmit ma.s.sages to the suffering and the bereaved. He also summoned to the Vatican the Director of the Bank of Rome and had with him some private conversation, and arranged for the sum of 40,000 to be sent at once. Our own King Edward sent to the King of Italy messages of condolence and sympathy. The navies and soldiers of England, France, Germany and others are giving a.s.sistance in extricating sufferers from the debris, and feeding the hungry, and erecting temporary shelters and generally doing all that can be done to mitigate the distress and grief and pain. Money is being sent liberally by all the Christian nations at least. So all feel as nations and as individuals that "One touch of sorrow makes the world akin." It is at such a time that the brotherhood of nations a.s.serts itself. All racial barriers are swept away in the face of such a terrible catastrophe. The latest news is that no less than 220,000 have perished, as many inland towns have suffered most severely. The cathedral and churches, with all their valuable works of art, have been totally destroyed. Scenes simply indescribable are enacted and too sad to relate. So we see the uncertainty of things that are on earth.

Notwithstanding the natural beauty of the surroundings, before we left the fair city of Florence, we must needs do a little shopping, and make some further investigations into the interests and a.s.sociations of the place. The convent of San Marco is a place worth a visit, and is open on receipt of a small fee or gratuity. Here is the cell of Savonarola, in which he was confined before the martyrdom of flame. Here is a fine portrait of the man who dared to face even death in his defence of the truth. Here are some of his ma.n.u.scripts, traced with his own pen. Here are his tunic, girdle and crucifix, and even a charred piece of wood from the scene of his martyrdom. Such sights fill the soul with thoughts of what men have endured to rescue the truth from Papal tyranny. Of Savonarola it may be said, he was a great reformer, a religious enthusiast, and a martyr. Born at Ferrara, in 1452, he early joined the religious order of Dominicans at Bologna. At first his career as a preacher was not marked by any unusual event, nor did he meet with great success, but on his appointment to the Duomo, crowds came to listen to his preaching, and indeed so eloquent did he become and so effective that, at times, his discourses were interrupted by the ma.s.ses of the people sobbing and crying in their pews. He became so popular that the people pressed round him in the streets to kiss his garments. He went forth like a flaming herald of the cross in defiance of pope, cardinal or priest. It is stated that under his influence the morals of the city became purified. The children were specially cared for, as many as 8,000 at one time were banded together in a sort of republic, and were called "the children of Christ." The Pope did his very best to suppress this holy work, but it was useless to try to stop so G.o.d inspired a man as Savonarola. When this was ineffectual, they said make him a Cardinal; give him a red hat, so make of him a friend. He answered from the pulpit of St. Mark's: "I will have no other red hat than that of martyrdom, coloured with my own blood." Then he was summoned to appear in Rome.

This, however, he refused to do. Then came the ban of excommunication, but this brought with it no terrors. His answer to it is: "he who commands a thing contrary to the law of Christ, is himself excommunicated." "I may have failed in many things, for I am a sinner, but I have not shunned to declare the Gospel of Jesus Christ. They threaten to burn me or fling me into the Arno, that gives me no concern."

Ultimately he was arrested and charged with impiety and sedition, of these, however, there was no proof shown, until a certain man named Ser Cocone presented a forged doc.u.ment, and our hero was condemned to be burned. And on May 23rd, 1498, this n.o.ble saint of G.o.d pa.s.sed away.

Three platforms were erected in front of the palace; Savonarola was taken up to the central one, clad in his priestly robes. Then piece by piece the Bishop removed his vestments in the presence of the mult.i.tude, and p.r.o.nounced the degradation. "I separate thee from the church militant and from the church triumphant." "Nay," said the bold and daring saint, "from the church militant, if you please, but not from the church triumphant, that is more than you can do." He then mounted the pile and gave utterance to the following sentence; "Oh! Florence, what hast thou done this day." Soon there was nothing left but the ashes of Savonarola.

His spirit leapt into the chariot of fire, and he was with the martyr throng before the Throne. By order of the Commune, his ashes were thrown into the river Arno, so that no relic could be found of the patriot and martyr.

We could hardly leave Florence without giving some reference to Raphael, one of our world's greatest painters. Though not born in Florence, he spent a good deal of his life in the city. His education in the art was completed in Florence. He was born in the year 1483. Michael Angelo was to him an attraction and an inspiration. It is said that so fine was his genius, that in his time of tuition he could surpa.s.s his tutors. His most famous pictures are "Christ in the att.i.tude of prayer on the Mount of Olives," and "St. Michael and St. George," which are now in the Louvre, at Paris. The Pope gave him a grand reception on his entering Rome; and, while there, he executed some very fine pieces for his Holiness, which so pleased him that he ordered Raphael to give him other proofs of his artistic skill. He then painted on the Vatican walls figures of "Poetry," "Theology," "Justice," and "Philosophy"; also "The fall of Adam," "Astronomy," "Apollo," and "Philosophy." On another wall he painted "Fort.i.tude," "Prudence," "Temperance"; and on another place "The Emperor Justinian delivering the Roman law," "Peter's deliverance from prison," "Moses viewing the burning bush," "Jacob's dream," etc. It is said he turned the Vatican into a picture gallery. His pictures are in many countries and in many cities. He died at the early age of thirty-seven, on the same date he was born, and his body was conveyed to the Pantheon, in Rome, where it now rests. It is said of him, he was most affable, kind, and generous to a fault. He had an open manly countenance which inspired all who met him. Florence, fair city, must be credited with the training and making of this bright gem of the painter's art. Indeed, this city has given to the world some of the finest men of mind and soul the world has ever known. We felt proud to walk its streets and to know we were on ground that should be reverenced for the purity and greatness of the lives of the men we have referred to. We could not readily say good-bye, but time presses, and after a visit to the old Protestant Cemetery outside the Porta Pinta, which to Britishers is hallowed ground, as there are here the graves of Elizabeth Barrett Browning, the poetess to whom we have already referred our readers; also "Theodore Parker," and "Arthur Hugh Clough." This "city of the dead" was closed in 1870, and a new cemetery has been opened for Protestants about a mile outside the city. To try to describe the beauties of all the suburbs of Florence would require an abler pen than mine. So we must close our account at the "Minerva," take our last night's repose and leave for Venice.

We rose early in order to have a full day of interest and experiences.

We left this lovely place in the forenoon, and as our train was about to leave, a lady traveller who spoke good English boarded the train and entered our compartment. We soon became friendly and familiar. She spoke our language, she was of a kindred spirit, though not from England, she was of English stock and we soon discovered she came from Dunedin, New Zealand (Miss M. Himmel). She had visited Balmoral Castle in Scotland, and the Trossachs, Inverness, Glasgow and Edinburgh. Also Dublin in Ireland, The Giants' Causeway, Bantry Bay and the lovely Lakes of Killarney. She spent three months in our great city of London, and visited every important church, museum, picture gallery, etc. Also Norway with its weird and awe-inspiring scenery. Rome with its telling old world stories in stone, marble and bronze. Naples, Milan, Venice, Florence, Frankfort-on-the-Rhine, Bingen, Berlin, and to Cologne. Then to Paris, the gay city of France, to see its Notre Dame, its fine Boulevards, etc. Two weeks' sight seeing in Paris. Then to London and next Liverpool. Then for Dunedin, New Zealand and home. We found her well read and of wide experience, a lady both in manners, education, and by birth. We could exchange ideas and enjoy each others company as the train sped on towards Venice. The railway intersects a rich tract of land at the base of the Apennines. On our right the picturesque castle of Monte Mario, near which, we learned, at one time, the Florentine Republicans with their troops were defeated and taken prisoners by the troops of Cosino, in the year 1537. We soon found out our train was climbing, by the speed she made, up the great Etruscan Apennines we mount, now through a tunnel, then across a fine aqueduct. Again and again this occurred, while the sides of the vast mountain ranges, we noticed, were covered with trees-pines, poplars, chestnuts, olive, fig, mulberry, and others. The plains of Tuscany, which were now below us, are reputed to be the richest in Europe. Wheat is largely cultivated.

Rice is also sown in considerable quant.i.ties, and is used by the peasant for food. The use of buffaloes as beasts for farm use are common. No less than 3,000 are in constant use on the farms and vineyards of Tuscany. We saw waggons drawn by six buffaloes frequently. The grapes of the neighbourhood, through which we were pa.s.sing are said to be of an exceptional quality. As we pa.s.sed villages on the slopes of the hills, we saw the natives in their simplicity of dress and manner, at work and at home. At every gate where there was a crossing of the railway there was a woman, mostly aged, with a horn to warn travellers of the approaching train. Reaching a wayside station our train stopped, and I noticed on the platform an Italian girl with a rude simple table or stall on which were large bunches of grapes, I presumed for sale, so I alighted from the train and seized two bunches about one pound each. As I could not speak to her in her language, I took some change from my pocket and offered her the cost, so she took what she wished. She took twenty centimes, that is the value of twopence, so cheap are grapes in Italy.

At this station an Italian lady, and evidently two daughters, came into our compartment with a little fancy dog, which one of the daughters carefully nursed. They brought with them one or two large baskets. In a little while one of them took from a basket a very fine roast chicken, from which she began to feed the dog with the nicest pieces off the breast. When the animal was satisfied they spread napkins on their knees, and evidently enjoyed the rest of the fowl. Some rolls and b.u.t.ter and grapes for dessert, and also some bottles of wine were produced from the baskets. Later, as we needed refreshments, we had to be satisfied with a few sandwiches, but the ladies seeing we had no napkins, at once offered theirs, and, indeed, spread them over our knees, with the greatest delicacy and politeness. Then they offered us, and pressed us, though in a language we did not understand, to have grapes and wine with them. Their kindness and manner of giving expression to it touched us very much. They left us as we arrived at Bologna station, but our friend Miss Himmel, however, remained with us. We did not stay long enough to look over the town, but from its appearance it is a large and prosperous city, having a population of about 100,000. The cathedral is one of very great antiquity and importance. There are 130 Roman Catholic Churches and twenty monasteries in this city. There is a very fine Piazza or Square, called Victor Immanuel Square, in which is a fine bronze statue of Pope Gregory XIX. St. Petronio is the largest church in the town, in the Gothic style. Over the princ.i.p.al entrance is a bronze statue of Pope Julius II., with the keys and a sword in his hand, by Michael Angelo. We left Bologna after a short time of waiting, and were soon speeding through lovely and fertile tracts of country. The Adriatic on our right, not near enough to see, but the air seemed impregnated with its ozone.

Our approach to Venice became apparent as we crossed the lagoons with a roar and a rattle, the numerous arches (miles of them) told us we were near the city.

CHAPTER X.

Arrival at Venice: The ubiquitous Gondola: The Grand Ca.n.a.l: The curious water ways: Our Hotel: A snap shot of a Gondola and its freight: St.

Mark's Cathedral: Its curious history: Its wonderful Tower, and its interior adornments.

I think it was the most thrilling moment of our tour, as our train left Mestra, and almost immediately we began crossing the long bridge (two-and-a-half miles long) which crosses the lagoon, we seem to be travelling right into the sea, the gentle ripple of the watery waves by moonlight as they extend on either side of the line, has a pleasing effect. The peculiar smell of the seaweed is strong in the air, and right ahead is Venice, of which some poet has sung:

"There is a glorious city in the sea, The sea is in the broad, the narrow streets Ebbing and flowing, and the salt seaweed Clings to the marble of her palaces.

No track of men, no footsteps to and fro Lead to her gates! the path lies o'er the sea, Invisible: And from the land we went As to a floating city-steering in, And gliding up her streets as in a dream, So smoothly, silently-by many a dome Mosque-like, and many a stately portico The statues ranged along an azure sky, By many a pile, in more than Eastern pride, Of old the residence of merchant kings; The fronts of some, tho' time hath shattered them, Still glowing with the richest hues of art, As though the wealth within them had run o'er."

Our arrival at Venice was about eight o'clock in the evening, surely no time so fitting to be introduced to the fair Queen of the Adriatic. From the busy, bustling railway station we were concluded by a Fakena, who brought up our luggage to a gondola lying in the shimmering sea just outside. No cabs or 'bus as at other stations, the gondola seemed to be everywhere. As we stepped into our new found equipage we were entranced, imagination fails to picture a sight so bewitching. Lights in a thousand directions, gondolas pa.s.sing and repa.s.sing as we sweep through the princ.i.p.al waterway, then turn sharp round a corner as our gondolier cries: "Stali priene gai e" as he pa.s.ses others with most wonderful precision. We were thus conveyed to the door of the Grand Hotel Victoria, where for a short time we were to make our home. We found the house all we could desire, warm, clean sweet, and fitted up almost luxuriantly. To bed and a rest, and oh! how sweet after toil and travel.

We were awake and out early to see the sights of this unique city. We opened our eyes on a lovely picture, soft, dreamy, beautiful. The water, dotted over in all directions, with this strange craft. It seems this is the only means of locomotion. No cabs, omnibuses, carts, or even a barrow. There is no animal in Venice larger than a dog. Here the universal bike cometh not. The fashionable or unfashionable motor neither puffs nor smells. The train must not approach nearer than the head of the Grand Ca.n.a.l. A horse would be as great a novelty in Venice, I should think, as a ship in full sail would be in Wheeler Gate, Nottingham. Right from the water's edge at our hotel door, we could see gondolas gliding swiftly hither and thither. In Byron's "Beppo" we find the following lines:

"Did'st ever see a Gondola; for fear you should not I'll describe it exactly, 'Tis a long covered boat common here, Carved at the prow, built lightly but compactly, Rowed by two rowers, each called gondolier; It glides along the water looking blackly, Just like a coffin clapt in a ca.n.a.l, Where none can make out what you say or do."

[Picture: Mrs. Wardle and Miss Himmel in gondola, Venice]

Appearing suddenly, through unsuspected gateways and alleys, yonder, we see vast bridges and stately palaces of marble throw their shadows athwart the glittering waves. There seems life and motion everywhere, and yet there is no noise. There seems a hush as if suggestive of secret enterprise, of mysterious shadows, of the departed greatness of this still great city. Old Petrarch might well exclaim: "I know not that the world hath the equal of this place."

Standing at our hotel door, the gondolier waiting for my wife and our friend Miss Himmel, I ventured (after they had seated themselves) to take a snap with my camera to secure some little permanent reminder of the curiosity of this manner of travel. The gondola is a most handy and quick means of getting about. We were out in the Grand Ca.n.a.l, and the sight was, to say the least, most interesting. Here is a party of young ladies and gentlemen, with their gondola decorated with ribbons in various colours, and with them, evidently, an opera or chorus party, with their guitar, and some other peculiar instruments of music, but sweet as the evening zephyrs, as the sounds floated over the silvery sea. The gondolas are all black, why? I am unable to say; but I don't think I saw one either brown or red, or green or white, simply painted black. The stern of the boat is usually decorated with a kind of matting or carpet, at its prow the gondolier stands, he has only a single oar. A long bladed oar, so he stands erect. How he can scull ahead at such a speed is a mystery, and at once pull back when there is danger. He seems to make all his calculations with the greatest precision, he never makes a mistake. Mark Twain says: "The gondolier is a picturesque rascal for all he wears no satin harness, no plumed bonnet, no silken tights. His att.i.tude is stately, he is lithe and supple; all his movements are full of grace."

A party of ladies go out shopping in a gondola, this may seem strange, but it is really true. They flit from street to street, and from shop to shop, they leave the gondola as a lady here leaves her carriage or her motor, by the curb, while they have rolls and rolls of silk or muslin or linen unrolled, and then, perhaps, have just enough cloth to make the pet dog at home a paletot. Human nature, we find, is much the same the world over. Boys and girls go to school in the gondola, while they jump and kick, and fight on the way, but only in play, until landed at the school house gateway. Nurses are out in the gondola with babies for an airing, and to pa.s.s away the sunny hours on the waters. Families go to church in the gondolas, dressed in their best, they are soon sculled to the place where they are wont to worship. The mail boat is a gondola, with its freight of letters newly arrived, and is always interesting. Funerals are also carried out in the same way. The gondola is heavily draped in black velvet and silver tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs, and furnished with huge candles lighted, surmounting the canopy, under which lies one who, in his turn has trodden the silent highways in the enjoyment of health, but is now on his last journey, accompanied by the solemn chant of the priestly requiem. Business men come or go in the gondola as we do here in cab or motor. The doctor visits his patients in and out of the quaint old city, not on a bicycle, but in a gondola. We saw a party flitting, the furniture remover brought his gondolas, and furniture was handed out into this strange vehicle for such a purpose. At Venice it is common, indeed, the only way possible of conveying goods or furniture from house to house. So, for almost all purposes, the gondola is useful. We found it a most enjoyable, as well as a speedy means of getting about. To say there are no streets in Venice would be hardly true, or to say you cannot get from place to place only by water. There are only three bridges cross the Grand Ca.n.a.l which divides the city into pretty nearly equal halves. The city is built upon one hundred and seventeen islands, intersected by one hundred and fifty small ca.n.a.ls, and two thousand five hundred and eighty pa.s.sages or waterways; but almost all the waterways have a footpath bordering it, while four hundred bridges unite one island to another. It is, however, very bewildering to pace the mazes of this strange city. If you get five hundred yards from your starting point, you may have to cross half a dozen bridges before you can get back again.

[Picture: St. Mark's Cathedral, Venice]

Our first visit was paid to the cathedral or church of St. Mark's, and this wonderful building, for it is a wonderful place, has a wonderful history; it is this: when the Caliph of Alexandria, who was bitterly opposed to the Christian religion, was building for himself a magnificent palace, he gave orders that the most precious marbles were to be procured for its adornment, and to this end the Christian churches were to be stripped of their richest treasure. A raid was made on the church of St.

Mark at Alexandria, where the body of the Saint was said to rest in a state of spiritual repose, and so great was the grief of the two Greek Priests who officiated in the temple that their cries and lamentations came to the ears of two Venetian merchants who chanced to be trading in that port. When these merchants found out the cause of their trouble they offered to take away the body of St. Mark and secure for it a sweet resting place in their own country. The Priests at first disliked the idea, but when the temple was profaned and robbed and stripped of all that made it attractive, they gave consent. It was a work that was very risky they thought, for St. Mark had been known to work strange miracles, and was held in great awe and veneration by the people. However, they entered the tomb in which the body lay, cut open the wrapper in which the sacred remains were enfolded, removed the body and subst.i.tuted the body of St. Claudian therein. How to carry the body away safely was their next consideration. They fell upon the following stratagem. Placing the body in a large basket covered with herbs and savoury joints of pork, they bore it along the streets crying: "Khan zir! Khan zir!" Pork!

Pork! A cry hateful to all true Mussulmen. In this manner they reached the vessel with their precious burden in safety, where, in order to make sure of their prize, they concealed the body in the sails until they left the city. It is said the Venetians received the sacred remains with wild demonstrations of joy. A succession of fetes were given, ceremonies were held in honour of the Saint, pilgrims flocked to the shrine from all parts of the world. A revival in the fortunes of the Venetian Republic followed, and for a time the cry was often heard "Viva san Marco!" To secure a fitting resting place for the body thus secured from Alexandria, this church of St. Mark was built. It is a five domed Romanesque structure, decked with 500 marble columns. It contains more than 45,000 square feet of mosaics of the tenth century. In form it is of a Greek cross. Marble from the Haram floors of Eastern potentates panel its walls and cover its princ.i.p.al porticos, and over its grand portals stand the four horses of gilded bronze which were taken from the arches of Nero and Trajan at Rome. They were first taken by Constantine in the fourth century after Christ to Venice. Then they were taken from Venice again, and this time to Paris by Napoleon, but they were restored to Venice in the year 1815. And here, as we saw them, they look most attractive. The Campanile or Tower of St. Mark's is not a part of the building, but stands a little way off. It rises to the height of 322 feet, and at the top is one of the largest and finest vanes I ever saw, it is that of an angel with wings outstretched gilded with gold. It was from the tower of St. Mark's that Galileo made most of his astronomical observations. We visited several churches of importance, but they are pretty much alike.

All have their high altars and immense wax candles burning; the picture of the Madonna in prominent places. The confessional box for the natives, also for strangers and travellers such as we were. We, however, declined to patronize this particular line. If we must confess at all, we certainly take the Psalmist for our ideal, he said: "I said I will confess my transgressions unto the Lord, and thou forgavest the iniquity of my sins." Psalm 32, verse 5. Plenty of Holy Water and evidently plentifully used, as nearly every one coming in puts his fingers in the bowl and makes the sign of the cross on his forehead. Cowled monks paced the floor with noiseless tread. Priests and Bishops in their distinctive dress are not scarce. I gathered from some source that there are 1,200 priests in Venice, a city of about 100,000 people. It seems as if everything had to bend to the church and the priest. In the church you have riches without end, there are huge columns carved out of solid marble and inlaid from top to bottom with hundreds of delicate figures wrought in costly verde antique; pulpits of the richest material, whose draperies hang down in many a lovely picture, showing the artist's work from the loom. The Grand Altar, brilliant with agate, jasper and all manner of precious stones and slabs of what is almost priceless, the lapis lazuli, which is on all sides lavishly laid as if of no value. Yet in the midst of all this display of wealth and of lavish expenditure, all about and at the doors of the churches a dozen or more of hats or bonnets are doffed and heads bowed in mute appeal and a hundred hands extended appealing for help. Appealing in a language we could not understand, but with sad, pitiful eyes and hollow cheeks and tattered garments, no words were needed to translate their wants. I wondered why all these riches should lie idle and so many poor actually starving. Mark Twain, when visiting Italy, said: "Oh! Sons of cla.s.sic Italy, is the spirit of enterprize, of self reliance, of n.o.ble endeavour, utterly dead within ye.

Why don't you rob the church?"

CHAPTER XI.

The Pigeons in St. Mark's Square: Further description of the interior: The Palace of the Doges: "The Bridge of Sighs": The general Archives of Venice: The Church of Santa Maria dei Frari: London Polytechnic Party: Some of the slums of Venice: Our farewell.

In the Piazza of St. Mark's there may be seen, almost any time, some hundreds of pigeons. They are very tame, we pa.s.sed them so closely I think we could have picked them up in our arms. There is an old legend that these pigeons are the safety valve of Venice. How? it is difficult to learn, but they are regarded almost with reverence. Twice a day they are fed by the public authorities. A huge bell is rung, and they come from all quarters of the city. They know the time of feeding and to show visitors that this is true, when the bell is not rung, the pigeons are there. If anyone hurts or kills one of these pigeons, he is fined heavily for the first offence, if it is repeated he is imprisoned. We went inside this beautiful church of St. Mark's and at first we could not realise the magnificence, the beauty, the costliness of its interior.

The columns of porphry and amalachite and verde antique, panels glittering with gold and gems, pavements dazzling in mosaic work.

After some time we began to realize the splendours by which we were surrounded. Mr. Ruskin, I think, gives a fine picture in very simple words of the beauties and richness of St. Mark's: "Then opens before us a vast cave hewn out in the form of a cross, and divided into shadowy aisles by many pillars. Round the domes of its roof, the light enters only through narrow apertures, like large stars; here and there a ray or two from some far away cas.e.m.e.nt wanders into darkness, and casts a narrow phosphoric stream upon the waves of marble that heave and fall in a thousand colours upon the floor. What else there is of light is from torches or silver lamps burning ceaselessly in the recesses of the chapels. The roof sheathed with gold, and the polished walls, covered with rich alabaster, gives back at every curve and angle some feeble gleaming to the flames: and the glories round the heads of the sculptured saints flash out upon us as we pa.s.s them, and sink into gloom. Under foot and over head a continual succession of crowded imagery, one picture pa.s.sing into another as in a dream; forms beautiful and terrible, mixed together, dragons and serpents and ravenous beasts of prey, and graceful birds that in the midst of them, drink from running fountains and feed from vases of crystal. The pa.s.sions and pleasures of human life symbolized together and the mystery of its redemption; for the ma.s.s of interwoven lines and changeful pictures lead always at last to the Cross lifted and carved in every place and upon every stone, sometimes with the serpent of eternity wrapped around it, with doves beneath its arms, and sweet herbage growing forth from its feet. But conspicuous most of all is the great road that crosses the church before the altar, raised in the bright blazonry against the shadow of the Apse."

To describe all the interior of this lovely structure would be as easy as to describe our British Museum in London. We were enchanted, bewildered, surprised. The baptistery, with its sculptured front, and for an altar piece a ma.s.sive granite slab, on which, it is alleged, our Lord stood when he preached to the inhabitants of Tyre. Then the choir stalls are rich in carvings of every description, indeed, everywhere about us are treasures unspeakable. The outside is hardly less wonderful than the inside, with its domes, spires, statues, arches and columns, which fairly bewilder you, as for the first time your eyes fall upon such marvellous productions of the skilful workmanship of man. The King's palace or what is called the Palace of the Doges is just against the Piazza or Square of St. Mark's. Against one of the columns at the entrance I took a snapshot of my dear wife and our friend Miss Himmel. This place is full of things ancient and interesting. Ruskin says of its many coloured marbles, columns, arches, and curiously sculptured windows: "A piece of rich and fantastic colour, as lovely a dream as ever filled the imagination." It has been twice destroyed by fire, but from the ashes it has arisen more beautiful than ever; here it stands to-day a monument of a strange and eventful history of over one thousand years.

[Picture: Mrs. Wardle and Miss Himmel by The Doges Pillar, Venice]

The power of the Doges it seems, was an absolute power for a time, yet was of uncertain tenure. Out of fifty, it is said, five abdicated, nine were exiled, five were banished and their eyes put out, and five were ma.s.sacred, this up to 1172. Life was of little value in those days, even amongst kings, nor was it less so amongst the people, as often a man accused was condemned without trial, punishment was swift and sure and secret, generally by strangulation in prison, or by drowning, hands tied and body weighted. It was no uncommon sight in those days in this land to see a body swinging from the gallows by the wayside. No one dared to enquire about the unhappy man's fate, or he stood in danger of similar treatment. Everywhere there was unsafety and fear. As Rogers, one of our poets, puts it:

"A strange mysterious power was there, Moving throughout; subtle, invisible And universal as the air they breathed.

A power that never slumbered, never pardoned, All eye, all ear, nowhere, and everywhere; Most potent when least thought of-Nothing dropt In secret, when the heart was on the lips, Nothing in feverish sleep, but instantly Observed and judged-A power that if but glanced at In casual converse, be it where it might, The speaker lowered at once his eyes, his voice And pointed upwards as to G.o.d in heaven.

But, let him in the midnight air indulge A word, a thought against the laws of Venice, And in that hour he vanished from the earth."

Those were dark days in this city of wealth and power. We were not permitted inside the palace, but were allowed to ascend the staircase at the head of which is the famous "lions' mouths," into which, in ancient times, were placed terrible denunciations, secret letters, etc., which meant, what I have already referred to, imprisonment, torture or death.

Also, along a long corridor, where we could see the busts of the Venetian heroes, whose names were enrolled in the "Golden Book." Beyond is the hall of the Grand Council, in which are some of the richest and most valuable pictures in Venice. There is Tintoretto's masterpiece, "The glory of Paradise," the largest picture (74 feet long) ever painted on canvas, the most precious thing in Venice to-day. From the hall of the Grand Council, there is further on the hall of the Council of Ten.

Indeed, the rooms are so many, so large and so full of things of interest, we left the place greatly interested and very tired.

Another marvellous old church we visited was erected in 1565. It is, however, much like other churches, full of pictures, bronze statues and carvings in wood in great variety. The tomb of t.i.tian is an object of interest in the Church of Frari, but time does not permit us to dwell upon it. The offices of the general archives of Venice are very fine buildings, they were in the cloisters of the Frari, they are now simply the resting places of the most ancient records of the old republic. It is said there are now over fourteen million volumes of immense value stored there. They occupy thirteen large rooms. The museum is a place worth a visit to those who are interested in curios. It belongs to the city, and in it are many curiosities, chiefly artistical and archaeological-antique medals, armoury, engravings, books, ivory, engraved stones. It is a place of great interest.

We crossed the famous "Bridge of Sighs," immortalised by Lord Byron, who says:

"I stood in Venice, on the bridge of sighs, A palace and a prison on each hand."

It was built in the year 1610. We could not fail to remember Tom Hood's pathetic poem, written, it is believed, after seeing a poor girl, one of the unfortunates, whose corpse has just been discovered in the cold black waters under this bridge of sighs-Drowned! drowned!

"One more unfortunate weary of breath, Rashly importunate, gone to her death; Take her up tenderly, lift her with care; Fashioned so slenderly, young and so fair.

Touch her not scornfully, think of her mournfully, Gently and humanly; not of the stains of her, All that remains of her now is pure womanly.

Make no deep scrutiny into her mutiny, Rash and undutiful, past all dishonour, Death has left on her only the beautiful.

Still for all slips of hers, one of Eve's family, Wipe those poor lips of hers, oozing so clammily.

Loop up her tresses, escaped from the comb, Her fair auburn tresses, while wonderment guesses Where was her home? Who was her father?

Who was her mother? Had she a sister?

Had she a brother? Or was there a dearer one Still and a nearer one yet than the others?

Alas for the rarity of christian charity Under the sun, Oh! it was pitiful!

Near to a city full, home she had none.

Where the lamps quiver, so far on the river, With many a light from window and cas.e.m.e.nt From garret to bas.e.m.e.nt, she stood with amazement Homeless by night. The bleak wind of March Made her tremble and quiver, but not the dark arch Or the black flowing river, mad with life's history Glad to death's mystery, swift to be hurled Anywhere, anywhere, out of the world.

In she plunged boldly, no matter how coldly The rough river ran.

Over the brink of it. Picture it, think of it.

Then if you can, take her up tenderly, Lift her with care; fashioned so slenderly, So young and so fair. E'er her limbs frigidly Stiffen so rigidly, decently, kindly Smooth and compose them, and her eyes close them Staring so blindly, dreadfully staring Through muddy impurity. As when the daring Last look of despairing, fixed on futurity.