Ashtabula weekly telegraph. [volume] (Ashtabula, Ohio) 1853-1873, 1870-09-03
Letter from Rev. Mr.. McGiffert.



tail little of my experience In ofair and sun.
ny Italy" And "sunny Italy" indeed found
II; uDcomfortably ~. For the first time since
leaving home, could have thought myself
had closed my eyes and ears, back In Amer
ca. enjoying. or bearing, as The case may be,
few Of those broiling days which our July sun
brings with It, TiIere have been days IN
Switzerland, in Germany, even in England,
which the Inhabitants called hot an Ameri-
can scarcely thinks II warm till he has crossed
the Alps but then he will find IL quite as hot
as he desires. If you have walked on the
sunny side of a street in New York city, when
the thermometer indicated 100 dogs In The
shade, you can understand at least one phase
of our italian experience.
Our course from Switzerland brought us first
10 Milan, the ancient capitol of Lombardy, Il
thriving city of 100000. famous chiefly for its
Cathedral or Duoms which is considered ihe
most magnificent in the world. The building
Is constructed of white marble, much ofwhich,
however, has long since ceased TO be white !;
and is peClect forest of pinnacles and spires,
and statues The statues are from 1000 to
1000 in number, VIC did not take the time TO
count them, and the authorities vary between
these figures; and there are inches or pedes-
tails for several thousand more. The work on
the building is yet going forward, is estimated
that it will be completed in about $50 years
from the present date.
Our ride to Venice was across one of the
most beautiful countries l have ever seen,
mostly level, with the Alps on the left as a
background, with orchards and vineyards on
every side; the vines mainly planted among
the trees and fcstooned from one tree TO an.
other But how shall 1 describe Venice, that
strange. unique city of the Adratic? =? Imagine
yourself, Mr.. Editor, stepping out OF rail-
road depot, which the train Ii s reached by a
bridge of two miles over an arm of the sea,
and finding yourself on the shore of broad
street whose pavement is water. whose horses
are boatmen, whose Omnibuses and cabs and
carts are gopd olas, and whose rushing popula-
ton are borne smoothly and noiselessly hither
and thither, amid crowd of black, dingy
high proved row-boats. You seat yourself in
the hotel omnibus, and glide along the broad
street, yclept the Grand Canal; you turn sud-
denly into narrow, crooked street, perhaps
five yards wide, between high buildings, with
no sidewalks, nothing but water between the
houses. You emerge again into wide canal
and again, without warning, plunge into n
dark, dismal ditch, where there is scarce room
for boat to pass; and at last you stop at the
base of fight of stone stairs which descend
into the water, and you are at your Hotel.
There is at first a sense of loneliness, almost
of disgust, you resolve to leave this dismal
city as soon as possible; and you wonder that
everybody is not drowned by stepping by mis-
take out of some back door-you certainly
fear that this catastrophe will happen to your
SELF How children ever live to manhood in
this city of waters, is a mystery they must
learn to swim when babes. But after time
you find that Venice is not altogether water.
Your hotel which opened on one side on a Ca
nal, opens on the other on stone pavement,
on which you step cautiously almost expect
ing it to float away with you, but gaining con-
fidence, you press forward, and soon find
yourself in the Grand Square of the city,
place somewhat larger than our Ashtabula
Park, surrounded by stores and restaurants,
and crowded at night with the population of
streets, bending and winding in. all directions,
crossing the canals on raised bridges, so that
person can walk through greater part of this
city of waters. But the only mode of convey
ance is by water. The four bronze horses,
which, with such singular inappropriateness,
adorn the Yestibule of the Church of st. Marc,
the inhabitants tell you, are tho only horses in
the city: and the donkey and mule, those con-
stant beast of burden in the East, are missing.
Venice is not a handsome city. No one but a
poet, enraptured with its wondrous history,
could think it so. 1t has many fine buildings,
but these are injured by a gaudy. 0yerdone.
Oriental TASTE The Cathedral of st. Marc.
its famous church, is the most uncouth and
awkward in appearance of all the churches
have visited. Its ceiling and floors arc of mo-
sale and bronze; its entire construction and
adornment indicate great expense, yet all is
marred by an utter lack of taste. The Gothic
and Oriental styles are mingled confusedly to-
gether, domes and spires conspire to rob each
other of all beauty. What would be very fine
separated and taken in detail, becomes, in the
strange aggregate, utter homeliness. The
Doge's Palace is, internally, the most beautiful
building in the city; the walls and ceilings Of
the rooms are covered with large paintings
and adorned with massive gildings: yet even
this Is overdone, and the spectator longs for
something that is plain or common to relieve
the excessive gaudiness.
OF course we stood on the "Bridge of
Sghs," gloomy, covered archwAy, connect
ing the Palace with the Prison, and thought of
the old Latin inscription, "who crosses here
leaves hope behind" We descended by the
| light Of a candle. into the dungeons where 80
many victims of tyranny were immured in the
days of Venices pride and power. We saw
the SuangliDg room and instruments of tor
ture, and stood by the executioners block. 1t
was painful, dreadful place-we seemed sur
rounded by the ghouls and ghosts of history
and we thanked God, as we breathed again the
pure air, that we were not born in those dark
ages, but in this glorious 10th century, when
light and freedom are reaching and lifting up
even these long debased and suffering nations.
The railroad TO Florence took us across the
Apprentices, or rather through them. The
guide-book describes the scenery as grand, and
our ignorance will readily assent TO the state