Wichita eagle., 1888-09-08
A. DAY IN VENICE.
A TRAVELLERS GLIMPSE OF ITS
DREAMY AND iDYLLic LIFE.

|
lam soon down stairs for simple break
fase OF coffee, rolls and omelet, and out OF
my way to the Piazza As pass over th.
Ponte della Paglia, the gondoliers are clean
ing their boats and polishing the bras
mountings aud iron prows till they glisten IL
the sun like refined gold and silver. In ths
Piazza all is life, and yet that dreamy sort Of
life make Venice so idyllic; the shops are al
open, and the cafes serving to natives and
tourists the morning meal The windows In
the arcade flash out their brilliant setting Of
jewelry, gems, lovely Venetian glass, rare
curios and stuffs from the east. like q price
less girdle around this matchless square OF
San Marco.
OF course, my first duty and pleasure, as II
is my MONDAY and closing one, is to enter
st. Marks church: to wander about within
the aisles and arches; to sit for an hour in
some secluded corner, and contemplate Its
marvellous architecture Of piers, Of vaults, OF
| domes; its almost inconceivable riches OF
alabaster, Of marbles, Of porphyry, bronzes,
| gold, silver, statuary and mosaics; to drink
it all in, and fill the soul with calm and salts
| flying delight, ard to return again and again
end again day by day to the same feast,
|
From the Piazetta at the Molo a gondola
takes me along the grand canal to visit the
manufactures Of mCsaics, glass, furniture
| and delightful Venetian iron work. Noon
time comes all too soon, and so leaving my
gondolier at the Rialto, with the admonition
to be at the Molo at o'clock, pass down
through the Merceria and make my way on
to the Piazza, stopping at one of the little
Oh cir 1l,a% k<y,~ 80
the pigeons; others are before me, for the
bell ON the Tore delr Orologio has struck the
noon hour, and around the square many are
engaged in the same charming occupation. I
stop beside young country woman within
one of the arches, who has score of these
beautiful birds on her person, one two, three,
on top OF each other, all pushing, pecking
and cooling for the bright, golden grain which
she holds in her dainty outstretched hands,
and the happy smile on her fair face attests
to the pure enjoyment she Is having.
A group Of little ones, sitting on the pave
ment, around the base Of one Of the bronze
pedestals to the flagstaffs, with the birds all
about them, in their laps, on their hands, is
another pretty sight, till some one on the
other side Of the piazza coos to the birds
The pigeons simultaneously, from all direc-
tons. rise and go swooping and swirring
down upon 1t en- masse as it falls to the pave
ment.
After lunch, or dejeuner, visits to the
ducal palace, the churches and academia fills
up the time till p. m, when return to st.
Marks to listen to the chanting of the choir.
And what a chorus it is. Never before have
I heard such sacred music; the strong, clear
voices of the young mingle with the deep
tremor Of the aged fathers; the grandly
toned organ peals forth its stirring &C
compartment in delightful harmony.
rest upon the marble seat within the
shadow of the south aisle, and the music
seems to come from far away; it swells up
among the arches and dones and comes
down in mellowed and subdued reflections,
and dies away in gentle and lingering echo
which seems to love and caress the very air
it pulsates.
Leaving st. Marks, find my gondolier
punctual at the appointed time, and we start
out for our daily drift up the Grand canal as
far as the station and back again, which oc-
cupies two hours, or till dinner time. call
it drifting, for that comes nearest to express
ing the silent, almost n1otionless gliding of
this most fascinating Of conveyances. The
gondoier uses his oar, it is true, but the ac-
ton is SO graceful, the exertion apparently
SO easy, the progress SO dreamy and slow
that it seems to be simply drifting, as if car
ried along by some unseen current. Never
before have I known what loafing, par ex-
cellence, ideal restroom all physical and
mental activity-meant; the cushions are
soft as down, my gondolier most entertain
ing fellow, my cigarette the finest Alexan-
dria, the afternoon simply perfect, the Grand
canal wonderland, all quiet and still, with
not a sound save the distant warning cry Of
some gondolier at the entrance Of side
canal; and as l lie back and throw aside my
hat and let the refreshing breeze play
through my hair, I am content.
Dinner being over, l once more direct my
steps to the Piazza. The lamps are all aglow,
and, if possible, the square is more enchant-
ing by night than by day. Standing just to
the right of the archway opening to the
Merceria, one gets the finest view Of the
scene. The moon is midway up the eastern
sky, just above st. Marks, her mellow light
dimming the lamps Of the Piazza; the males
tic Campanile is outlined in sharp silhouette,
its angel crowned spire seeming to reach up
and lose itself amid the shining stars; it
casts full dark shadow the full length OF
the Piazza in strong contrast to the white
ness Of the moon lit pavement
The shops are all ablaze; diamonds, sap
phires, rubies, emeralds, pearls, corals, gold
and Genoese work flash back the fire from O
thousand lights. The Arcade is full Of surg
ing humanity; the tables at the entrances to
the cafes and out on the pavement are sur
rounded by almost every nationality, slipping
coffee and granita. The band stationed in
the center of the square gives to the scene
the added charm Of fine music. Dark eyed
Venetian maidens smile at one through q
maze of soft black lace, mysteriously wound
about their heads half conceaing, half re-
vealing their beautiful faces. Flower girls
laden with baskets or trays OF exotics find
ready sales, for the custom IS universal; and
Rosa, the fairest Of them all, 30 deity and
coquertishly fixes boutonniere in your
lapel that one hasn't the heart to refuse the
few sous anyway.
What scenel One never to be forgotten.
and as write, the memory Of it makes the
time seem thousand years till am fortu-
nate enough to be once more In Venice
Well might Jacopo Foscari beg OF his i'm
placable judges to allow him to return to die
In Venics!-Cor. Boston Transcript
4 Tobacco Hungry Indian.
In 1889 and 1855, while travelling for large
ST. Louis house in the Indian territory,
learned more Of Indian traits and Indian