The record-union., 1894-02-24
THE STIPPLES FAMILY IN VENICE.
Copyright, 1894. All rights reserved.l ]

Copyright, 1894. All rights reserved.l
When Saltwater Stipples, Esq, with
the aid of his lively servant, Dennis Nc
Cam, had rescued his luggage from the
lusty porters, boat-hookers and rival
gondoliers at the railway terminus, in
Venice, and saw this luggage, with his
family-comprising his faithful wife, his
son, Master Burr Weighton Stipples, des-
tined for the ministry without consulta-
ton with the latter, his two daughters,
Nenetia and Olive, and their maid, Rose
safely within the huge omnibus gondOla
which was to convey them to their lodg-
ings, midway between the Rialto and st.
Marks on the Grand Canal, he sat down
beside his wife, who had a limp way OF
closing her eyes and opening her vinia-
grette in the face of unusual Of Incl
dents of travel, as sternly mute as par
lor clock.
my dream is at last realized" sighed
Venetia Stipples, crossing her hands
and rolling her eyes in sentimental exul-
tation.
"Oh, bother your DREAM" replied
Olive Stipples, with mingled snort and
giggle. "My! Those gondoliers' toes
spread just like andiron claws. Sis, just
look! Ones making eyes at you as sure's
Pm alivep'
''The warm blood of the East,' muir
INJURED Venetia. Don't mind it, Olive,
dear. Think OF the rapture of this balmy
air, this Zephyrus breeze, these hyallne
waters, this tender, melting sky, these
storied associations. To think L am at
last in Venice-Bride OF the Sea! Oh, L
just can't find words for utteranceW
Don't try" said Olive with another
spiteful little giggle, cut short by the
lurching of the gondola, terminating her
laughter in pretty "ouch, i" while Mas
ter Burr Weighton SuppleS gIOWered as
though no hap or scene should be per-
lnitted to take his luminous intellect un-
awares; Mrs. Stipples grOaned softly and
pressed the viniagrette more closely to
her reddening nose; Mr.. Stpples COM
pressed his lips more tightly; Rose gave
a timid little start and looked appealngiy
at Dennis; and Dennis McCann, ever
ready for war upon the male Italian OF
any age or station, half rising and intro
ducing his pugnacious intentions with,
'By th' Grasses" began sundry violent
head jerkings at the grinning gondollers,
which would have been followed by more
than menace had not Mr.. Stipples at that
moment roared out,
MCCAIN, set downo
but hotly, "but if l had thin two dagos
on land, fur tn wink o. me eye. sor, I'd
tache Thin chune not Naynayshun, ay-
thur!"
''Oh, Lord, yes; so you would. Be
have yourself, or pn discharge you this
minute!"
''Divil hap'orth I'd be carin' thin, no.
tice am wages an all, if L had it fair out
wild th' shamers they are. Hoo, ye mo-
laSseS-skinned haythenp
''Mirandy, Mirandyp' groaned Mr..
Stipples to his apparently somnolent
wife, that fellow'n git US all in some
Internal dungeon yit. at Bolony he
sassed the church-keeper and got yanked
in. Twenty-Five dollars for that scrape.
at Parry the gensdarmy didn't suit him.
Counsil-Generala and forty dollars there.
At Gibraltar the sunset salute shot all the
clothes often him. Forty dollars more
there. All 'lOng the Riveery it was row
and rumpus and racket and buyin' him
out the clutches of one-hoss guv'ments;
and here we are, not fairly inside these
pesky Vennus bitches, another row on,
and all of US likely to git stabbed with
stilletters or slit with daggers atore we
kin git under shelter. Ii this is doin'
Urup with a vally, then Dennis McCann's
doin' the doin'. and Saltwater Stipple's
doin' the valIy. Fudge on Urup, emmy
howl Wish we was TO hum!
''Oh. Saltwater" pIalntively returned
poor little Mrs. Stipples, do remember
we're finishing Burr and the girls!''
"Finishin'? l should think so. They
are finishin' US, Mirandy. l didn't need
any finishin' to make my money. You
didn't need any tinishin' to git your
goodness. Rose didn't need any fnishin'
to tend to her work. Dennis didn't need
any finishin' to drive my best coal wagon
on the East Side, New ork City. Nene
oot too much hniShln at NasSar. And
mat boy of ours ought to be shovelin
coal 'stead of studyin for the ministry"
Don't, saltwater, don't"
ssThat there Olive of ours and me and
Won Mirandy, and Rose, and she's Irish
are the only out and out, up and up, all
around Americans in the hull loti''
''Oh, Saltwater! DO think OF New York
society,""
ino the gondola fondo a vicious jab with
his heels, land hate it, bag and bag
cage. No comfort in it. Lord! I'd give
6a1f Fm worth to never seen it; and if
th;s nGn, biah RI art moonin',v here Mr.. Stipples
stole furtive glance at Venetia, lost in
her gentle raptures and raphsodies, and
these theology cantrips," here be Scowled
at Master Burr Weighton Snpples, who
sat clutching his Kodak and moodIly
luncheon off his cane ''and this coal cart
vallv business don't let up pretty soon
I,u-I'll put Nenetia in nunnery, Burr
in asyIum, pitch Dennis McCann into a
Vennus ditch and start for hum. By
thunder if l don't!'
It was with such mingled and diverse
emotions that the Stipples family and
their attendants glided with the yellow
rays of the afternoon Italian sun along
the Grand Canal, coming at last to one OF
those decaying palaces whose sepulchral
interiors. separated into damp and mourn
fIll apartments, are leased at fabulous
l,rices to adventurous tourists, while
4beIr decaying noblemen owners are strug
cling with the problems Of Italian taxa
lion. cocoOns and sour wine between the
great Venetian plain and the misty Alps
beyond.
An imposing house it bad been in its
day. with huge columns. wondrously
carved spandrels and volutes, with bal
comics filmy as lace but now like dirty
f1ecks of foam across its dingy facade.
with massive crumbling stairs leading
from the water edge to the shadowy en-
france. forest-like in multifoils of dingy
marble and hand-wroughtiron and brass,
in ancient torch holders of bellying Gu
nids. strange screens with emaciated
satvrs and much other dead-age demon
oIo1v peering from bronze and brass and
Rnt there was a true Venetian welcome
.,raiting them at Casa Patrice. half
dozen ancient gransieri, those "crab