Daily Kennebec journal., 1897-09-11

and woe of the, Madonna s lifeL still thrills
| us. One OF our pleasantest experiences
| was our dip in the Adriatic the warmth ::
and rsyiy.f YIN g-sa atfness 1f ghcse Gaesra1
| VIII, we feel SIRE, make our days long
| in the land
Reluctantly we boarded a steamer on
| the Grand Canal, could anything seem
more incongruous. more dissertation.
| than to hear a steam-whistle on those
waters? We soon reached the Ida where
| short tram-ride brought us to the bag
| Mo. When arrayed for the plunge. we
| presented even worse appearance than
is customary on such occasions. for the
imp of misfits had outdone himself. and
confusion worse Confounded" reigned
among those costumes. After our hours
splash and swim E. endeavored to get
picture of our pretty attendant little re-
alizng what a deluge of Italian would
swamp her. When after most expressive
pantqmime we succeeded in conveying the
idea, we We're astonished to see the dam
sci dart down the passageway out of
sight. In moment she returned fol-
lowed. we should imagine, by every fe-
maze friend and relative she possessed to
share the honor. Noise, only, the uproar
at the tower of Babel could have exceed
ed the vociferous chattering and shrieks
from the army that surrounded us. vary
ing i'll ages from fifteen to fifty. We
know now that vanity dies hard in wOm-
an, for every homely, wrinkled Madre
struggled for the front seat. Unselfshly
our little attendant stood Tin the back
ground till we interfered and put her in
the most prominent position Theresa!
Feice! Margherita!' each screamed sep-
ar;tely and in concert pointing to them
selves and each other to signify that one
and all wanted their counterfeit present.
ment. We nodded assent, but almost de-
SPARED of success. but it came in time.
blessings from The delighted sitters.
which we felt if we did not comprehend.
we LETT the noisy happy group.
The last day in Venice"' were ever five
words more heavily freighted with re-
gret. We walked to La Piazza, the doves'
came hungrly as at first but it seemed to
us there was a sadder cadence i'm their :
coo. Dreamily We slipped our lemonade
Mt Floran's whose doors have not even
closed by night or day for three entire
centuries. Slowly we ascended the GaIpsf
panile-a haze hung over city and canal
which we could well believe was tcatrsed =
by our dim sight. as we bad farewell to
Venice, whose waters are the Lethe
stream that rings forgetfulneSs of all
earth's struggles and ambitions.- Fffsyr
tunnels, by actual count. following each
other in rapid succession. made the valley"
of Tuscany (which lay before as we
emerged from the last of these tunnelsp
by contrast, well as by it's own ver-
dure, rightly named the garden of Italy
With its background of rugged Pyrenees
It's Vineyards-where rows on rows OF
fruit trees were looped with vines loaded
with purple and white grapes--its millions
of olive trees and many wayside shrine4-
how beautiful the road that leads to Flor-
ence? We fully realize that we only mace
our obeisance to that wondrous city, ana
that to know her as she was and is re-
quircs years of closest intimacy. and yet,
with all we left unseen. we'd travel thrice
as many miles to gain once more a fleet
ing vision of fair Florence. The treas
ures of the Ufflzi and the Pitt Palace. are
overwhelming. We sat in the Tribuna be-
fore the masterpieces of the world IN
painting and sculpture, and the magn'-
tude of it all. we could not even faintiy
comprehend. Florence the home OF Dante
of Michael Angelo whose Day ana
Night" Morning and Evening were
revelation in sculpture. Florence. whe1e
Fra Angelica consummated in color. the
semblancc of his heavenly visitants. ana
Giotto and Della Robia wrought imper-
ishable monuments-we were as those
stricken dumb, for speech In wonder
died away
MRS HERMANN KOTZSCHMAR