The San Francisco call., 1909-01-31

melodious voices. AT night public sing
ers glide in gondolas over the lagoons
to serenade the guests OF the hotels
and their songs are ravishing upon the
waters.
One day I went TO the lido, the
pleasant seaside resort near Venice.
The incident OF the Norwegian maid
had been quite obliterated from my
mind Byron once swan to the Lido,
to please the Countess Guiccioli-just
as he swan the Hellespont to emulate
Leander.
Promenading along a walk above the
deserted bathing machines-it was
March and the swimming season was
not yet open-I grew aware OF some
one calling me. I turned. and there at
the window OF hotel stood the robust
young valkyrie from the Morse land.
Her smile was cheerful as a summer
field.
"Olaf," she called over her shoulder
into the darkness of the room.
tawny haired giant with a round and
stolid face appeared at the window
beside the girl and grinned as he
learned 1 was ''the gentleman who. etc
THAT wicked man 1 saw at Verona.
said the girl. came here and watched
for me whenever left the hotel. lie
was terrible. He was everywhere He
followed me"
Then 1 followed him" broke in
Olaf. grimly. "and when he spoke to
Truda-. settled him."
amused
so" said Olaf. and held forth his
forearm in which the taut sinews and
muscles writhed and swelIed like ser
pents.
.where7'' 1 asked him.
Down there by the walk-the water
is just one meter deep there. But he
went in fiat"
"Oh. it was so funny Uttered Truda,
and Olaf smiled as she caught his huge
red hand. They were to be married
shortly. they said. left these waits
of Norway. blonde, brave children Of
the Vikings. happy in the Venetian sun
and waited on the nations OF the earth
in that hotel in the Lido. And went
down by the blue water. not without
some sense OF pride and wonder that
but for my casual interest and inter
ference Olaf and Truda might not have
met again, or met too late. Yet such
instances are common enough, as wit
ness the many placards in the waiting
rooms of European railway stations
warning young girls against strangers.
There came. at last the day OF re-
Iuctant departure from the city Of
poetry and delight. I was rowed in
state to the railroad station by two
gondoliers-let IT not be forgotteni-
by two-and soon after I was on the
way to Austrian Miramare. winter pal
ace of the hapless Queen Elizabeth. and
Trieste-still almost wholly Italian.
Goodby-last city of ItaIy-and first
Venice. goodby!
1t is not to be conceived otherwise
but that all your charm and loveliness
shall cling to me and never be dimmed
by the impressions of other and darker
lands. The soul of the city of the Adri-
attic is the soul of beauty-the beauty
and romance of other days pre-
served amidst the iron storms of
modern years Streets and alleys
of the fanked by granite
walks and marble landings, narrow
bridges leaping across canals and vistas
Of emerald lanes in which bending
trees are reflected. sellers OF fruit, fish
and water, workers in lace and glass,
and many lovely crafts in old and
stately palaces. hotillas of silent bargss
and gondolas by day and night-thsse
are pageant across the mists Of men-
ory. Graceful, slender men and womea
with blue eyes and dark hair who sing
gloriously, and are blithe and happy
among your poems in marble and your
songs in historic stone. amidst palaces
and noble churches mirrored in ths
smooth. adoring sea-yours is noble
birthright. I shall not soon forget you.
Venice of the sea. venetians Of the
reDublicl