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(Little more!)- Where is the birdy?' (That's right.)-'What shall Nursey bring?" (Try to close his mouth.) - Come, birdy!' (Now his head is up too high,Easy, there!) Chirp, chirp,- hear birdy?' Baby see bird by an' by?

(That's right-keep him so!)-'Good baby,'(Steady!) Baby would n't cry!'(Now then!)-'LOOK! SEE! HERE'S THE

BIRDY!'

-Caught him, first time, 'on the fly'!

"Yes, it's good. I know you'll like it.
I'll have proofs without delay.
Can't be better. Finished? - Friday.
Very much obliged. Good day!"

VI.

PERSONALLY CONDUCTED.

BY FRANK R. STOCKTON.

IN FLORENCE AND VENICE.

W

E left ourselves in Capri,
as you will remember,
not knowing how long we
should have to stay there.
But I am happy to say
that, after having been de-
tained there two days, dur-
ing which we scattered
ourselves over the whole
island, and made up our
minds that it was a place
where we could spend a
summer vacation with per-
fect satisfaction, the steam-
boat came and we sailed
away.

And now we are in Florence, having come by railway from Naples, stopping over night in Rome. As I have said before, each prominent Italian city is as different from all the others as if it belonged to another country; and, in fact, at one time or another they each did belong to a different country.

We can not walk in the narrow streets by the tall palaces, and in the great open squares of Florence, called by the Italians La Bella, because it is so beautiful, without being reminded at every step of by-gone times; and yet there is nothing ancient about Florence. It is preeminently a city of the Middle Ages, and with the exception of the dress of its citizens, it looks almost as mediæval to-day as it did in the time of Dante and Michael Angelo. The Romans were here, of course, but they left few or no ruins behind them, and in our rambles through Florence we shall never think of the ancient Romans. This, I know, will be a comfort to some of us. It was in the Middle Ages that Florence raised itself up so that the whole world might see it, and it was not only political power or commercial greatness that then was seen, but a city of poets and architects, of men of learning, and of thought. One of the charms of Florence now, will be that we can see it just as it was at the time of its greatest glory. The lofty, fortified palaces appear in as good order as when they were

*

first built; some of them are still inhabited by the descendants of the princes and nobles who built them. In the walls of these palaces are the same iron rings to which the knights and cavaliers used to tie their horses, and here, too, are the iron sockets in which torches were thrust to light up the street about the palace doors. These things are sound and strong, and would be perfectly fit for use to-day if people still tied their horses to rings in the sides of houses, or thrust torches into iron sockets. It is a peculiarity of the city that nearly everything, no matter how long ago it was made or built, is in good condition. Florence has been well kept, and if the painters, and poets, the architects, the sculptors, and philosophers of former days could return to it, they would probably feel very much at home. Giotto could look up at the beautiful campanile, or belltower, that he built, and find it just as he had left it; and if he had forgotten what he meant by the groups and symbols which he put upon it, he could step into the adjoining street and buy a book by Mr. Ruskin, the English art critic, which would tell him all about it. Dante could sit on the same stone (if somebody would take it out of a wall for him) on which he used to rest and watch the building of the great duomo, or cathedral. This stone, now called the Sasso di Dante, was placed, after the poet's death, in the wall of a house near the spot where it used to lie, and there it is now, with an inscription on it. Farther on, the two architects who built the cathedral would find statues of themselves, one looking up at the dome, because he made that; and the other at the body of the building, because that was his work. The great, round baptistery, near by, would look very familiar, with its beautiful bronze doors on which are twelve exquisite bass-reliefs representing Scripture scenes. And if these returned Florentines were to go inside, they would probably see some babies baptized in very much the same way in which it used to be done in the Middle Ages. On the opposite side of the street they would still find the bigallo, a very pretty little building, in the open porch of which babies were put on exhibition at certain periods, so that any one who wished to adopt a child could come there and see if any one of those on view would suit. It was, in fact, a sort of baby market. The place is now an orphan asylum, but I believe the babies are not set out for adoption. In a small street, not far from the

* An engraving of this bell-tower was printed in ST. NICHOLAS for July, 1881.

cathedral, Dante would find his old house still standing; and Michael Angelo could go into his house and find, in the room which he used as his study, a lot of unfinished pencil-drawings just as he left them.

But

In the principal piazza, or square, of the city would still be seen standing the great Palazzo Vecchio, which is a town hall now, just as it used to be; and near by still stands the vast open portico adorned with statuary, in which the nobles and the magistrates once gathered to view public spectacles or meetings in the open square. Savonarola, the famous monk and patriot of Florence, could not see the spot in this square where he was burned at the stake. This place has been covered by a handsome fountain. Here, in the vast Uffizzi Palace, the Duke de Medici, Cosmo III., would find that now-celebrated statue of Venus which he brought to Florence in the sixteenth century. It was an ancient statue then, but its great fame has come to it since, and it still is known as the Venus di Medici and not by the name of its sculptor-Cleomenes, the Greek, the son of Apollodorus.

What a grand collection of pictures and sculptures, with the most of which they would be very familiar, would the returned Florentines of the Middle Ages find in the long galleries of the Uffizzi Palace, and in those of the Pitti Palace on the other side of the river Arno, which runs through the city! These two palaces are united by a covered gallery, which forms the upper story of a very old bridge called the Ponte Vecchio, which is a curious and interesting structure. Each side is lined with little shops which, ever since the year 1593, have been occupied by goldsmiths and jewelers. The shops are still there, and if the old-time goldsmiths were to come back, they would have no difficulty in finding their old places of business.

The Pitti Palace is a very grand building, with a front as long as a New-York block from avenue to avenue. The massive stones of which it is built, some of them twenty feet long, are rough and unhewn, and the whole building has a very massive and imposing appearance. This and the Uffizzi Palace together contain one of the most valuable and extensive collections of pictures in the world. Even the covered way over the bridge has its walls hung with pictures. Here we shall wander from hall to hall, and gallery to gallery, and look upon many of those great works of art, of which we have so often seen engravings, or which we have read and heard about.

The Bargello is a large and old stone palace, once the residence of the Podesta, or chief magistrate of the town. It is now a museum filled with all

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The palaces of Florence were built for fortresses as well as for residences, and they still stand, tall, massive, and gray, looking down upon the narrow streets of the city. On the corners of some of these we shall see great lamps surrounded by the intricate and beautiful iron-work, for which the artist blacksmiths of the Middle Ages were famous.

It will soon become evident to those of us who have not remembered the fact, that the Medici family were once very prominent citizens of Florence. There are Medici statues in the public places; the Medici palaces indicate the power and wealth of the family; and in the church of San Lorenzo, besides some grand sculptured tombs by Michael Angelo, we shall see the Chapel of the Princes, an immense hall, built by the Medici family as a place in which to bury their dead, at a cost of over four millions of dollars. The octagonal walls of the room, which is very high and covered by a dome, are composed of the most costly marbles and valuable stones, while upon lofty pedestals around the room are the granite sarcophagi of six of the Medici princes, gorgeously adorned with emeralds, rubies, and other precious gems.

If we happen to be in Florence on Ascension Day, we shall see a great many people in the streets who offer for sale little wooden cages, two or three inches square, which are used in a very peculiar way. Each person who wants to know what his or her fortune is to be during the ensuing year, buys one of these cages, and into it is put a cricket, great numbers of which are caught on that day by children, and even men and women, in the fields and roads outside of the town. Each cricket is kept in its cage without food, and if it grows thin enough to get out between the little bars, and escapes, then its owner expects good luck during all the year; but if the cricket's constitution can not withstand privation, and it dies in the cage before it is thin enough to get out, then the person who imprisoned it must expect misfortune. Many travelers buy some of these curious little cages as mementos; but if we do not wish to be troubled by Mr. Bergh, or our own consciences, we shall not go into the cricket fortune-telling business.

The suburbs of Florence are very beautiful, and from some points in them we have charming views of the city, and the valley in which it lies, the river, and the mountains all about. To the north, on an eminence, is the very ancient and

picturesque loon-like, out of the water. In the open lagoon is a large island with a tail church-spire. Far away are other islands, purple in the distance; vessels sail about with brightly colored sails, often red or orange; gondolas shoot here, there, and everywhere; and a little farther down, large ships and steamers lie at anchor. Our gondolas skim around with a sweep, and stop at the steps of the hotel, which come down into the water.

town of Fiesole, with remains of great walls, which were built by the Etruscans before Romulus and Re

mus were ever heard of.

OING on with our journey, the next place we shall visit is Venice, the "City in the Sea." This lies, as we all know, in a shallow part of the Adriatic, and is built upon three large islands, and one hundred and fourteen smaller islands. Instead of streets it has one hundred and fifty canals. The railway on which we arrive crosses a bridge more than two miles long; the wide stretch of water lying between the city and the mainland; and when we go out of the station, instead of finding carriages and cabs in waiting for us, we see the famous long black boats of Venice called gondolas. There is not a horse, a cab, or a carriage of any kind in all the city. The people go about in gondolas or other kinds of boats, or walk in the alleys, streets, and squares, which are found all over the city. If any one wishes to cross a canal, he can do it by that one of the three hundred and seventy-eight bridges that happens to be most convenient.

The Grand Canal, nearly two miles long, and as broad as a small river, winds through the city. At one end of it is the railway station, and at the other the hotel to which we are going. When we are all ready four of us, with our baggage, in each gondola - the two gondoliers, one standing at the stern and the other at the bow, push on their long oars and send us skimming over the water. We shall not make the whole tour of the Grand Canal, but soon leaving it, we glide into one of the side canals, and thread our way swiftly along, between tall houses rising right out of the water, under bridges, around corners, past churches, and open squares filled with busy people -grazing, but never touching, other gondolas going in the opposite direction, until we shoot out into the lower part of the Grand Canal, near its junction with the lagoon, or bay, in which Venice lies. Tall palaces, with their fronts beautifully ornamented, now stand upon our left, and on the opposite bank is a great domed church with beautiful carvings and sculptures, which seems to rise, bal

There are few things about Venice that will be more directly interesting to us than the gondolas, which constitute a peculiar and delightful feature of the city. If ordinary rowboats were substituted for gondolas, Venice would lose one of its greatest charms. These boats, which are truly Venetian, and are used nowhere else but here, are very long, narrow, and light. The passengers, of whom there are seldom more than four, sit on softly cushioned seats in the middle of the boat, and the portion occupied by them is generally covered in cold or rainy weather by a little cabin, something like a carriage-top, with windows at the sides and a door in front. In hot weather, when the sun shines, this cabin-top is taken off, and its place supplied by a light awning. Very often, however, neither is needed, and at such times the gondola is most enjoyable. At the bow of every gondola rises a high steel affair, brightly polished, which looks like an old-fashioned halberd or sword-ax; these are placed here principally because it has always been the fashion to have them, and they are also useful in going under bridges; if the ferro, as this handsome steel prow is called, can go under a bridge without touching, the rest of the gondola will do so also. There is but one color for a gondola, and that is black; this, especially when the black cabin is on, gives it a very somber appearance. Many people, indeed, liken them to floating hearses, with their black cords, tassels, and cushions. But when their white or bright colored awnings are up, or when they have neither canopy nor awning, their appearance is quite cheerful. There is nothing funereal, however, about the gondoliers, of whom there is generally one to each gondola. It is only when the boat is heavily loaded, or when great speed or style is desired, that there are two of them. The gondolier stands in the stern, as we have so often seen him in pictures, and rests his oar on a crotched projection at the side of the boat; he leans forward, throwing his weight upon his oar, and thus sends his light craft skimming over the water. As he sways forward and back, sometimes, apparently on one foot only, it seems as if he were in danger of tumbling off the narrow end of the boat; but he never does.—Trust him for that. The dexterity with which he steers his craft, always with his oar

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