In a land like Italy, where a great system of error has kept the people in ignorance and spiritual darkness, and bound them with fetters of iron, one must not expect too much. A few days ago, we were asked by a Christian woman, “How are you succeeding in your work?” And on hearing the response she replied: “I know Rome well, and I can assure you that it is a great marvel that you can do anything at all.” But despite difficulties and Satanic hatred and opposition much has been done. Italy has become a united and free country and liberty of speech is everywhere enjoyed; the Pope has lost his temporal power, and with it the right to interfere with the missionary of the Cross; hundreds and thousands of tracts and Bibles have been scattered among the people, as silent but powerful witnesses for the Truth; prejudices have been overcome, and public opinion has been greatly modified and enlightened with reference to protestants and protestantism; more than three hundred Christian workers have been raised upon the field, and not less than 10,000 persons have professed faith in Christ. It should not be forgotten that previous to 1848 not one publicly declared Italian evangelical could be found in Italy, and that before 1870, to preach or profess evangelical doctrine in Rome, meant certain imprisonment and possible death. While praying and hoping and earnestly laboring for much greater results, we can but exclaim, “The Lord hath done great things for us, whereof we are glad.” CHAPTER XLVIII. FROM ROME, VIA PISA AND FLORENCE, TO VENICE. Peasants—A Three-Fold Crop—Elba, the Exiled Home of Napoleon—Pisa—Leaning Tower—An Odd Burial-Ground—Florence—The Home of Savonarola, Dante, and Michael Angelo—Art Galleries—On to Venice—A Flood—Johnson Excited—Storm Raging—Lightening the Ship—Venice, a Water-Lily—No Streets but Water—No Carriages but Gondolas—Shylocks. WITH our face to the northward, we are now skirting along the western coast of Italy. The air is crisp and cold, the sky soft and clear. Yonder, scattered over the bare hillside to our right, are many rude huts and humble peasant homes. The smoke slowly rising from the low chimneys curls up and on, and still up, until it stands like so many slender columns leaning against the sky for support. The peasants are at work, one feeding the chickens, the second holding the cow to grass, while the third is milking the goats. Everywhere the country is cut up into one, two, and three-acre plots by narrow ditches and low hedges which serve as fences to divide one peasant’s patch from another. Each plot of ground is a vineyard, a wheat field and a mulberry orchard, the three growing together.