“On to Venice” is the war cry. To reach there, we tunnel mountains, dash through a blinding snow-storm, and encounter a heavy rainfall. Presently we are surrounded by water. The train stops. Johnson is excited; he thinks the bridge is washed away. Looking out of the window, and pointing to the water, I ask a by-stander, “Is that the ocean?” The reply is, “No; it is Venice.” “A flood!” exclaims Johnson; “if it continues to rain in this way two hours longer, the whole city will be washed away, and we, where will we be?” By this time, as there is a gondola near, we, like Jonah, pay the fare thereof, and go down into it. We are soon on the way to the hotel. The storm is raging, the waves are dashing high. The gondola, which is black, and really reminds one of a hearse, seems to be bearing us away to a watery grave. The boat must be lightened, or we will all go down. What to do, I know not. Hope wanes. “My latest sun is sinking fast.” In the extremity of that hour, I say: “This I will do. I will throw overboard all hatred, envy and strife, all contention, malice and jealousy, all egotism, selfishness and pride.” When I have emptied my heart of all these, a surprising change occurs. It is as if some divine one has whispered, “Peace, be still.” Reader, this experience points a moral, if it does not adorn a tale. We are all voyagers on the Sea of Life. Tempests frequently come, and our frail bark is often threatened; but if we will only throw overboard our ignoble feelings and baser selves, a holy calm will settle on the face of the deep, and in our hearts we will have that “peace which passeth all understanding.” Venice, you remember, is situated two miles from the mainland, in a shallow part of the Adriatic. Its 15,000 houses and palaces are built on 117 islands. Streets are unknown. There are 150 canals and 380 bridges in the city. The population is 130,000, one-fourth of whom are paupers. Yes, here is Venice rising above the surface like a water nymph, and floating like a sea fowl on the ocean wave. She was once the ruler of the waters and their powers. Those days are past, but beauty is still here. “States fall, arts fade, but nature doth not die.” There was never a horse, carriage, or wheel-barrow in the city. I presume there are half grown persons here who never saw any of these. The Venetians go visiting in boats, they go to market, to church, to the theatre, to the grave, in boats.