The night has closed in completely; the turmoil still goes on in the strada, but as a sea-breeze is blowing, and it is cool, I have come in and closed the window. Venitia is playing mad wild bursts of music, broken bits of conception suggested by these Carnival sights. She is more than clever, but her thoughts to-night are disjointed and rugged.

Here comes our refreshing nine o'clock tea; for we Americans, like the English, never lose our home habits, whatever part of the world we may float to. We shall have a little pleasant talk over the teacups, and then we shall part for the night, as the confusion of the Carnival has wearied us sadly.

་་་་་་

PRIDE, PIETY, AND AMBITION.

E have spent the day in church-visiting.
First we went to the Cathedral of San
Lorenzo, one of the oldest churches in Italy,

built in the beginning of the eleventh century; but only one of its towers was ever completed. It remains unfinished, as do so many of these old churches on the Continent, notwithstanding the early date of its foundation.

The traveller soon grows accustomed, however, to these half-completed works of Europe; and, indeed, to so much that might seem to be hinderances to enjoyment;—to ruins that are not even sublime; to all the surroundings of rugged footpaths, and the rude makeshifts of an indolent population, such as hovels and ignoble buildings, crowding close in against these vast piles of architecture.

But these drawbacks are no more noticed than the withered branches, dead leaves, unsightly bugs, or woody paths made muddy by the trickling of a wandering rivulet in a vast forest. The unfinished towers and spires, too, are like some forest-trees that have shot out one complete branch to its full and perfect height, and quite forgotten, through stress of storm, or some other forest trial of earth, or air, or sky, the rest of the branches belonging to the original tree-plan.

The exterior of the Cathedral of San Lorenzo is curiously ornamented with blocks of white and black marble, a Saracenic fashion of decoration. In the interior, the nave has sixteen columns of black and white Parian marble. The architecture is of no particular style, and ineffective, the church having evidently undergone those alterations which the architects of the Renaissance saw fit to make.

San Lorenzo has a number of side chapels, into one of which Venitia was obstinately bent on entering, and had quite a playful, coaxing talk with the Sacristan, endeavoring to bribe him, not only with silver lira, but with her own bewitching smiles and beguiling words;-all in vain.

It was the Chapel of St. John the Baptist; and Innocent VIII. having been attacked with a fit of anger against the memory of the pretty dancing daughter of the cruel Herodias, resented her sin on her sex, by forbidding all women to step foot over the threshold of this Chapel, except one day in the year, the fête day, which does not fall during our stay.

"Your church, Ottilie," said Janet, "has always been sadly wanting in gallantry to our sex."

“On the contrary, my dear," I replied, "it has always acknowledged our great power."

"Not in very courteous terms or ways. But do listen to that witch, Venitia. How well she remembers this Genoese dialect! Dear child! She makes me think of those old days. Her born tongue is that caressing, childlike Venitian; but she was always very quick in catching these peculiarities of speech which make up the different dialects of a language. Hear! how she rings out this Gallicized Genoese, as good, I assure you, as any of the people might speak it themselves."

But all Venitia's sacrifice in the way of pronunciation had no affect on the Sacristan, who was quite willing to show us the rest of the church, the Queen of Shéba's Emerald Vase, the famous "Sacre Catino," - all the wonders, in fine, but not this Chapel; and wound up his refusal with a compliment that made us laugh heartily.

"The Signorine was so charming and dangerous, that he now saw how necessary it was for the poor men to guard themselves against such perils."

Before leaving the Cathedral we held the "Sacre Catino" in our hands, and reverenced it for its great legendary history.

"What if it is not a real emerald," said Janet, "and suppose the Queen of Sheba never did present it to her beloved Solomon, human faith has rested on it; it is a relic of those blessed, childlike days, when belief was what doubt and unbelief are now, a credit and a virtue. Seven hundred and odd years, little vase, you have lived, to our knowledge; - Heaven only knows how much older you may be; - and so great was your success at one time, that you grew tyrannical, and punished with death any one who should doubt your regal and holy history. That was a mistake, a mistake of pride, a poison which lies at the root of all errors. 'A haughty spirit goeth before a fall,' dear emerald, and, as high as was your pride, so great has been your ruin; shattered and valueless you remain now, except to some dreamy believers, like Ottilie here, or, charitable, indulgent legendloving heretics, such as I. You are very dear to me, little vase, and I shall kiss you to show my reverence.”

We had to laugh at Janet's droll apostrophe to the "Sacre Catino"; and the Sacristan, who did not understand a word of her English, stared, as he well might;

but when he saw her lift the famous old crystal to her lips and kiss it reverentially, then hand it to us for a like show of respect, he nodded his head approvingly.

From San Lorenzo we drove up La Strada Nuovo, which is bordered on either side with fine palaces; while looking at and admiring this grand réunion of lordly buildings, we understood well why people called this city "La Superba.” We went also through Stradas Balbi, Carlo Felice, Carlo Alberti, Giulia Carrettiera, and several other streets, enjoying the Italian appearance of the place.

It was high noon; the magnificent architecture of this gay, southern city, which lay inundated with golden sunlight, looking so regal and opulent, running over with exuberant life and action, the merry, mad Carnival mood of the population, their beautiful costumes, all affected me deeply. It reminded me of the delicious dreams I used to have of a summer's day, when I was a girl, and would fall asleep in a hammock, under the shade of an old walnut-tree, after having read myself luxuriously full of fancies over Arabian Nights or Spenser's Faëry Queen. It being the hour of luncheon, we returned to our hotel; after that meal was over and we had rested a while, we started out

"To fresh woods and pastures new."

"Oh Jennie," said Venitia, after we were seated in the barouche, and the courier stood at the door to receive his orders, "let us go look at that brilliant Church of L'Annunziata. You cannot tell, Ottilie, how much I adored its gold and purple splendors when I was a child.” So to the Church of the Annunciation we went. is one mass of gold-leaf and frescoes, brilliant-hued silk,

It