lagoon; two or three smooth surges of inferior hill extended themselves about their roots, and beyond these, beginning with the craggy peaks above Vicenza, the chain of the Alps girded the whole horizon to the north-a wall of jagged blue, here and there showing through its clefts a wilderness of misty precipices, fading far back into the recesses of Cadore, and itself rising and breaking away eastward, where the sun struck opposite upon its snow, into mighty fragments of peaked light, standing up behind the barred clouds of evening, one after another, countless, the crown of the Adrian Sea, until the eye turned back from pursuing them, to rest upon the nearer burning of the campaniles of Murano, and on the great city, where it magnified itself along the waves, as the quick silent pacing of the gondola drew nearer and nearer. And at last, when its walls were reached, and the outmost of its untrodden streets was entered, not through towered gate or guarded rampart, but as a deep inlet between two rocks of coral in the Indian sea; when first upon the traveller's sight opened the long ranges of columned palaces-each with its black boat moored at the portal; each with its image cast down beneath its feet, upon that green pavement which every breeze broke into new fantasies of rich tessellation; when first, at the extremity of the bright vista, the shadowy Rialto threw its colossal curve slowly forth from behind the palace of the Camerlenghi; that strange curve, so delicate, so adamantine, strong as a mountain cavern, graceful as a bow just bent; when first, before its moonlike circumference was all risen, the gondolier's cry, 'Ah! Stali,' struck sharp upon the ear, and the prow turned aside under the mighty cornices that half met over the narrow canal, where the plash of the water followed close and loud, ringing along the marble by the boat's side; and when at last that boat darted forth upon the breadth of silver sea, across which the front of the Ducal palace, flushed with its sanguine veins, looks to the snowy dome of Our Lady of Salvation, it was no marvel that the mind should be so deeply entranced by the visionary charm of a scene so beautiful and so strange, as to forget the darker truths of its history and its being.

"Between those pillars there opens a great light, and, in the midst of it, as we advance slowly, the vast tower of St. Mark seems to lift itself visibly forth from the level field of chequered stones; and on each side, the countless arches prolong themselves into ranged symmetry, as if the rugged and irregular houses that pressed together above us in the dark alley had been struck back into sudden obedience and lovely order, and all their rude casements and broken walls had been transformed. into arches charged with goodly sculpture, and fluted shafts of delicate stone.

"And well may they fall back, for beyond those troops of ordered arches there rises a vision out of the earth, and all the great square seems to have opened from it in a kind of awe, that we may see it far away;-a multitude of pillars and white domes, clustered into a long low pyramid of coloured light; a treasure-heap, it seems, partly of gold, and partly of opal and mother-of-pearl, hollowed beneath into five great vaulted porches, ceiled with fair mosaic, and beset with sculpture of alabaster, clear as amber and delicate as ivory, sculpture fantastic and involved, of palm leaves and lilies, and grapes and pomegranates, and birds clinging and fluttering

among the branches, all twined together into an endless network of buds and plumes; and, in the midst of it, the solemn forms of angels, sceptred, and robed to the feet, and leaning to each other across the gates, their figures indistinct among the gleaming of the golden ground through the leaves beside them, interrupted and dim, like the morning light as it faded back among the branches of Eden, when first its gates were angel-guarded long ago. And round the walls of the porches there are set pillars of variegated stones, jasper and porphyry, and deep green serpentine spotted with flakes of snow, and marbles, that half refuse and half yield to the sunshine, Cleopatra-like, 'their bluest veins to kiss,'-the shadow, as it steals back from them, revealing line after line of azure undulation, as a receding tide leaves the waved sand; their capitals rich with interwoven tracery, rooted knots of herbage, and drifting leaves of acanthus and vine, and mystical signs, all beginning and ending in the Cross; and above them, in the broad archivolts, a continuous change of language and of life-angels, and the signs of heaven and the labours of men, each in its appointed season upon the earth; and above these another range of glittering pinnacles, mixed with white arches edged with scarlet flowers,-a confusion of delight, amidst which the breasts of the Greek horses are seen blazing in their breadth of golden strength,

and the St. Mark's Lion, lifted on a blue field covered with stars, until at last, as if in ecstacy, the crests of the arches break into a marble foam, and toss themselves far into the blue sky in flashes and wreaths of sculptured spray, as if the breakers on the Lido shore had been frost-bound before they fell, and the sea-nymphs had inlaid them with coral and amethyst."

The commencement of the fifteenth century was perhaps the most flourishing period in the history of Venice. Then the expiring Doge, Mocenigo, summoned the principal senators around his death-bed, and addressed them in remarkable words. "I leave the country in peace and prosperity. Our merchants have a capital of ten millions of golden ducats in circulation, upon which they make an annual profit of four millions. I have reduced the public debt by four millions of ducats. We have 45 galleys and 3000 other ships of war; 3000 merchant vessels, and 52,000 sailors; 1000 nobles with incomes varying from 700 to 4000 ducats each; eight naval officers fit to command a large fleet; 100 others fit to command smaller squadrons; many statesmen, jurisconsults, and wise men."

There is often mute eloquence in dead figures. Venice contained 140,000 inhabitants when the French entered under the flag of democracy, and handed them over to the Austrians. The population now scarcely exceeds 60,000, for the deaths have annually exceeded the births by nearly 1000, owing to the young and enterprising quitting the city, whenever it has been practicable, leaving the old at home to die by the sepulchres of their fathers.

Venice of to-day affords an affecting combination of the traces of ancient wealth and grandeur, with the indications of modern poverty and decay. With the exception of a few such towns as Genoa and Leghorn, which have shared in the commercial revival of the new Italian kingdom, the same holds true of all the Italian cities. But nowhere is the contrast so striking and impressive as in Venice.

"Once did she hold the gorgeous east in fee;

And was the safeguard of the west: the worth
Of Venice did not fall below her birth,
Venice, the oldest child of Liberty.
She was a maiden city, bright and free;
No guile seduced, no force could violate;
And, when she took unto herself a mate,
She must espouse the everlasting sea.
And what if she has seen those glories fade,
Those titles vanish, and that strength decay;
Yet shall some tribute of respect be paid
When her long life hath reached its final day;
Men are we, and must grieve when even the shade
Of that which once was great is passed away." *

In the early days of the Reformation, Venice and the Lake District were among the first to receive the impulse and to share in the movement. The history, the traditional policy, and the commercial interests of the Queen of the Adriatic prompted

* Wordsworth, "On the extinction of the Venetian Republic."

her to grant every facility for preaching the gospel, and to afford a refuge to those who were flying from persecution elsewhere. The writings of Luther were read in Venice immediately upon their publication. The great reformer wrote to a friend: "You give me joy by what you write of the Venetians receiving the word of God. To Him be all the thanks and glory." When Melancthon seemed to be wavering under the influence of Campeggio, a warning voice from Venice recalled him to his steadfastness. "Though you should be called to suffer for the glory of Christ, fear not, I beseech you," said his faithful monitor; "it is better to die with honour than to live in disgrace. You shall secure a glorious triumph from Jesus Christ if you defend his righteous cause; and in doing this you may depend upon the aid of the prayers of many, who, night and day, intreat Almighty God to prosper the cause of the Gospel, and to preserve you and its other champions, through the blood of his Son. Farewell, and desert not the cause of Christ." Not a few of these early Venetian converts sealed their testimony with their blood; amongst whom we may mention Pietro Carnesecchi and Baldo Lupetino.

Whilst the Venetian converts were thus in special connexion with the German reformers, the beautiful region lying around the Lakes of Como and Maggiore was in communication with those of Switzerland. Fontana, a Carmelite monk of Locarno, wrote to the Evangelical Swiss Churches: "Hail, faithful in Christ! Think of Lazarus in the gospels and of the lowly woman of Canaan who was willing to be satisfied with the crumbs which fell from the table of the Lord. Parched with thirst, I seek the fountains of living water; sitting like the blind man by the wayside, I cry to Him that gives sight. With tears and sighs, we who sit here in darkness, humbly intreat you who know the books of knowledge (for to you it is given to know the mysteries of the kingdom of God) to send us the writings of such elect teachers as you possess. Do your endeavour that a city of Lombardy, enslaved by Babylon and a stranger to the gospel of Christ, may be set free. We are but three who have combined together to fight on behalf of the truth; but it was beneath the blows of a little band, chosen by God, and not by the thousands of Gideon, that Midian fell. Who can tell but that from so small a spark God may kindle a great fire." This appeal speaks out the spirit of a faithful confessor, made strong and fearless by a sense of his own feebleness and faith in the omnipotence of God.

In Como a similar movement was taking place. An Augustinian monk, Egidio di Porta, who had taken the monastic vow fourteen years before, against the will of his parents and friends, wrote to Zwingle, propounding his difficulties and asking advice. For seven years he had been a preacher, but he says, "All the while, alas! in deep ignorance. I savoured not the things of Christ; I ascribed nothing to faith, all to works. But God would not have me perish for ever. He brought me to the dust. I was made to cry out, Lord, what wilt thou have me do?" He then goes on to explain how he had been led by an inward impulse, as by a Divine voice, to have recourse to Zwingle for counsel and guidance. Zwingle advised him to remain where he was, but to devote himself to a translation of the New Testament into Italian, promising if he did so to have it printed at Zurich.