Now they pass Viccnza with its lofty tower, and Padua with its domes. Then come marshy flats ; and soon a broad river is crossed, and Mestre is reached and beyond Mestre lies a silver lake stretching away to the horizon. Quaint fishing boats with parti-coloured sails glide slowly here and there across that placid waste ; yonder are some three or four black specks of gondolas ; and far away, from the midst of a low-lying bank of scft warm haze, rise the shadowy towers and cupolas of Venice.
Now the train enters upon the long bridge, and the shining waters arc all around them. The mainland becomes a strip of sand in the distance; tbe dream like city rises higher and nearer ; and then all at once, they slacken speed, run under cover, and come to a dead stop in a station —a big, commonplace railway terminnslike any other, full of clamour and bustle, " It's all very well," says Uncle Stefano ; " but I liked it best as it used to be in my time, when you took a boat and rowed it across from Mestre. It don't seem natural to come to Venice by railway." Now they emerge upon a broad fight of water-washed steps, and there is a general rush towards the gondolas, of which a black fleet is drawn up, waiting for hire. And now, from amid a crowd of porters, gondoliers, and hotel-toutcrs, there steps a smart sailor, who touches his broad brimmed straw hat, puts a whistle to bis lips, and blows a shrill note that rings high above all the din of voices.
