370 COFFEE. 



most interesting structure of the kind I have ever visited. St. 

 Peter's, at Kome, is massively wonderful ; the Cathedral of Milan 

 is an incarnation of beauty ; St. Sophia, at Constantinople, Notre 

 Dame, of Paris, and "Westminster Abbey, in London, all have 

 their historical and architectural features of interest, but it re- 

 mains for old San Marco to charm me into a brown study, and 

 summon up visions of the past in which I lose myself. For a 

 thousand years this old edifice has looked down upon the Piazza 

 of St. Mark and the grand spectacles of which it has been the 

 scene. A hundred Doges have worshipped before its altars, and 

 generation after generation of proud Yenetians has flourished 

 and passed away while yet Yenice was mistress of the world. 

 These and kindred thoughts were passing through my mind du- 

 ring one of my visits to the old pile, when I witnessed an incident 

 that I cannot forbear describing. A gentleman holding a little 

 fair-haired girl upon his lap sat listening to the music. A de- 

 crepit old beggar-woman approached and stretching out her with- 

 ered hand to the little girl asked for alms. The child in turn 

 appealed to her father, who gave her some money which she laid 

 in the old woman's hand. Just at that instant a ray of sunlight 

 streamed down through an upper window, lighting up the group 

 and falling full upon the face of the little girl, making it as radiant 

 as that of an angel. The old woman stood for a moment looking 

 steadfastly into the fair young face, and then suddenly seizing 

 the child's hands, kissed them and hobbled away to the door as fast 

 as her decrepit old limbs could carry her, never stopping to solicit 

 other strangers who were near. The scene, in some of its fea- 

 tures was remarkable and most impressive — the contrast between 

 the little child just entering this life and the feeble old woman 

 so near the end : the sunlight streaming in from the high window 

 lighting up the scene and making the white smoke of the freshly 

 burnt incense seem luminous and blue, and etherealizing even the 

 very dust which floated in the air; while the blended music of 

 the organ and men's strong voices, as they chanted a grand old 

 anthem, went swelling up to the roof, and then, as if unable to 

 find room, came echoing down on the farther side. I do not 

 know that I can describe it in words, but I shall not soon forget 

 the picture and its setting. 



