In the centre of the city of Milan is an artificial lake where the Milanise dearly love to go out in beautiful pleasure yots, and in the winter it serves for a skating rink. Milan is noted for its charitable institutions, which owns property to the amount of forty or fifty millions; it is a honor to her. It has flourishing colleges, lyceums, observatories, gymnasiums, famous libraries, institutes and schools of all kinds, and the Academy of Fine Arts is celebrated all over the world. It has a beautiful triumphal arch, begun in 1807 and finished in 1838. They take their own time, them old Milanise do, but when their work is done, it is done.

Josiah thought most probable they worked by the day. Sez he, “Men are most always more shiftless when you pay by the day.”

It has very fine public gardens, and one day we went to the Campo Santo. It is a beautiful spot; they say it has the finest sculpture and statuary in the world. We spent some time wandering around, resting our eyes on the beautiful marble forms on every side.

They wuz a quiet crowd, too; jest as calm and silent as them they kep’ watch over.

Some of the most celebrated pictures in the world are to be seen in the picture galleries at Milan, the Marriage of Mary and Joseph, by Raphael, is considered the most valuable. We went to see the fresco of the Lord’s Supper, by Leonardo da Vinci, on the walls of an old convent. But the wall is crumbled and the picture is faded and worn; besides artists have tried to retouch it with just about as much success as Josiah would have if he undertook to paint the sky 323 indigo blue, or Ury tried to improve a white lily with a coat of whitewash. But we loved to look on it for what it wuz before Time’s hand had laid so heavy on it and artists had tried to protect it.

We wuz in Milan over Sunday and so we went to the Cathedral to service, and agin I realized its marvellous beauty and magnitude. Its ruff is supported by fifty-two columns, and it has eight thousand life-sized statutes inside and outside, plenty enough for comfort even if it wuz over-fond of statutes.

The Lazaretto, once used as a plague hospital, is now used as an apartment-house for the poor; it has one thousand two-roomed apartments in it, a city in itself.

Napoleon, ambitious creeter! wuz crowned king of Italy in Milan. And I guess old Charlemaigne himself wuz, ’tennyrate a good many kings here had the iron crown set on their forwards. I d’no what made ’em have iron crowns, though Josiah said it would be real handy sometimes. He said if a king wuz in a hurry, and you know they are sometimes in a dretful hurry to be crowned before their heads are took off, it would be real handy, for they could take the rim to a stove griddle, and stand up some velvet pints on it and it would fit most any head. He also spoke of a coal-scuttle.

But I said that I guessed they used iron to show that crowns are so heavy and bore down on their heads so.

We visited Lake Como, Dorothy specially wantin’ to see the palace of Carlotta. Poor, broken-hearted Carlotta, whose mind and happiness wuz destroyed by the shot that put an end to Maximilian’s brave, misguided life.

Poor Maximilian! poor Carlotta! victims of the foolish ambitions of an empress, so they say. I wuz glad to throw the blossom of a pitying thought onto their memory as I passed her house, opposite Belajio, thinkin’ that it wuz befittin’ a American to do so. Tears stood in Dorothy’s eyes as we recalled the sad tragedy.

Lake Como deserves all that has been said of it, and more 324 too. The slopes of the mountains are dotted with vineyards, hamlets and beautiful villas. And we see many little cabins where the familys of organ-grinders live. Mebby the wife and children lived here of some swarthy creeter that I’ve fed offen my own back steps in Jonesville for grindin’ out music for the children.

It is only a journey of eight hours from Milan to Venice, and Verona is about half way. And it is almost like travellin’ through a mulberry grove. The valley of Lombardy is a silk-producing country and the diet of silkworms is mulberry leaves and the trees also serve as handsome props to the grape vines that hang from tree to tree.

Fur off, like cold, sad thoughts that will come in warm happy hearts, we see the snow-capped mountains, and bime by it grew so cold that we wuz glad and grateful when we had cans of hot water handed to us at the station.

Josiah thought they wuz full of hot coffee and proposed to once that we should take some to meetin’ with us in Jonesville to warm our feet. Sez he, “How delightful it would be, Samantha, to take a good drink of hot coffee in meetin’.”

“Yes,” sez I, “it would look nice to be drinkin’ in meetin’.”

“Oh,” sez he, “I mean to do it sly; I could scrooch down and pretend to be fixin’ my shues.” But it proved to be nothin’ but hot water in the cans, but real comfortable to our feet. And the mulberry groves put Josiah in mind of another innovation that might be made in Jonesville ways.

Sez he, “These silk raisers git rich as mud and jest see the number of caterpillars we have to hum; they might jest as well be put to work on sunthin’ that will pay as to be eatin’ up young squashes and cowcumbers for us to plant over.” Sez he, “Their work is worse than wasted on us.”

Sez I, “These silkworms hain’t like our caterpillars, Josiah.”

“Well, they may make silk of a different color, but who cares for that when diamond dyes are so cheap, and if we 325 wanted red silk we could try feedin’ em on red stuff, beets, and red russets and such. Why,” sez he, “with Ury’s help I could start a caterpillar bizness that would be the makin’ of me. And oh, how I would love to robe your figger, Samantha, in silk from my own caterpillars.”

“Well, well,” sez I, “let’s not look ahead too much.” Sez I, “Look there up the mountain side and see the different shades of green foliage and see what pretty little houses that are sot there and see that lovely little village down in the valley.”

So I got his mind off. The costooms of the peasant wimmen are very pretty, a black bodice over a white chemise with short full sleeves and bright colored shirts, and hat trimmed with long gay ribbons.

The men wear short, black trousers, open jackets and gay sashes, broad-brimmed white hats with long blue ribbons streamin’ down. Josiah sez to me admirin’ly, “How such a costoom would brighten up our cornfield if I and Ury appeared in ’em.”

Sez I, “Ury would git his sash and hat ribbons all twisted up in his hoe handle the first thing.”

“They might be looped up,” sez Josiah, “with rosettes.”

We read about travel bein’ a great educator, and truly I believe that no tourist ever had any more idees about graftin’ foreign customs onto everyday life at home than Josiah Allen did. Now at Lake Como where we see washerwomen at their work. They stood in the water with their skirts rolled up to their knees, but they still had on their white chemisettes and black bodices laced over them and pretty white caps trimmed with gay ribbins.

And Josiah sez, “What a happy day it would be for me and Ury if we could see you and Philury dressed like that for the wash-tub; it would brighten the gloom of Mondays considerable.”

Well, they did look pretty and I d’no but they could wash 326 the clothes jest as clean after they got used to it, but I shouldn’t encourage Philury to dress up so wash-days.

And it wuz jest so when we see on Lake Como its swarm of pleasure gondolas glidin’ hither and yon with the dark-eyed Italian ladies in bright colored costooms and black lace mantillys thrown over their pretty heads and fastened with coral pins, and the gondoliers in gay attire keepin’ time to the oars with their melogious voices. Josiah whispered to me:

“What a show it would make in Jonesville, Samantha, to see you and me in a gondola on the mill-dam, I with long, pale blue ribbins tied round my best beaver hat and you with Mother Allen’s long, black lace veil that fell onto you, thrown graceful over your head, and both of us singin’ ‘Balermy’ or ‘Coronation.’ How uneek it would be!”

“Yes,” sez I, “it would be uneek, uneeker than will ever come to pass.”

“Well, I d’no,” sez he, “Ury and me could make a crackin’ good gondola out of the old stun boat, kinder hist it up in front and whittle out a head on it and a neck some like an old gander’s. We could take old High Horns for a model, and we could make good oars out of old fish-poles and broom-handles, and you own a veil, and blue streamers don’t cost much––nothin’ henders us from showin’ off in that way but your obstinate sperit.”

But I sez, “I shall never appear in that panoramy, never.”

“Oh, well,” sez he, gayly, “Jonesville has other females beside you, more tractable and more genteel. Most probable Sister Celestine Bobbett and she that wuz Submit Tewksberry would love to float in a gondola by the side of one of Jonesville’s leadin’ men.”

I looked full in his face and sez, “Has foreign travel shook your morals till they begin to tottle? Have I got to see a back-slidden Josiah?”

Sez he, real earnest, “You are the choice of my youth, the joy of my prime of life.”

“Well, then,” sez I, “shet up!” I wuz out of patience with his giddy idees, and wouldn’t brook ’em.

We laid out to go from Milan to Genoa till we changed our plans. I thought it wuzn’t no more’n right that we should pay Columbus that honor, for I always wondered, and spoze always shall, what would have become of us if we hadn’t been discovered. I spoze we should have got along some way, but it wouldn’t have been nigh so handy for us. I presoom mebby Josiah and I would have been warwhoopin’ and livin’ in tepees and eatin’ dogs, though it don’t seem to me that any colored skin I might have could have made me relish Snip either in a stew or briled. That dog is most human.

I always felt real grateful to Columbus and knowed he hadn’t been used as he ort to be. And then Mother Smith left me a work-bag, most new, made of Genoa velvet, and I awfully wanted to git a little piece more to put with it so’s I could make a bunnet out of it. But Dorothy wanted to see Verona and her wish wuz law to the head of our party, and when the head of a procession turns down a road, the rest of the procession must foller on in order to look worth a cent. Miss Meechim said that it wuz on her account that he favored Dorothy so. But it wuzn’t no such thing and anybody could see different if their eyes wuzn’t blinded with self-conceit and egotism. But take them two together and there is no blinders equal to ’em. They go fur ahead of the old mair’s, and hern are made of thick leather.

Well, Robert thought we had better go on to Venice, stopping at Verona on the way and so on to Naples, and then on our way back we could stop at Genoa, and we all give up that it wuz the best way.

I always liked the name of Verona. Miss Ichabod Larmuth named her twins Vernum and Verona. I thought it would be a real delicate attention to her to stop there, specially as we could visit Genoa afterwards.

Well, havin’ such a pretty name I felt that Verona would 328 be a real pretty place, and it wuz. A swift flowing river runs through the town and the view from all sides is beautiful. The fur off blue mountains, the environin’ hills, the green valleys dotted with village and hamlet, made it a fair seen, and “Jocund day stood tip-toe on the mountain tops.”

But to sweet Dorothy and me, and I guess to the most of us, it wuz interestin’ because Juliet Montague, she that wuz Juliet Capulet, once lived here. I spoke on’t to Josiah, but he sez:

“The widder Montague; I don’t remember her. Is she any relation of old Ike Montague of North Loontown?”

But I sez: “She wuzn’t a widder for any length of time. She died of love and so did her pardner, Romeo Montague.”

“Well,” said Josiah, “that shows they wuz both sap heads. If they had lived on for a spell they would got bravely over that, and had more good horse sense.”

Well, I spoze worldlings might mock at their love and their sad doings, but to me the air wuz full of romance and sadness and the presence of Juliet and Romeo.

The house where she once lived wuz a not over big house of brick, no bigger nor better than Bildad Henzy’s over in Zoar, and looked some like it.

Josiah said it wuz so silly to poke clear over to Italy to see this little narrer house when we could see better ones to home any day.

Miss Meechim said that it didn’t look so genteel as she expected, and Arvilly made a slightin’ remark about it.

But Robert Strong said kinder low, “He laughs at scars who never felt a wound.” His eyes wuz on Dorothy’s sweet face as he spoke.

And in her soft eyes as she looked at him I could almost see the meanin’ of Juliet’s vow, “To follow thee, my lord, throughout the world.”

We didn’t go to Friar Laurence’s cell where Mr. and Miss Romeo Montague wuz married and passed away, not knowin’ exactly where it wuz, old Elder Laurence havin’ 329 passed away some time ago, but we did go to the place they call her tomb; we rung a bell in the iron gate, paid a little fee, and was led by the hired girl who opened the gate to the place where they say she is buried. But I d’no as this is her tomb or not; I didn’t seem to feel that it wuz, ’tennyrate the tomb don’t look much like what her pa said he would raise above ’em:

“A statue of pure gold; that while Verona by that name is known, there shall no figure at such rate be set as that of true and faithful Juliet.” Josiah not havin’ come up to the mark in the way of sentiment at the house of Capulet, overdid the matter here; he took out his bandanna, and after flourishing it enough to draw everybody’s attention to it, pressed it to his eyes and sort o’ sithed.

But I doubted his grief, though he made such elaborate preparations for it, and I told him so afterwards. He acted real puggicky and sez:

“Can’t I ever please you, Samantha? At the widder Montague’s Pa’s you thought I wuzn’t sentimental enough, and I thought you would be tickled enough to have me shed tears at her tomb.”

“Did you shed tears, Josiah?” sez I.

But he waved the question off and continued, “The guide told me that folks usually wep’ some there, and I expected you all would, you are all so romantik and took up with the widder Montague and her pardner. I took the lead, but none of you follered on.”

“Well,” sez I, “if you felt like weepin’, Josiah, I wouldn’t want to break it up, but to me it looked fur more like a waterin’ trough than it did like a tomb.”

“Well, you know how it is in the older part of the Jonesville buryin’-ground, the stuns are all tipped over and broke. Mr. and Miss Capulet have been dead for some time and probable the grave stuns have gone down.”

Well, being kinder rousted up on the subject, I quoted considerable poetry about Romeo and Juliet, and Josiah bein’ 330 kinder huffy and naterally hatin’ poetry, and real hungry, too, scorfed at and made light on me. He kep’ it up till I sez:

“William Shakespeare said there wuz Two Gentlemen of Verona, and I should be glad, Josiah Allen, to think you made the third one; but a true gentleman wouldn’t make light of his pardner or slight her reminiscences.”

Sez he: “Reminescin’ on a empty stomach is deprestin’, and don’t set well.”

Well, it had been some time sence we had eat, and Tommy wuz gittin’ hungry, too, so we returned to the tarven.

In the afternoon we went to see the old Roman amphitheatre. It wuz probably built not fur from A.D. Jest think on’t! Most two thousand years old, and in pretty good shape yet! It is marble, and could accommodate twenty thousand people. All round and under it is a arch, where I spoze the poor condemned prisoners wuz kep’ and the wild beasts that wuz to fight with ’em and kill ’em for the pleasure of the populace. Miss Meechim got dretful worked up seein’ it, and she and Arvilly had words, comparin’ old times and new, and the different wild beasts they encourage and let loose on the public. Arvilly’s views, tinged and shadowed as they always are, by what she’s went through, they both got mad as hens before they got through.

There are ruins of a large aqueduct near, which wuz flooded with water, I spoze, for acquatic sports way back, mebby back to Anna D, or before her. Some say that early Christians were put to death in this amphitheatre, but it hain’t very clearly proved.

Well, we only stayed one day at Verona, and the next day we hastened on to Venice.

Josiah told me that he wanted to go to Venice. Sez he: “It is a place from what I hear on’t that has a crackin’ good water power and that is always the makin’ of a town, and then,” sez he, “I’ve always wanted to see the Bridge of Size and the Doggy’s Palace.” Sez he: “When a city is good 331 enough to rare up such a palace to dogs it shows there is sunthin’ good ’bout it, and I dare presoom to say there hain’t a dog amongst ’em any better than Snip or one that can bring up the cows any better.”

Josiah thinks we’ve got the cutest dog and cat in the world. He has spent hours trainin’ ’em, and they’ll both start for the cow paster jest the right time and bring up the cows; of course, the cat can’t do much only tag along after the dog; she don’t bark any, it not bein’ her nater to, but it looks dretful cunnin’. Sez Josiah, “I wouldn’t be ashamed to show Snip off by the side of any of the dogs in the Doggy’s Palace.”

Sez I, coldly, “How do you spell dogs, Josiah Allen?”

“Why, dog-es, doggys.”

Sez I, “The palace was rared up by a man––a Doge––the Doges wuz great men, rulers in Venice.”

“I don’t believe a word on’t,” sez he. “It is rared up for dogs, and I’m thinkin’ quite a little of rarin’ up a small house with a steeple on’t for Snip. He deserves it.”

Well, there wuzn’t no use in argyin’; I knew he would have to give up when he got there, and so he did. And it wuz jest so with the Bridge of Sighs, that has, as Mr. Byron said, “A palace and a prison on each side.”

Josiah insisted on’t that it wuz called the Bridge of Size, because it wuz the most sizeable bridge in the world. But it is no such thing; it don’t begin, as I told him, with the Brooklyn Bridge; why, it hain’t no longer than the bridge between Loontown and Zoar, or the one over our creek, but I presoom them who passed over this bridge to execution gin deep, loud sithes––it wuz nateral they should––so the bridge wuz named after them sithes.

Josiah said if that wuz fashionable he should name the bridge down back of the barn the Bridge of Groans, it wuz such a tug for the horses to draw a load over it. Sez he, “I almost always give a groan and so does Ury––Bridge of 332 Groans.” Sez he, “that will sound uneek and genteel in Jonesville.”

But mebby he won’t do it; he often makes plans he don’t carry out and he gits things wrong––he did the very first minute we got there.

We arrove in Venice about the middle of the afternoon, and as Robert had writ ahead for rooms, a man wuz waitin’ with a sizeable gondola to take us to our tarven.

When Josiah see it drawin’ nigh he sez to me, soty vosy, “Never, never, will I ride in a hearse; I wouldn’t in Jonesville and I won’t in Italy; not till my time comes, I won’t.”

But I whispered back agin to keep still, it wuzn’t a hearse. But, to tell the truth, it did look some like one, painted black as a coal. But, seein’ the rest of us embark, he, too, sot sail in it. He didn’t have to go a great ways before it stopped at our tarven, which wuz once a palace, and I kinder hummed to myself while I wuz washin’ me and puttin’ on a clean collar and cuffs:

“’Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam,” puttin’ the main emphasis on palaces. But Josiah catched up the refrain and sung it quite loud, or what he calls singin’:

He looked round the vast, chilly, bare apartment, the lofty walls, the marble floors, with here and there a rug layin’ like a leaf on a sidewalk, and I kinder echoed it. Sez he feelin’ly and sort of plaintively, “I’d ruther have less ornaments and more comfort.”

I sez, “It is very grand and spacious.”

And he sez, “I’d give the hull of the space and throw in the grandeur for a good big fire and a plate of your nut cakes.”

But I sez soothin’ly, “It is sunthin’, Josiah, to live in a palace;” and I drawed his attention to the mosaic work on 333 the floor, and the massive furniture covered with inlaid work.

And he sez, “I’d ruther have less work laid into the furniture and some decent food laid into my stomach.”

Oh, what a appetite that man has got! It had kep’ active all the way from Jonesville around the world and wuz still up and a-doin’. Well, he can’t help it. He acted real obstrupulous and onhappy. He has such spells every little while. I mistrusted and he just as good as owned up to me that it wuz partly owin’ to his bein’ dressed up all the time; it wuz a dretful cross to him. He wears frocks to hum, round doin’ the barn chores, and loose shues, but now of course he had no reprieve from night till mornin’ from tight collars and cuffs and his best shues.

But then, he had restless spells to hum and onhappy ones, and acted; and I told him he did and he disputed me right up and down. He didn’t feel very well, anyway; he had told me that mornin’ early how he pined for Jonesville, how he longed to be there, and how he didn’t care for a thing outside of them beloved presinks. And I told him it wuzn’t reasonable. Sez I, “Enjoy Jonesville while you are there and now enjoy Europe whilst you are here.”

Sez he, with a real sentimental look, “Oh, Jonesville, how happy I’ll be if I ever see thee agin! How content, how blessed!”

Sez I, “You wuzn’t always happy there, Josiah; you oft-times got restless and oneasy there.”

“Never!” sez he, “never did I see a onhappy or a tired day there in my life.”

But he did. He got down-casted there jest as he did here. I knowed how often I had soothed and comforted his sperits by extra good meals. But he wouldn’t own up to it, and seein’ he looked so gloomy and deprested I went to work and episoded some right there, whilst I wuz comin’ my hair and dressin’, in hopes that it would bring a more happy and contented look onto his liniment, for what will not a devoted pardner do to console her consort?

Sez I, “Josiah, life is a good deal like the Widder Rice’s yarn I’ve heard Ma Smith tell on. She wuzn’t a smooth spinner and there would be thick bunches in her yarn and thin streaks; she called ’em gouts and twits. She’d say, ‘Yes, I know my yarn is full of gouts and twits, but when it’s doubled most likely a gout will come aginst a twit and make it even.’”

And I eppisoded to myself and to Josiah, “That is a good deal like life. The good of this world seems onequally divided some times, but the rich has troubles and the poor have compensations. The poor man has to git up early and toil all day, but if he hates to leave his bed so early mornings, his sleep is sweet while he rests, and his labor makes his food taste good and nourishes his strength, while the rich man who can lay till noon, turns on his restless pillow and can’t sleep night or day. And while he has plenty to buy rich viands he has no appetite to eat or health to digest his food.

“The morning song of the lark sounds sweet to the laborer as it rises over the dew-spangled fields, as he goes forth to his daily toil, while the paid songs the rich man hears palls on his pleasure-tired senses. At home you have rest of body, and in travel you have education and variety; yes, the gouts and twits in life even up pretty well and the yarn runs pretty smooth offen the reel of Time to the traveller and the stay-at-home, the rich and the poor.”

Josiah wuz brushin’ his back hair with two brushes (one would have been plenty enough), and he kep’ on with his employment and sez without lookin’ up:

“I wonder where the Widder Rice’s grandson, Ezra, is? He wuz out to the West the last I hearn on him.”

There it wuz! My eloquence had rolled offen him like water from a tin eavespout; hadn’t touched him at all nor uplifted him, though I felt real riz up. You know you can talk yourself up onto quite a hite if you try; but Josiah wuzn’t moved a mite from the place he’d stood on.

Well, that wuz one of the gouts in my yarn of life, but a twit wuz near by––it had its compensation. He worships 335 me! And I went on and eppisoded to myself to bring myself up to the mark as I wadded up my back hair. Sez I to myself: “If Josiah had the eye to see the onseen eagles soarin’ up in the sky above his head, mebby he would also see my faults too plain. If he could hear in winter midnights the murmur of dancin’ waters and the melogious voice of the south wind blowin’ over roses and voyalets, he might also hear the voice of Distrust. If he had the wisdom of Solomon he might also have his discursive fancies, his various and evanescent attachments. But as it is, his love is stiddy and as firm as a rock. So the gouts and the twits evened each other up after all, and the yarn run pretty smooth.”