would be difficult to carry out such a theory in these days of
logic and common sense, and in some moment of weakness I might
possibly succumb and tell her all about it, for fear that some
stranger, whom she might meet at a ball, would have the pleasure of
doing it first.

The next best woman-person in the world with whom to see Venice,
barring the lovely non-existent daughter, is Salemina.

It is our first visit, but, alas! we are, nevertheless, much better
informed than I could wish. Salemina's mind is particularly well
furnished, but, luckily she cannot always remember the point wished
for at the precise moment of need; so that, taking her all in all,
she is nearly as agreeable as if she were ignorant. Her knowledge
never bulks heavily and insistently in the foreground or middle-
distance, like that of Miss Celia Van Tyck, but remains as it
should, in the haze of a melting and delicious perspective. She
has plenty of enthusiasms, too, and Miss Van Tyck has none.
Imagine our plight at being accidentally linked to that
encyclopaedic lady in Italy! She is an old acquaintance of
Salemina's and joined us in Florence, where she had been staying
for a month, waiting for her niece Kitty Schuyler,--Kitty Copley
now,--who is in Spain with her husband.

Miss Van Tyck would be endurable in Sheffield, Glasgow, Lyons,
Genoa, Kansas City, Pompeii, or Pittsburg, but she should never
have blighted Venice with her presence. She insisted, however, on
accompanying us, and I can only hope that the climate and
associations will have a relaxing effect on her habits of thought
and speech. When she was in Florence, she was so busy in "reading