est in all Venetian art. The Hall of Heaven is
shown, supported by colossal columns. St. Peter, Francis, and Antoninus
are commending the Pessaro family to the Virgin, who is enthroned on
high. The beauty of line, the splendor of color, and the marvellous
composition render this immortal masterpiece something whose sight marks
an epoch in life. Canova's tomb in San Maria dei Frari is a wonderful
thing. It is a pyramid of purest marble, with a door opening for the
sarcophagus, above which is a portrait of Canova in relief, and on
either side the door angels and symbolic figures are sculptured.

The Church of Santa Maria della Salute, to which one is always
returning, is a wonderful example of artistic architecture, as its snowy
towers and dome seem to rise out of the water and float in the air.

The fall of the Campanile in 1904 was regarded as a calamity by all the
civilized world. For a thousand years it had stood at the side of St.
Mark's; but the disaster aroused the attention of experts to the
condition of the great cathedral itself, and it was found that the vast
area of over fifty thousand square feet of matchless mosaic needed
restoration in order that they should be preserved.

The Palazzo Rezzonico, which dates to Clement XIII, usually known as the
"Browning Palace," has been for many years one of the special interests
to the visitor in Venice. In the early months of 1907 it passed out of
the hands of Robert Barrett Browning, who had purchased it in 1888, and
had held it sacredly, with its poetic and personal associations, since
the death of his father, the poet, in 1889. To Mr. Barrett Browning is
due the grateful appreciation of a multitude of tourists for his
generous and never-failing courtesy in permitting them the privilege of
visiting this palace in which his father had passed many months of
enjoyment. It was from this residence that the poet Browning wrote, in
October of 1880, to a friend:--

"Every morning at six I see the sun rise; far more wonderfully, to
my mind, than his famous setting which everybody glorifies. My
bedroom window commands a perfect view; the still, gray lagune, the
few sea-gulls flying, the islet of San Giorgio in deep shadow and
the clouds in a long purple rock behind which a sort of spirit of
rose burns up till presently all the rims are on fire with gold,
and last of all the orb sends before it a long column of its own
essence apparentl