The Venice which one visits to-day is so curiously a part and not a part of the ancient Venice of which we dream, that one feels, when in that sea-enveloped and fairy-like city, a strange sense of duality,&mdash;of being a veritable antique and an equally veritable modern. He has a genuine sympathy with the past, and regrets that he has not the enchanter&#39;s wand to bring it all back again,&mdash;long enough, at least, for him to revel in its magnificence.<br />If he believes in reincarnation, he is speedily convinced that he was once a Venetian indeed; else how could he feel so much at home, and how love Venice as he does! And yet, alas! he cannot quite lose his modern point of view.<br />The first emotion is all delight, and a delight that never loses its thrill; for until the time comes for reflection, we are under the charm of a perfect atmosphere, of skies of liquid blue, tinged at times with crimsons, gold, and violets, such as come only from Nature&#39;s loom; of music and soft, fascinating speech; of mysterious labyrinths and sunlit spaces,&mdash;in a word, under the spell of Venice. And if&nbsp;{2}Time brings to us the thought of the other side of the picture,&mdash;the decay which is stealthily doing its sad work, the grayness when it is gray, and all the pathos which ever attends a queen uncrowned,&mdash;yet through all and above all is the joy and pleasure which having once been ours, we are resolved to keep.