St. Mark died at Alexandria, in Egypt.  He was martyred, I think.  However, that has nothing to do with my legend.  About the founding of the city of Venice—­say four hundred and fifty years after Christ—­(for Venice is much younger than any other Italian city,) a priest dreamed that an angel told him that until the remains of St. Mark were brought to Venice, the city could never rise to high distinction among the nations; that the body must be captured, brought to the city, and a magnificent church built over it; and that if ever the Venetians allowed the Saint to be removed from his new resting-place, in that day Venice would perish from off the face of the earth.  The priest proclaimed his dream, and forthwith Venice set about procuring the corpse of St. Mark.  One expedition after another tried and failed, but the project was never abandoned during four hundred years.  At last it was secured by stratagem, in the year eight hundred and something.  The commander of a Venetian expedition disguised himself, stole the bones, separated them, and packed them in vessels filled with lard.  The religion of Mahomet causes its devotees to abhor anything that is in the nature of pork, and so when the Christian was stopped by the officers at the gates of the city, they only glanced once into his precious baskets, then turned up their noses at the unholy lard, and let him go.  The bones were buried in the vaults of the grand cathedral, which had been waiting long years to receive them, and thus the safety and the greatness of Venice were secured.  And to this day there be those in Venice who believe that if those holy ashes were stolen away, the ancient city would vanish like a dream, and its foundations be buried forever in the unremembering sea.

CHAPTER XXIII.

The Venetian gondola is as free and graceful, in its gliding movement, as a serpent.  It is twenty or thirty feet long, and is narrow and deep, like a canoe; its sharp bow and stern sweep upward from the water like the horns of a crescent with the abruptness of the curve slightly modified.

The bow is ornamented with a steel comb with a battle-ax attachment which threatens to cut passing boats in two occasionally, but never does.  The gondola is painted black because in the zenith of Venetian magnificence the gondolas became too gorgeous altogether, and the Senate decreed that all such display must cease, and a solemn, unembellished black be substituted.  If the truth were known, it would doubtless appear that rich plebeians grew too prominent in their affectation of patrician show on the Grand Canal, and required a wholesome snubbing.  Reverence for the hallowed Past and its traditions keeps the dismal fashion in force now that the compulsion exists no longer.  So let it remain.  It is the color of mourning.  Venice mourns.  The stern of the boat is decked over and the gondolier stands there.  He uses