Cow-catching in Venice.

The intimate secrets and rigorous ramifications of railway running were all elucidated to me by a black-shirt named Ana Nias, who said that he was once a cow-catcher on the Venetian railways. In case you do not appreciate what a cow-catcher on the Venetian railways means, let me explain that he is the official who stands on the pergola of the gondola, and leaps off when he detects a cow on the line. His job is to see that the permanent way is not converted into the milky way with curds and whey. He throws the bovine interloper off the rails, brings it to a full stop, and causes it to imitate an inverted comma by turning it on its back, in which position, of course, it is completely cowed, and is helpless to molest, impede, or otherwise create a hiatus in the poetry of motion.

As the Venetian railways are run solely on water (garnished perhaps with a hint of garlic page 13 and Fascism to give it foundation) the cow-catcher must combine the muscularity of a matador, the toughness of a door-a mat (Italian pronunciation), the waterproofness of Mr. Macintosh, the cow-consciousness of a dairy inspector, and the turning propensities of Dick Whittington, who, as you know, became Lord Mayor of London merely by rotating on his axis.

However, we are not as concerned with the activities of Ana Nias as we are interested in his knowledge of railway matters.