One night we rowed in gondolas by moonlight to
the Lido ; we took the guitar. I never saw Venice
look so beautiful. The water was like glass, and there
was not a sound but the oars' splashing. We sang
glees. Arrived at the Lido, we had tea and walked
the whole length of the sands. That night was one of
many such evenings in queenly Venice. I shall often
remember the gondolier's serenades, the beautiful moon
and starlight, the gliding about in the gondola in all the
romantic parts of Venice, the soft air, the stillness of
the night, hearing only the splash of oars, and nothing
stirring except perhaps some dark and picturesque
figure crossing the bridge, the little Madonna chapet
on the banks of the Lido edging the Adriatic, the
Piazza of San Marco with the band, and ices out-
side Florian's, the picturesque Armenians, Greeks, and




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/■>V Continental ^ouc: Stals "S

MoorSj and the lovely water-girls with their bigolo,
every language sounding in one's ears. 1 remember too
all my favourite localities, too numerous to set down,
but known doubtless to every lover of Venice.
On the days that were too bad for sight-seeing we
apd our friends read Byron, talked French, and sketched ;
on indifferent days we lionized ; and on beautiful days
we floated about round the islands. I had two particu-
larly happy days ; they were the summer mornings
when the sun shone and the birds sang ; and we were
all so gay we sang too, and the Adriatic was so blue.
There were two or three beautiful brigs sometimes
sdltng for Trieste.
