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nature cut off from Venice. There are no odd jobs, no new ways of living, no new demands for labour, beyond a fixed, well ascertained quantity required by this sea-girt population; and whoever cannot enter into the band of gondoliers, tradesmen, artificers, or other labouring men, and succeed to a portion of this labour, can entertain no delusive hope of finding a living in any unknown, unexpected way. He sees clearly that he is but a supernumerary hand on board the good ship Venice, and must wait until a vacancy falls, and he gets into it, before he can get employment, and pay, to keep a family upon. The eye of the most ignorant of the working class can take in the whole field of labour in this simple state, with no manufactures, no foreign trade, and no agriculture, and can see that there is no room for him to marry. Venice is a striking example of the economical preventive check upon over-population; and not working from any superior prudence or intelligence of the lower class, but from the greater simplicity of the social relations in which they live enabling the most thoughtless to see and calculate upon his means of subsistence. It proves, too, that the check upon over-population is to be found in the intelligence and education of the working class, in raising their habits and wants to those gratifications which property only can indulge in, and in raising their mental power to the understanding, and acting upon, those considerations which are the same in the most complicated forms of society as in the simple form in Venice, although not so obvious to the common man of uneducated mind.

One evening there was a grand illumination in one of the parishes in the centre of Venice in honour of the pastor, who had completed the fiftieth year of his service in the parish church. It was, like every thing in Venice, with a touch of the Eastern style. Carpets, or silk cloths of brilliant colours, were hung out from every window, and across the streets. Every shop had its grandest and most costly goods piled up outside,

and in the doors and windows. Crystal chandeliers, those used in drawing-rooms, with lighted wax candles, were suspended on gaily painted rods across, between the houses, so as to hang over the centre of the narrow flag-paved alleys of the town; and in these, the throng of well-dressed people of the middle and lower classes was immense. There was no pushing, or elbowing, or rudeness, in the dense mass, although crowded beyond any fashionable London squeeze. A military band of an Hungarian regiment played opposite the parish church. We took a gondola up the grand canal, and landed at the Rialto, from whence our gondolier piloted us through dark lanes, so narrow that two persons could scarcely pass each other, until we reached the centre of the show, where the band was playing dressed in their Hungarian costume. The scene was splendid. The narrow streets lined, and canopied with gay coloured cloths, and silks, and glittering goods; the wax lights, the glass chandeliers, and the well-dressed crowd, appeared a scene from the Arabian Nights' Entertainments realised. In all this bustle, I did not see, even in the fish-market at the Rialto, a single instance of intoxication- people were not drinking, although all were singing, talking, and enjoying themselves—nor a single instance even among the boys, of jostling, pushing, running, or rudeness, nor a single person whom I could suppose to be a policeman. The ordinary corporal's guard at a public building near the church, was the only authority I saw of any kind. kind. I doubt if the Austrian government be unpopular with the common people here.

The Venetian taste seems Eastern. The old buildings, like St. Mark's, are not Grecian, not Gothic, but Saracenic, in a style copied probably from Constantinople. The taste in dress is also peculiar. They prefer strongly contrasted, vivid colours. This is also the taste in the Venetian school of painting. The very climate and situation of Venice naturally produce great contrasts, great masses of brilliant light and deep shade.

The most impressive scenery in Venice is in passing by night in a gondola, through the silent, narrow canals, where you plunge into the shadows, black as midnight, of buildings rising from the water on each side; and all is pitchy darkness, except a small space of sky overhead, or a light glimmering in an upper-story window, and you emerge suddenly, by a turn of the canal, into a brilliant flood of moonlight glittering and dancing on waters and buildings as far as eye can reach. In general, however, I prefer the land paths in Venice to the solitary dignity of being paddled about in a gondola. I like to rub shoulders with the people — to hear the merry laugh in the market-place.

The style of building in the old houses on the canals, is peculiar. Small, beautifully carved pillars, with windows between, and arches joining them with much open work and ornament, run in belts round the buildings; and the main story has projecting balconies and covered colonnades hanging over the canals. These balconies and stone verandas of this Eastern or Saracenic style of architecture, must have been costly, from the fine cutting of pillars and fret-work; and now, many of these ancient mansions or palaces are uninhabited, or tenanted in part by the labouring people, whose shirts and stockings are hanging out to dry, over balustrades which once half concealed the silk-robed ladies of high degree who sat listening behind them in the twilight, to wellknown strains of music from the swift passing gondola which dared not linger. Sic transit gloria mundi. Our gondolier pointed out to us his habitation on the grand canal, and at his signal-whistle, his little ones ran out on the balcony of the first-floor to see their father go past on the water; happier, perhaps, that he was earning eighteen-pence, than ever were the progeny of the Venetian noble who built the palace, in all their magnificence. His rent, he told us, was three dollars a month for five rooms and a cellar; but it was dear, in consequence of the convenience of the situation. In remote canals, a zwanziger, two-thirds of a franc,

per week, is the ordinary rent for labouring people. Their fuel for a year will cost sixty zwanziger. The hire of a gondola for a day is six zwanziger. There is honour among these gondoliers; for although needy and clamorous for fares, and we had no fixed engagement with our man, yet if he was out of the way, they would call him to come to his usual customers, and took no advantage of his absence. There are in Venice about

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200 gondolas plying for hire. The buildings in Venice are not in general so lofty as in Genoa, and other Italian cities. St. Mark's is a low structure, so is the palace of the doge, and the adjoining old prison connected with it by a covered bridge the bridge of sighs from the upper story of the one building to that of the other. These are all low structures, that is, the proportion of the height to the extent of front is not greater than in Grecian architecture, and, therefore, they are not to be classed with the Gothic. Venice probably borrowed her style of building from Constantinople, when she was mistress of the East. Some of the old mansions in the secondary canals are very interesting, from the peculiar style of architecture and

ornament.

It is the predominating, characteristic, and distinctive principle of Gothic architecture to seek its effects by extensions in the height; and that of Grecian architecture, on the contrary, to seek its effects by extensions parallel to the horizon. These two distinct principles will be found to govern all the details, as well as the general masses, of each of these two distinct styles of architecture the arches, gates, windows, fronts, interiors to run through all their parts, and to govern the whole ideal of the structure in every pure and complete specimen of either style.

CHAP. XXIV.

THE BRENT A. — ITALIAN TOWNS.-WAY OF LIVING OF THE LOWER CLASSES.—DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THE ITALIAN AND ENGLISH POPULATIONS. — CAUSES OF THE DIFFERENCE.— REPRODUCTIVE AND UNREPRODUCTIVE EXPENDITURE.

We set off with regret from Venice-a city fascinating even in her decay-and crossed again to Fusina, the nearest custom-house on terra firma, at a very early hour. In this delightful climate the morning air is not damp, raw, and uncomfortable; but is agreeable to the feelings. The air, even in Venice, is so opposed to dampness, that scarcely any slime or green moss grows on the walls at the surface of the water, on the stone steps of the doors upon the canals, or even upon the wooden piles in the sea. It was ebb tide, and these were uncovered lower than usual; and we passed even extensive banks of sand or gravel, laid dry at low water - such islands as Venice itself is built on. Venice being a free port in which goods are landed free of custom-house duty, the traveller's luggage has to undergo the same kind of search at Fusina as if it were landed from a foreign ship. We found the officers not more troublesome than in any of our own custom-houses. From Fusina to Padua you travel in the course of a forenoon along the Brenta, a muddy river inclosed between artificial dykes, and the level of its bed raised considerably above that of the land on each side. This river, and the Po, run upon the country, rather than through it; for the channel of the waters is raised by the deposit of ages, and the embankments on each side, high above the land. The delightful villas on the banks of the Brenta are like Dutch country houses, adorned with leaden statues of nymphs, satyrs, neptunes, shepherdesses, rows of tubs and jars holding orange trees and shrubs, a parterre gay with ordinary flowers, and hid behind a mud-bank raised on each side of the bed of

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