numerous ports of that region. A portion of this peculiarity is still to
be observed, under the fallen fortunes of the place; but at the period
of our tale, the city of the isles, though no longer mistress of the
Mediterranean, nor even of the Adriatic, was still rich and powerful.
Her influence was felt in the councils of the civilized world, and her
commerce, though waning, was yet sufficient to uphold the vast
possessions of those families, whose ancestors had become rich in the
day of her prosperity. Men lived among her islands in that state of
incipient lethargy, which marks the progress of a downward course,
whether the decline be of a moral or of a physical decay.

At the hour we have named, the vast parallelogram of the piazza was
filling fast, the cafés and casinos within the porticoes, which surround
three of its sides, being already thronged with company. While all
beneath the arches was gay and brilliant with the flare of torch and
lamp, the noble range of edifices called the Procuratories, the massive
pile of the Ducal Palace, the most ancient Christian church, the granite
columns of the piazzetta, the triumphal masts of the great square, and
the giddy tower of the campanile, were slumbering in the more mellow
glow of the moon.

Facing the wide area of the great square stood the quaint and venerable
cathedral of San Marco. A temple of trophies, and one equally
proclaiming the prowess and the piety of its founders, this remarkable
structure presided over the other fixtures of the place, like a monument
of the republic's antiquity and greatness. Its Saracenic architecture,
the rows of precious but useless little columns that load its front, the
low Asiatic domes which rest upon its walls in the repose of a thousand
years, the rude and gaudy mosaics, and above all the captured horses of
Corinth which start from out the sombre mass in the glory of Grecian