always in demand too. But considering Venice's peculiar position with
regard to the sea and her boasted dominion over it fish are very dear.

Even more striking is the dearness of fruit, but this, I take it, is due
to the distance that it must come, either by rail or water. No
restaurant that I discovered--as in the fair land of France and indeed
elsewhere in Italy--places wine or grapes free on the table.

As I say, I tried all the Venetian houses, small and large--the Cappello
Nero, the Bella Venezia, the Antico Panada, the Bauer-Grünwald, the
Bonvecchiato, the Cavalletti, the Pilsen; and the only one I felt any
desire to return to was the Pilsen, which is large and noisy and
intensely Teutonic, but a shade more attentive than the others. The
Bella Venezia is the best purely Venetian house.

I cannot remember the old campanile with enough vividness to be sure,
but my impression is that its brick was a mellower tint than that of the
new: nearer the richness of S. Giorgio Maggiore's, across the water.
Time may do as much for the new campanile, but at present its colour is
not very satisfactory except when the sun is setting. Indeed, so new is
it that one cannot think of it as having any association whatever with
S. Mark's. If it belongs to anything it is to Venice as a whole, or
possibly the Royal Palace. Yet one ought not to cavil, for it stands so
bravely on the spot where its predecessor fell, and this is a very
satisfactory proof that the Venetians, for all the decay of their lovely
city and the disappearance of their marvellous power, are Venetians
still.

The old campanile, after giving various warnings, fell on July 14, 1902,
at half-past nine in the morning. On the evening of the same day the