was half-past four, and as it had often been my humor to see Venice at
that hour, I got up and sallied forth for a stroll through the city.

This morning walk did not lay the foundation of a habit of early rising in
me, but I nevertheless advise people always to get up at half-past four,
if they wish to receive the most vivid impressions, and to take the most
absorbing interest in every thing in the world. It was with a feeling
absolutely novel that I looked about me that morning, and there was a
breezy freshness and clearness in my perceptions altogether delightful,
and I fraternized so cordially with Nature that I do not think, if I had
sat down immediately after to write out the experience, I should have at
all patronized her, as I am afraid scribbling people have sometimes the
custom to do. I know that my feeling of brotherhood in the case of two
sparrows, which obliged me by hopping down from a garden wall at the end
of Calle Falier and promenading on the pavement, was quite humble and
sincere; and that I resented the ill-nature of a cat,

"Whom love kept wakeful and the muse,"

and who at that hour was spitefully reviling the morn from a window
grating. As I went by the gate of the Canonico's little garden, the
flowers saluted me with a breath of perfume,--I think the white honey-
suckle was first to offer me this politeness,--and the dumpy little
statues looked far more engaging than usual.

After passing the bridge, the first thing to do was to drink a cup of
coffee at the Caffe Ponte di Ferro, where the eyebrows of the waiter
expressed a mild surprise at my early presence. There was no one else in
the place but an old gentleman talking thoughtfully to himself on the
subject of two florins, while he poured his coffee into a glass of water,