through the clouds in one corner of the sky, and unmistakably directing
the operations of the fishermen.

It is said that no such winter as that of 1863-4 has been known in Venice
since the famous _Anno del Ghiaccio_ (Year of the Ice), which fell
about the beginning of the last century. This year is celebrated in the
local literature; the play which commemorates it always draws full houses
at the people's theatre, Malibran; and the often-copied picture, by a
painter of the time, representing Lustrissime and Lustrissimi in hoops and
bag-wigs on the ice, never fails to block up the street before the shop-
window in which it is exposed. The King of Denmark was then the guest of
the Republic, and as the unprecedented cold defeated all the plans
arranged for his diversion, the pleasure-loving government turned the cold
itself to account, and made the ice occasion of novel brilliancy in its
festivities. The duties on commerce between the city and the mainland were
suspended for as long time as the lagoon should remain frozen, and the ice
became a scene of the liveliest traffic, and was everywhere covered with
sledges, bringing the produce of the country to the capital, and carrying
away its stuffs in return. The Venetians of every class amused themselves
in visiting this free mart, and the gentler and more delicate sex pressed
eagerly forward to traverse with their feet a space hitherto passable only
in gondolas. [Footnote: _Origine delle Feste Veneziane_, di Giustina
Renier-Michiel] The lagoon remained frozen, and these pleasures lasted
eighteen days, a period of cold unequaled till last winter. A popular song
now declares that the present generation has known a winter quite as
marvelous as that of the Year of the Ice, and celebrates the wonder of
walking on the water:--

Che bell' affar!
Che patetico affar!