Caffe of the Greeks, a nation which I have commonly seen represented there
by two or three Albanians with an Albanian boy, who, being dressed exactly
like his father, curiously impressed me, as if he were the young of some
Oriental animal--say a boy-elephant or infant camel.

I hope that the reader adds to this sketch, even in the winter time,
occasional tourists under the Procuratie, at the caffe, and in the shops,
where the shop-keepers are devouring them with the keenness of an appetite
unsated by the hordes of summer visitors. I hope that the reader also
groups me fishermen, gondoliers, beggars, and loutish boys about the base
of St. Mark's, and at the feet of the three flag-staffs before the church;
that he passes me a slatternly woman and a frowzy girl or two through the
Piazza occasionally; and that he calls down the flocks of pigeons hovering
near. I fancy the latter half ashamed to show themselves, as being aware
that they are a great humbug, and unrightfully in the guide-books.

Meantime, while I sit at Florian's, sharing and studying the universal
worthlessness about me, the brief winter passes, and the spring of the
south--so unlike the ardent season of the north, where it burns full
summer before the snows are dried upon the fields--descends upon the city
and the sea. But except in the little gardens of the palaces, and where
here and there a fig-tree lifts its head to peer over a lofty stone wall,
the spring finds no response of swelling bud and unfolding leaf, and it is
human nature alone which welcomes it. Perhaps it is for this reason that
the welcome is more visible in Venice than elsewhere, and that here, where
the effect of the season is narrowed and limited to men's hearts, the joy
it brings is all the keener and deeper. It is certain at least that the
rapture is more demonstrative. The city at all times voiceful, seems to
burst into song with the advent of these golden days and silver nights.
Bands of young men go singing through the moonlit streets, and the Grand