expiring in the west, and when the distant woods of Fusina were lost
in the haze of the horizon.

We were now drawing very near the city, and a confused hum began to
interrupt the evening stillness; gondolas were continually passing
and repassing, and the entrance of the Canal Reggio, with all its
stir and bustle, lay before us. Our gondoliers turned with much
address through a crowd of boats and barges that blocked up the way,
and rowed smoothly by the side of a broad pavement, covered with
people in all dresses and of all nations.

Leaving the Palazzo Pesaro, a noble structure with two rows of
arcades and a superb rustic, behind, we were soon landed before the
Leon Bianco, which being situated in one of the broadest parts of the
grand canal, commands a most striking assemblage of buildings. I
have no terms to describe the variety of pillars, of pediments, of
mouldings, and cornices, some Grecian, others Saracenical, that adorn
these edifices, of which the pencil of Canaletti conveys so perfect
an idea as to render all verbal description superfluous. At one end
of this grand perspective appears the Rialto; the sweep of the canal
conceals the other.

The rooms of our hotel are as spacious and cheerful as I could
desire; a lofty hall, or rather gallery, painted with grotesque in a
very good style, perfectly clean, floored with the stucco composition
I have mentioned above, divides the house, and admits a refreshing
current of air. Several windows near the ceiling look into this vast
apartment, which serves in lieu of a court, and is rendered perfectly
luminous by a glazed arcade, thrown open to catch the breezes.
Through it I passed to a balcony which impends over the canal, and is