thought themselves
disgraced forever if they were seen on it. But the Lagoon was as
beautiful from the noisy, fussy little steamboat as from a _gondola_,
the sails of the fishing boats touching it with as brilliant colour, the
Islands lying as peacefully upon its shining waters, the bells of the
many _campanili_ coming as sweetly to our ears, the sky above as pure
and radiant; and it mattered not how we reached the Islands, they were
as enchanting when we landed.

One wonderful day was at Torcello, where nothing could mar the
loveliness of its solitude and desolation, its old cathedral full of
strange mosaics and stranger memories, the green space in front that was
once a _Piazza_ tangled with blossoms and sweet-scented in the May
sunshine, the purple hills on the mainland melting into the pale sky.
And a second day as wonderful was at Burano, with its rose-flushed
houses and gardens and traditions of noise and quarrels, and the girls
who followed the boat along the bank and pelted us with roses until
Jobbins vowed he would go and live there--and he did, but a market boat
brought him back in a week. And other excursions took us to Chioggia,
the canals there alive with fishing boats and the banks with fishermen
mending their nets; and to Murano, busy and beautiful both, with the
throb of its glass furnaces and the peace of the fields where the dead
sleep; and again and again to the _Lido_ where green meadows were
sprinkled with daisies and birds were singing.

More wonderful were the nights, coming home, when the gold had faded
from sea and sky, the palaces and towers of Venice rising low on the
horizon as in a City of Dreams, the Lagoon turned by the moon into a
sheet of silver, lights like great fireflies stealing over the water,
ghostly _gondolas_ gliding past,--then we were the real Lotus Eaters
drifting to the only Lotus Land where all things have rest.

The fussy little steamboat, I found, could rock ambition to sleep as
well as a _gondola_, and life seemed to offer nothing better than an
endless succession of days and nights spent on its deck bound for
wherever it might bear us. I understood and sympathized with the men who
lay asleep all day in the sunshine on the _Riva_ and who sang all night
on the bridge below our windows. What is more, I envied them and wished
they would take me into partnership. Were they not putting into practice
the philosophy our ancient friend Davies had preached to me in Rome? But
o