oam their
force away in fretful waste. The very existence of Venice may be said
to depend sometimes on these _murazzi_, which were finished at
an immense cost by the Republic in the days of its decadence. The
enormous monoliths which compose them had to be brought across the
Adriatic in sailing vessels. Of all the Lidi, that of Malamocco is the
weakest; and here, if anywhere, the sea might effect an entrance into
the lagoon. Our gondoliers told us of some places where the _murazzi_
were broken in a gale, or _sciroccale_, not very long ago. Lying awake
in Venice, when the wind blows hard, one hears the sea thundering upon
its sandy barrier, and blesses God for the _murazzi_. On such a night
it happened once to me to dream a dream of Venice overwhelmed by
water. I saw the billows roll across the smooth lagoon like a gigantic
Eager. The Ducal Palace crumbled, and San Marco's domes went down. The
Campanile rocked and shivered like a reed. And all along the Grand
Canal the palaces swayed helpless, tottering to their fall, while
boats piled high with men and women strove to stem the tide, and save
themselves from those impending ruins. It was a mad dream, born of the
sea's roar and Tintoretto's painting. But this afternoon no such
visions are suggested. The sea sleeps, and in the moist autumn air we
break tall branches of the seeded yellowing samphire from hollows of
the rocks, and bear them homeward in a wayward bouquet mixed with cobs
of Indian-corn.

Fusina is another point for these excursions. It lies at the mouth
of the Canal di Brenta, where the mainland ends in marsh and
meadows, intersected by broad renes. In spring the ditches bloom with
fleurs-de-lys; in autumn they take sober colouring from lilac daisies
and the delicate sea-lavender. Scores of tiny plants are turning
scarlet on the brown moist earth; and when the sun goes down behind
the Euganean hills, his crimson canopy of cloud, reflected on these
shallows, muddy shoals, and wilderness of matted weeds, converts the
common earth into a fairyland of fabulous dyes. Purple, violet, and
rose are spread around us. In front stretches the lagoon, tinted
with a pale light from the east, and beyond this pallid mirror shines
Venice--a long low broken line, touched with the softest roseate
flush. Ere we reach the Giudecca on our homeward way, sunset has
faded. The western skies have clad themselves in green, barred with
dark fire-rimmed clouds. The Euganean hills stand l