e realization of the populousness of the ancient
colony.

The charming octagonal little building on the right with its encircling
arcade is the church of S. Fosca, now undergoing very thorough repair:
in fact everything that a church can ask is being restored to it, save
religion. No sea cave could be less human than these deserted temples,
given over now to sightseers and to custodians who demand admittance
money. The pit railed in on the left before the cathedral's west wall is
in the ancient baptistery, where complete immersion was practised. The
cathedral within is remarkable chiefly for its marble throne high up in
the apse, where the bishop sat with his clergy about him on
semi-circular seats gained by steps. Above them are mosaics, the Virgin
again, as at S. Donato, in the place of honour, but here she is given
her Son and instantly becomes more tender. The twelve apostles attend.
On the opposite wall is a quaint mosaic of the Last Judgment with the
usual sharp division of parties. The floor is very beautiful in places,
and I have a mental picture of an ancient and attractive carved marble
pulpit.

The vigorous climb the campanile, from which, as Signor Rooskin says,
may be seen Torcello and Venice--"Mother and Daughter ... in their
widowhood." Looking down, it is strange indeed to think that here once
were populous streets.

On the way to the campanile do not forget to notice the great stone
shutters of the windows of the cathedral; which suggest a security
impossible to be conveyed by iron. No easy task setting these in their
place and hinging them. What purpose the stone arm-chair in the grass
between the baptistery and S. Fosca served is not known. One guide will
have it the throne of Attila; another, a seat of justice. Be that as it
may, tired ladies can find it very consoling in this our twentieth
century.

For antiquaries there is a museum of excavated relics of Torcello; but
with time so short it is better to wander a little, seeking for those
wild flowers which in England are objects of solicitude to gardeners, or
watching butterflies that are seen in our country only when pinned on
cork.

The return voyage leaves S. Francesco in Deserto on the right, with
the long low Lido straight ahead. Then we turn to the right and the Lido
is on the left for most of the way to Venice. After a mile or so the
mouth of the Adriatic is passed, where the Doge dropped his ring from
the Bucintoro and thus renewed th