the Foscari lantern and then to the left. In time we came to the campo
of S. Pantaleone, where, outside a cafe, a little group was always
seated, over its wine and beer, listening raptly to the music of--what?
A gramophone. This means that while the motor is ousting the gondolier,
the Venetian minstrel is also under death sentence.

It was the same if I chose to walk part of the way, for then I took the
steamer to S. Toma and passed through the campo of S. Margherita, which
does for the poor of its neighbourhood very much what the Piazza of S.
Mark does for the centre of the city and the elite of the world. This
campo is one of the largest in Venice, and at night it is very gay.
There is a church at one end which, having lost its sanctity, is now a
cinema theatre, with luridities pasted on the walls. There is another
ancient building converted into a cinema at the opposite end. Between
these alluring extremities are various cafes, each with its chairs and
tables, and each with a gramophone that pours its notes into the night.
The panting of Caruso mingles with Tetrazzini's shrill exultation.

In summer there are occasional firework displays on the water between S.
Giorgio and the Riva, supplied by the Municipality. The Riva is then
crowded, while gondolas put out in great numbers, and myriad overloaded
crafts full of poorer sightseers enter the lagoon by all the small
canals. Having seen Venetian pyrotechny, one realizes that all fireworks
should be ignited over water. It is the only way. A rocket can climb as
fiercely and dazzlingly into any sky, no doubt, but over land the
falling stars and sparks have but one existence; over water, like the
swan "on St. Mary's lake," they have two. The displays last for nearly
an hour, and consist almost entirely of rockets. Every kind of rocket is
there: rockets which simply soar with a rush, burst into stars and fall;
rockets which when they reach the highest point of their trajectory
explode with a report that shakes the city and must make some of the
campanili very nervous; rockets which burst into a million sparks;
rockets which burst into a thousand streamers; rockets whose stars
change colour as they fall; rockets whose stars do not fall at once but
hang and hover in the air. All Venice is watching, either from the land
or the water, and the band plays to a deserted Piazza, but directly the
display is over every one hastens back to hear its strains.

To get to the beautiful