For myself, I must count as half-lost the year spent in Venice
before I took a house upon the Grand Canal. There alone can existence have
the perfect local flavor. But by what witchery touched one's being suffers
the common sea-change, till life at last seems to ebb and flow with the
tide in that wonder-avenue of palaces, it would be idle to attempt to
tell. I can only take you to our dear little balcony at Casa Falier, and
comment not very coherently on the scene upon the water under us.
And I am sure (since it is either in the spring or the fall) you will not
be surprised to see, the first thing, a boat-load of those English, who go
by from the station to their hotels, every day, in well-freighted
gondolas. These parties of traveling Englishry are all singularly alike,
from the "Pa'ty" traveling alone with his opera-glass and satchel, to the
party which fills a gondola with well-cushioned English middle age, ruddy
English youth, and substantial English baggage. We have learnt to know
them all very well: the father and the mother sit upon the back seat, and
their comely girls at the sides and front.
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