all sorts, and all prices, I believe: but whoever has looked much upon
the London work in this way, will not be easily dazzled by the lustre of
Venetian crystal; and whoever has seen the Paris mirrors, will not he
astonished at any breadth into which glass can be spread.

We will return to Venice, the view of which from the Zueca, a word
contracted from Giudecca, as I am told, would invite one never more to
stray from it--farther at least than to St. George's church, on another
little opposite island, whence the prospect is surely wonderful; and one
sits longing for a pencil to repeat what has been so often exquisitely
painted by Canaletti, just as foolishly as one snatches up a pen to tell
what has been so much better told already by Doctor Moore. It was to
this church I was sent, however, for the purpose of seeing a famous
picture painted by Paul Veronese, of the marriage at Cana in
Galilee--where our Saviour's first miracle was performed; in which
immense work the artist is well known to have commemorated his own
likeness, and that of many of his family, which adds value to the piece,
when we consider it as a collection of portraits, besides the history it
represents. When we arrived, the picture was kept in a refectory
belonging to friars (of what order I have forgotten), and no woman could
be admitted. My disappointment was so great that I was deprived even of
the powers of solicitation by the extreme ill-humour it occasioned; and
my few intreaties for admission were completely disregarded by the good
old monk, who remained outside with me, while the gentlemen visited the
convent without molestation. At my return to Venice I met little
comfort, as every body told me it was my own fault, for I might put on
men's clothes and see it whenever I pleased, as nobody then would stop,
though perhaps all of them would know me.

If such slight gratifications however as seeing a favourite picture, can
be purchased no cheaper than by violating truth in one's own person, and
encouraging the violation of it in others, it were better surely die
without having ever procured to one's self such frivolous enjoyments;
and I hope always to reject the temptation of deceiving mistaken piety,
or insulting harmless error.

But it is almost time to talk of the Rialto, said to be the finest
single arch in Europe, and I suppose it is so; very beautiful too when
looked on from the water, but so dirtily kept, and deformed with mean
shops, tha