t passing over it, disgust gets the better of every other
sensation. The truth is, our dear Venetians are nothing less than
cleanly; St. Mark's Place is all covered over in a morning with
chicken-coops, which stink one to death; as nobody I believe thinks of
changing their baskets: and all about the Ducal palace is made so very
offensive by the resort of human creatures for every purpose most
unworthy of so charming a place, that all enjoyment of its beauties is
rendered difficult to a person of any delicacy; and poisoned so
provokingly, that I do never cease to wonder that so little police and
proper regulation are established in a city so particularly lovely, to
render her sweet and wholesome. It was at the Rialto that the first
stone of this fair town was laid, upon the twenty-fifth of March, as I
am told here, with ideal reference to the vernal equinox, the moment
when philosophers have supposed that the sun first shone upon our earth,
and when Christians believe that the redemption of it was first
announced to _her_ within whose womb it was conceived.

The name of _Venice_ has been variously accounted for; but I believe our
ordinary people in England are nearest to the right, who call it _Venus_
in their common discourse; as that goddess was, like her best beloved
seat of residence, born of the sea's light froth, according to old
fables, and partook of her native element, the gay and gentle, not rough
and boisterous qualities. It is said too, and I fear with too much
truth, that there are in this town some permitted professors of the
inveigling arts, who still continue to cry _Veni etiam_, as their
ancestors did when flying from the Goths they sought these sands for
refuge, and gave their lion wings. Till once well fixed, they kindly
called their continental neighbours round to share their liberty, and to
accept that happiness they were willing to bestow and to diffuse; and
from this call--this _Veni etiam_ it is, that the learned men among them
derive the word _Venetia_.

I have asked several friends about the truth of what one has been always
hearing of in England, that the Venetian gondoliers sing Tasso and
Ariosto's verses in the streets at night; sometimes quarrelling with
each other concerning the merit of their favourite poets; but what I
have been told since I came here, of their attachment to their
respective masters, and secrecy when trusted by them in love affairs,
seems far more probable; as they are p