We followed the twain in breathless speed; and, not to be baulked at last after such a walk, ran rapidly down seaward by a long series of hanging terraces, communicating by short flights of abrupt laddery steps […]

When icicles start to form on the eaves you know the roads will be icy.

For the most beautiful description of the Lido, as well as of everything else Venetian, I recommend my reader to the best of travellers’ books, Mr. [William Dean] Howells’s “Venetian Life.” It was an added charm to the rare city to read this book in Venice; and were I a dogess of the fourteenth century, I would have a crystal casket enriched with gems made for my copy, and it should be locked with a mediæval gold key, such as Angelo wears and Rachel played with, in the tragedy which she introduced to us.

Is the soul affiliated to God, or is it estranged and in rebellion?