We have been pretty much every where in our gondola.  We have bought beads and photographs in the stores, and wax matches in the Great Square of St. Mark.  The last remark suggests a digression.  Every body goes to this vast square in the evening.  The military bands play in the centre of it and countless couples of ladies and gentlemen promenade up and down on either side, and platoons of them are constantly drifting away toward the old Cathedral, and by the venerable column with the Winged Lion of St. Mark on its top, and out to where the boats lie moored; and other platoons are as constantly arriving from the gondolas and joining the great throng.  Between the promenaders and the side-walks are seated hundreds and hundreds of people at small tables, smoking and taking granita, (a first cousin to ice-cream;) on the side-walks are more employing themselves in the same way.  The shops in the first floor of the tall rows of buildings that wall in three sides of the square are brilliantly lighted, the air is filled with music and merry voices, and altogether the scene is as bright and spirited and full of cheerfulness as any man could desire.  We enjoy it thoroughly.  Very many of the young women are exceedingly pretty and dress with rare good taste.  We are gradually and laboriously learning the ill-manners of staring them unflinchingly in the face—­not because such conduct is agreeable to us, but because it is the custom of the country and they say the girls like it.  We wish to learn all the curious, outlandish ways of all the different countries, so that we can “show off” and astonish people when we get home.  We wish to excite the envy of our untraveled friends with our strange foreign fashions which we can’t shake off.  All our passengers are paying strict attention to this thing, with the end in view which I have mentioned.  The gentle reader will never, never know what a consummate ass he can become, until he goes abroad.  I speak now, of course, in the supposition that the gentle reader has not been abroad, and therefore is not already a consummate ass.  If the case be otherwise, I beg his pardon and extend to him the cordial hand of fellowship and call him brother.  I shall always delight to meet an ass after my own heart when I shall have finished my travels.

On this subject let me remark that there are Americans abroad in Italy who have actually forgotten their mother tongue in three months—­forgot it in France.  They can not even write their address in English in a hotel register.  I append these evidences, which I copied verbatim from the register of a hotel in a certain Italian city: