The greatest air raid of all the forty-five which Venice had endured since the war's beginning was that of the night of Feb. 26-27, 1918. It lasted eight hours--from 10:20 to 6:15 A. M.--and there was not a single interval of more than half an hour during all that time of brilliant moonlight in which bombs were not falling on the city. There were 300 in all. Thirty-eight houses were smashed, the Royal Palace was struck, one wing of an old people's home was blown to pieces, and three churches were damaged, including that of St. Chrysostom, in which an altar with one of Cellini's last landscapes was wrecked. Fifteen bombs fell near the Doges' Palace, one barely missing the Bridge of Sighs and falling into the narrow canal which it spans. Ten bombs fell around the Rialto Bridge. About fifteen civilians were wounded seriously, including two women. Only one man was killed, thanks to the promptness with which the Venetians now take shelter. According to the official account at least fifty airplanes took part in the raid, and some of these returned again and again, bringing fresh cargoes of bombs throughout the night. The Austrian lines are so near that the trip to the bomb bases and back again requires only twenty-five minutes, and this was the average length of the intervals between the bombardments. G. Ward Price, a war correspondent, in describing the experiences of that night, wrote: "Suddenly another crash re-echoed throughout the city, and the din of the bombardment started once more. I followed the quickly vanishing throng through an archway, where a green light marked a place of shelter. For two hours I was part of a close-packed throng in the dark vaulted room. There were women and wide-eyed children there in plenty, tired out with the long standing, which for them lasted until dawn, but none showing alarm, though, in addition to the nerve trying din outside, a constant shower of pieces of shell and flying bits of masonry whirred and pelted and pattered down incessantly outside. BRAVE WOMEN'S LAUGHTER "Toward 2 o'clock I made another move toward the centre of the city. I heard the drone of an attacking airplane drawing nearer over the still lagoon, and a policeman beckoned me into the vestibule of a high palazzo in one of those narrow Venetian alleys between tall black rows of houses which are like a communication trench of masonry. All was cheerfulness in this marble anteroom, a family of young daughters laughing and chattering with their mother while the noisy night crept slowly on. Taking advantage of another lull, I reached my hotel, but not until 6 o'clock, when the dawn was well advanced, did the tumult of this eight-hour-long bombardment cease.