At the beginning of this century, songs that were called Venetian ballads were very popular in London drawing-rooms. That they were sung with more effect before those who had never heard them in their own country than before those who had, will be easily believed. A charming letter-writer of that time described the contrast made by the gay or impassioned strain of the poetry to "the stucco face of the statue who doles it forth;" whilst in Venice, he added, it is seconded by all the nice inflections of voice, grace of gesture, play of features, that distinguish Venetian women. One of the Venetian songs which gained most popularity abroad was the story of the damsel who drops her ring into the sea, and of the fisherman who fishes it up, refusing all other reward than a kiss: Oh! pescator dell 'onda, Findelin, Vieni pescar in qua! Colla bella sua barca Colla bella se ne va Findelin! lin, la! But this song is not peculiarly Venetian; it is sung everywhere on the Adriatic and Mediterranean coasts. And the version used was in pure Italian. Judged as poetry, the existing Venetian ballads take a lower place than the _Vilote_. They are often not much removed from doggerel, as may be shown by a lamentable history which confusedly suggests Enoch Arden with the moral of "Tue-la:" "Who is that knocking at my gates? Who is that knocking at my door?" "A London captain 'tis who waits, Your very humble servitor." In deshabille the fair one ran, Straightway the door she opened wide: "Tell me, my fair one, if you can, Where does your husband now abide?" "My husband he has gone to France, Pray heaven that back he may not come;" --Just then the fair one gave a glance, It was her spouse arrived at home! "Forgive, forgive," the fair one cried, "Forgive if I have done amiss;" "There is no pardon," he replied, For women who have sinned like this." Her head fell off at the first blow, The first blow wielded by his sword; So does just Heaven its anger show Against the wife who wrongs her lord. Venetian songs will serve as a guide to the character, but scarcely to the opinions, of the Venetians. The long struggle with Austria has left no other trace than a handful of rough verses dating from the Siege--mere strings of _Evvivas_ to the dictator and the army. It may be argued that the fact is not exceptional, that like the _Fratelli d'ltalia_ of Goffredo Mameli, the war-songs of the Italian movement were all composed for the people and not by them. Still there have been genuine folk-poets who have discoursed after their fashion of _Italia libera_. The Tuscan peasants sang as they stored the olives of 1859-- L'amore l'ho in Piamonte, Bandiera tricolor!