It is told, for instance, that the priest of the church of San Basso used to have the bell rung for mass very early in the morning, and that it had a peculiarly harsh and shrill tone which disturbed the Dogess’s slumbers. She sent for [Sidenote: _Tassini, under ‘San Basso’; also Molmenti, Vecchie Storie._] him and promised to make him a canon of Saint Mark’s if he would only have the bell moved, or not rung. The good man promised and went away delighted, but when, after a time, the canonry was not given to him, he began ringing again, and doubtless enjoyed the thought that every stroke set the faithless Dogess’s teeth on edge. The people revenged themselves on the Renier family for its many misdeeds in scathing epigrams, and when at last the Doge lay dying in long agony, the [Sidenote: _Mutinelli, Ult._] gondoliers said that his soul refused to leave without being paid. The truth is that as his death took place in Carnival week, on February eighteenth, 1789, it was decided to keep his death a secret not only over Ash Wednesday, but until the first Monday in Lent, in order not to disturb the merrymaking, [Sidenote: _Rom. viii. 300._] nor the reaction which was supposed to follow it; and he was buried without much ceremony and with no display in the church of the Tolentini. The candidates proposed for election to succeed him were numerous, but not of good quality. One of them, Sebastiano Mocenigo, was such a bad [Sidenote: _Rom. viii, 301._] character that when he had been in Vienna as Ambassador the Empress Maria Teresa had asked the Republic to recall him. The truth was that the few who were fit for the Dogeship would not accept it, or were opposed by the whole body of the corruptible. [Illustration: PONTE DELLA PIETÀ] As a specimen of what went on during the election of the last Doge of Venice, I subjoin an official list of what were considered the legitimate expenses of the electors. The figures are from Mutinelli [Sidenote: _Mutinelli, Ult._] and may be trusted. They are given in Venetian ‘lire,’ one of which is considered to have been equal to half a modern Italian ‘lira,’ or French franc.