One can wander for miles along the Lido on the Adriatic side. The lizards bask in the hot sand; the delicate, pale sea-holly mingles with the yellow of the evening primrose. From the Lido you can see right away to the south-east, and in the horizon can discern the faint blue hills above Trieste and the top of Monte Maggiore. From there the city looks well: one sees the Ducal Palace, faintly pink, the green woods of the public gardens, and the vast blue Venetian sky. The true native seems to have a strange affection for the Lido. One cannot tell why or wherefore; but it is so--"Lido" has ever been a name to conjure with. One cannot tell what associations and sensations of pleasure and charm are connected with it. At the present day it is a flat piece of somewhat marshy ground, with large gardens intersected by canals. The woods of the Favorita, on the shore of San Elizabetta, are delightful, with their groves of acacia and catalpas, where the ground is carpeted with wild flowers, and the grass is greener than elsewhere in Venice, and the nodding violets grow. Behind the acacia grove there is a Protestant burial-ground where rest the bones of many Englishmen who came to Venice for pleasure and stayed to die. The tomb of our ambassador, Sir Francis Vincent, is here. A beautiful walk is towards the ramparts of San Nicolo, where the blackbirds sing in the old convent garden, and in summer crimson poppies, purple salvias, and vivid green grass are luxuriant. San Nicolo di Bari is the patron saint of sailors. They have erected a magnificent church dedicated to his memory on the most beautiful point of the Lido. Here the crews of the merchantmen and warships of the Republic would linger for a while before sailing, to ask a blessing on their voyage. The saint's remains do not really rest here. Venice failed in her endeavour to obtain them by force from the people of Bari; but she spread the fiction among the people. To this day the sailors of the lagoon firmly believe that San Nicolo still watches over and protects them, and when in doubt or danger are enabled by the campanile of his church to find the direct course to the Lido port. At the Lido is the cemetery of the Jews. The graves are covered with sand and vegetation, and children never hesitate to dance on them,--in fact, to do so is a favourite pastime. If one remonstrates, they will look at you with wide-open eyes, and explain that these are only graves of Jews,--a Jew with the Venetians being no better than a dog. The grave of a Christian is treated with the greatest reverence: even the children and the gondoliers salute it as they pass. There is something pathetic about the Jewish graves, from the stones over which the inscriptions have been effaced. [Illustration: CHIOGGIA]