I know that my feeling of brotherhood in
the case of two sparrows, which obliged me
by hopping down from a garden wall at the
end of Calle Falier and promenading on
the pavement, was quite humble and sin-
core; and that I resented the ill-nature of a
cat,

"Whom love kept wakeful and the muse,"

and who at that hour was spitefully reviling
the morn from a window grating. As I went
by the gate of the Canonico's little garden,
the flowers saluted me with a breath of per-
fume, -- I think the white honeysuckle was
first to offer me this politeness, -- and the
dumpy little statues looked far more engag-
ing than usual.

After passing the bridge, the first thing to
do was to drink a cup of coffee at the Caffè
Ponte di Ferro, where the eyebrows of the
waiter expressed a mild surprise at my early
presence. There was no one else in the place
but an old gentleman talking thoughtfully to
himself on the subject of two florins, while
he poured his coffee into a glass of water,
before drinking it. As I lingered a moment
over my cup, I was reinforced by the ap-
pearanes of a company of soldiers, marching
to parade in the Campo di Marte. Their

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