[Vol. 1]

A great change has, in this respect, been wrought in Venice, for, when I knew it three years ago, it was crowded with half-starved wretches; and, as at present in Padua, it was no uncommon thing to find two or three infants sleeping in the open streets.

 An adventure of this kind is still present to my memory, and will not be easily effaced. I had supped with a gay party, which had afterwards adjourned (for it was now morning) to the public garden. We here broke into pairs and parties, and roamed about, some in the garden, and some along the terrace called the Riva degli Schiavoni, which was then ringing with guitars.

 By degrees these sounds died away, and all was silence. The last loiterers had disappeared, and I was accompanying a lady to her house, when we all but stumbled over a little child, perfectly naked, asleep before a door. There was not an appearance of a person being up in Venice. What was to be done? The lady took off her pelisse, wrapt the poor little wretch in it, and left it to the care of Providence.