Venice is, of course, the paradise both of Germans and Austrians.

Every day in the spring and summer one or two steamers arrive from Trieste packed with Austrian tourists awfully arrayed.

Some hundreds have to return to Trieste at 2 o'clock; other hundreds remain till night.

The beautiful word Venezia, which we cheapen but not too cruelly to Venice and the French soften to Venise, is alas! to Teutonic tongues Venedig.
The Venetians reach the Square first, smart, knowing, confident, friendly, and cheerful; then the Germans and Austrians, very obviously trippers; and then, after their hotel dinners, at about quarter past nine, the English: the women with low necks, the men in white shirts, talking a shade too loud, monarchs of all they survey.

But the honeymooners are the best--the solicitous young bridegrooms from Surbiton and Chislehurst in their dinner-jackets and black ties; their slender brides, with pretty wraps on their heads, here probably for the last or the first time, and so determined to appear Continental and tolerant, bless their hearts! They walk round and round, or sit over their coffee, and would be so happy and unselfconscious and clinging were it not for the other English here.
The fine republicanism of Venice is nowhere so apparent as on band nights.