The country is either dull or delightful as men make it. It is possible to live among sights and sounds of continual novelty and beauty, and yet to perish with ennui. Others, again, are so charmed with the freedom of the country, its boundless exhilaration, the sight of nature's progress, perpetually growing old and yet ever renewing itself before it be too old, that they find it difficult to tear themselves away from country life and unable to breathe in a town. The wiser course lies, as usual, between the extremes; he enjoys life most who moves— Not wholly in the busy world, nor quite Beyond it. That all may do so more or less, if they will, is not the least benefit of modern civilisation. Charming as is winter picturesque, its delights are deepened by power to reach libraries and picture galleries. It would be impossible to enjoy the one to the full without the enlightenment derived from the resources of large towns. And so most men will probably fall back upon the old conclusion herein-Praise the country in winter, but live in the city. M. G. WATKINS. GONDOLIERS' SONGS. L 'Tis sweet to hear At midnight, on the blue and moonlit deep, The song and oar of Adria's gondolier, By distance mellowed, o'er the waters sweep. A Bunch of Sweets.-BYRON. ONDONERS, and Britishers in general who may not be numbered amongst the migratory ones of the earth, have at the present time an opportunity of studying the phases of life in one of the most fascinating cities in the world-namely, Venice the golden. We have all dreamt of the life lived in the quaint home of the Doges; of the gay scenes on the Rialto, the numerous boats, and, best of all, the far-famed gondoliers. Well, thanks to modern enterprise, we have had all this brought to our own shores-nay, even into smoky London itself. On the top of all omnibuses, by the prosaic Underground, or in our substitute for the gondola-the hansom-we can reach that most delightful of resorts-Venice in London. All the watermen of Italy are singers-the fishermen of Genoa, the boatmen of Naples, and, above all, the gondoliers of Venice. Many of the songs sung by these maritime vocalists are full of the most whimsical nonsense and impudence, and this is set to popular tunes of the day. Lovers of romance are always angry when any attempt is made to detract from the glamour of poesy which overshadows these boatmen of the lagoons, but, to be strictly veracious, it must be admitted that there is really very little of the romantic element about them; certainly they have a swarthy, heroic-like type of countenance, and they take care to augment this appearance by a studied déshabille, which at times becomes slightly embarrassing. But their language is the reverse of parliamentary, and with all due apologies to those who have set up the gondolier on a pinnacle of sentiment I must say that his songs savour strongly of the music-hall. It would be nice if we could think that the gondolier of to-day still chanted the strophes of Tasso as he did when Byron lived in Venice; but we must remember that the City of the Adriatic was then in its prime, and her people had not descended to the level of fin de siècle nonchalance. Still I must not divest the gondoliers of all goodness, for they are beyond all things religious, and first and foremost amongst the songs they make a habit of singing is the "Sicilian Mariners' Hymn." This you will hear chanted on the morning of St. Mary's Day. Quite early, before there is any stir in the Venetian city--business there is none in Venice, without we except the dolce far niente of the long noonday hours-the strains of this lovely hymn rise from the canals. A delicious little song, which all visitors to Venice must remember, is the "Song of a Mariner": Fair art thou born, but love is not for me; A sailor's calling sends me forth to sea. I do desire to paint thee on my sail, And o'er the briny deep I'd carry thee. They ask what ensign when the boat they hail. For woman's love I bear this effigy, For woman's love, for love of maiden fair; If her I may not love, I love forswear! "Santa Lucia" may almost be said to be the national anthem of the Italian boatmen. It is so truly of the barcarolla type, and it seems to need the additional accompaniment of the swishing of the oars through the water : Over the ocean Night's star is beaming, With every motion Bright waves are gleaming. |