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"La casa cosa parea bretta e brutta, Vinta dal vento; e la notta e la notte Stilla le stelle, ch' a tetto era tutto: Del pane appena ne dette ta' dotte. Pere avea pure, e qualche fratta frutta; E svina e svena di botto una botte Poscia per pesci lasche prese a l'esca; Ma il letto allotta a la frasca fu fresca."

After the winter diversions of cards, concerts and theatres, came the excursions to the island-gardens of the lagoon and the evening promenade of the fresca on the Grand Canal. Now the palace-windows were hung with awnings, the oleanders in the balconies grew rosy against the sea-worn marble, and yellow snap-dragons blossomed from the crumbling walls.

On all festa-days, little portable tables are carried round the streets, hung to the neck of the limonaro, and set down at convenient spots, or whenever a customer presents himself, and the cries of "Acqua fresca, limonaro, limonaro, chi vuol bere?" are heard on all sides; and I can assure you, that, after standing on tiptoe for an hour in the heat and straining your neck and head to get sight of some Church procession, you are glad enough to go to the extravagance of even a lemonade with sugar; and smacking your lips, you bless the institution of the limonaro as one which must have been early instituted by the Good Samaritan.

Then a body of men singing part-songs, not badly, but to some disadvantage, as they utterly ignore the braying of half a dozen trumpets which are coming along the Riva in advance of a body of soldiers returning to some neighboring barracks. Then there are fruit-sellers and fish-sellers and hot-chestnut dealers, and, most vociferous of all, the cryers of "Acqua! acqua! acqua fresca!"

Clear virgin water, such as will course down the tunnels to bubble up in the Gaditanian fountains, is the greatest luxury of life here; "Agua fresca, cool as snow," is the most welcome of cries in the summer, and temperate Spain is as devoted to the colourless liquid that the temperance lecturer Gough and his compeers call Adam's ale, as ever London drayman was to Barclay's Entire.

The Emperor Frederick II. writes: "Rosa di maggio Colorita e fresca Occhi hai fini E non rifini Di gioie dare Lo tuo parlare La gente innamora Castella ed altura." Jacopo Pugliesi says of his lady: "Chiarita in viso più che argento Donami allegrezze Ben eo son morto E mal colto Se non mi dai conforto Fior dell' orto."

A number of tables were set out, but there were few people sitting at them. She felt tired. She crossed the road, went to a table, and sat down. A waiter came up and asked her what she would have. "Acqua fresca," she said. He looked surprised. "Oh then wine, vermouth anything!" He looked more surprised. "Will you have vermouth, Signora?" "Yes, yes vermouth."