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326 V?F ORDER OF THE CZAR.

this ? Why, this is the market-place. Walter, is not this the market-place ? "

" Yes, dear," said Walter. " Don't you remember we saw a picture of it in the Walker Gallery at Man- chester ? "

" No," said Jenny, " I never saw a picture half so beautiful anywhere." And the present chronicler is al- most inclined to agree with this admiring exclamation.

Imagine the market-place at Nottingham or Yarmouth, the houses tall, some frescoed, one a palace, all with balconies ; at the north end a pillar bearing aloft the marble effigy of the lion of St. Mark ; on the south a temple ; in the centre an ancient fountain with a statue of the Virgin. Above this imagine a blue, far-away sky ; and on the floor of the market numberless stalls, pro- tected by great white umbrellas ; at the base of St. Mark's pillar a group of Italian men and women from the country, looking exactly like a peasant chorus out of a grand opera, so much so that you expect them every now and then to burst forth into song. Then imagine the market itself full of vegetables and flowers, and cattle and poultry, mostly presided over by Italian women, with handkerchiefs about their heads (and occasionally a man- tilla) not unlike the head-dress of Manchester factory girls ; and all round the market busy shops ; whenever you get a peep out of the square down some side street you catch glimpses of the facades, ancient palaces or narrow- gabled thoroughfares. Add to all this Italian soldiers, policemen (in tall hats, with silver-tipped walking-sticks), priests in solemn costume, wrinkled old men with equally wrinkled umbrellas, blue-eyed Italian girls, and stately housewives marketing. If you can put all this together in any kind of shape you may form some idea of the Verona market.

Among the cries of the miscellaneous vendors of goods and hawkers of minor articies of trade, " quatro chinka,