Robert Morrison, Once a Week (1859)
“ The carriages continue to whirl past, but one sees hardly more of them than their lamps. The river glides, cold and shining, along silvery light under the opposite bank, while trees and masts and rigging relieve themselves, as in a picture of Giorgione’s, against the golden bars of the distant sky. But the band ceases to play, and we all go home to dress. If the traveller chooses—which, they say, is rare with Englishmen abroad—to leave the society of his compatriots, he may find many an amusing drive in the native parts of the town. ”
