Venice is not a city to live and die by; though one can pass weeks or even months in it, without experiencing ennui or dissatisfaction, I could never yet rid myself of the feeling which is said to have haunted an old sea-captain while there; id est, an irrepressible longing to go on shore. True, there is a vague report or theory that every house in the city may be approached by land; but we all soon experienced such difficulty in our attempts at practical solutions of portions of this puzzle, that we generally, at the first perplexity, cut the Gordian by ordering the best gondola within hail. This perpetual intermixture and interference of aquatics with the ordinary interests of life, naturally produces on new-comers a singular effect. Miss was almost afraid to go from one apartment to another, for fear of stepping into the Grand Canal; and opened every door with as much caution as if she expected, like the sorceress in the Arabian Nights, to behold a river flowing across the room. Nearly all our party declared that their dreams turned upon flowing water, plashing wavelets, and walks with iron rings, ever wet by the restless flood. The Wolf inquired of the company one day at dessert, whether a Venetian had, as things exist, more than half a right to boast of his Father-land, while a fat old gentleman in the corner (a stranger to us) suggested as postscript that he could imagine nothing of which a regular native could have a firmer terror than terra firma. Which outrageous squawk at once brought down on his head the wrath of the entire assembly, who unanimously declared that the perpetrator of such villany deserved to be thrown at once into the canal. To which the old gentleman, becoming very red about the gills, declared in great wrath that he'd like to see them try it.' To which young C. retorted, in an under-tone, that he would do it directly, were he not afraid of spoiling the fish. At which the venerable man cried, 'Hold!' acknowledged the corn, and begged leave to stand half a dozen of Montebello.

'I STOOD in Venice on the Bridge of Sighs,
With MURRAY's red-bound guide-book in my hand;
When lo! an Englishman before me, cries,
'That 'ere's the Bridge of SIZE!'

Well, reader, I know not whether it be as strictly forbidden at present to go upon the Bridge of Sighs as it was when I was there, but if such should be the case, I would advise you to present an Austrian officer, as I, did with a zwanziger, which will obtain for you instant admission; i. e., if you care to go; which I certainly should have neglected to do, had not a gentleman, invested with some little diplomatic authority, assured me that as he had never been able to effect an entrance, ergo, I need not try. Great is the folly of this world! nor was mine the

least.

From the Bridge of Sighs we pass naturally to the Galleries of the Doge's Palace. And there, near what was once a 'Lion's mouth,' (the lion is gone, and only the aperture remains,) the traveler may observe fixed in the wall several tablets, bearing inscriptions. It was usual, in ancient Venice, when a state-officer had been guilty of any great offence against the commonwealth, to expose to public view a short statement of his crime, for the edification of other functionaries, and the ticular gratification, we may presume, of his family and friends. Of

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such a nature are these tablets. The reader may observe that the two following commemorate the faux pas of a couple of 'defaulters :'

MDCCXVIII.

'GIO. GIACOMO CAPRA FU CONTADOR NELLA CASA GRANDE DEL MAGISTRATO ALLE CIAVE CANDITO DALL ECCSO: CONS: DII Xcc: L1: 6: SETTEMBRE COME MINISTRO INFEDELE E REO DI GRAVE INTACEO FATTO NELLA CASSA MEDEMA.

'VETTUNA MAFetti dei BrazO QU GIACOMO GIA' NODARO IN QUESTO MAGISTRATO DELLE CIAVE FU' CAPITA LAMENTE CANDITO A' XXX' MAGGIO MDCCXXX MI DALL ECCELSO CONSIGLIO DI DIECI PER ENORME INTACCO DI PEGNI ASCENDENTE A RIGUARDE VOLE SUMMA DI DENARO A' GRAVE PREGUDIZIO DELLE PUBBLICA CASSA.

But of all rich inscriptions, gentle reader, the one posted up in the Chamber of the Council of the Ten was probably the richest. Whether it was placed there as an intensely spicy joke by some Pantagruelistic statesman, I could never learn. But that it was fearfully inappropriate, considering the general course of Venetian diplomacy, no one will deny:

'PRIMUM SEMPER ANTE OMNIA DILIGENTE INQUIRITE: UT CUM JUSTITIA ET CHARITATE diffinIATIS: NEMINEM CONDEMNETIS ANTE VERUM ET JUSTUM JUDICIUM; NULLUM JUDICETIS SUSPITIONIS ARBITRIO SED PRIMUM PROBATE ET POSTEA CHARITATIVAM SENTENTIAM PROFERTE ET QUOD VOBIS NO VULTIS FIERI ALTERI FACERE NOLITE.'

'BEFORE all things, search diligently into every matter, that ye may discern justly and charitably; that ye may condemn none except by a true and righteous judgment; that ye may judge none by arbitrary suspicion; but first thoroughly examine, and then render a charitable opinion, and what you would not do to yourself, be unwilling to do to another.'

I originally intended that this chapter should be something better than a mere collection of odds and ends, snippings and snappings, slippings and sloppings, chippings and choppings. But he is a fortunate man who knows how his wife will turn out; or rather she is a doubly fortunate woman who finds in her husband all that she expected; and three or four times blessed is that writer who can form an accurate idea as to the manner in which a chapter must inevitably conclude. But since I am fairly in for the desultory, here goes for a few more items, pepperboxically distributed.

In Venice, as in other European cities, every shop has its peculiar name, like the hotels and restaurants in our own country. And this is indicated either by a picture or an inscription. Among the latter I observed a cheese-monger's establishment, whose sign was 'Alla Divina Providenza,' To DIVINE PROVIDENCE; a brandy-shop dedicated to the MOST HOLY TRINITY, a café to the HOLY REDEEMER, and a tallow-chandler's simply to the REDEEMER, without an adjective.

There are in Venice large gondolas, termed Omnibuses, which take up and let down passengers at any points on the Grand Canal which they may designate, for a trifling fare. I took a ride in Number XIII., and found it infinitely the best 'bus (in a vehicular sense) that I ever tried. VEHICULAR!—even yet I may be misunderstood; for are we not transported by busses, be they of what description they may?

The CA' D'ORO, or Golden House, though not the largest, is undoubtedly, to a romantic taste, by far the most striking and beautiful among the Venetian palaces. It had begun to decay, but has been purchased, I am told, and completely restored by Taglioni, la Danseuse. A more

appropriate tenant for such a building would be difficult to conceive. For who, I ask, ought to live in palaces, if not great artists, the teachers of the beautiful? And I pity that man who confounds the bright particular stars of the ballet with chorus-dancers, and performers in Les Poses Plastiques, as much as I do the spiteful ignoramus who condemned the painter for his impiety in painting CHRIST and Judas with pigments 'all out of the same pot.' Those who affect to condemn the ballet, yet pretend to appreciate the beautiful in art and nature, will do well to look at the compliment paid by the grave Professor Thiersch, in his Aesthetik, to the talent of Ellsler and Taglioni.

Italian wit, or even insolence, is sometimes over-matched. An Austrian having business with some Venetian officials, and being unacquainted with their language, addressed the principal in his native tongue : I am not a wild ass, to bray in German,' politely replied, in French, the individual addressed. 'Strange,' answered the Austrian, looking contemptuously round at the assembly, 'that the slaves have not yet learned the language which their master speaks.' An interpreter was at once offered.

I have not unfrequently remarked in Venice small placards on the walls, bearing the name of one or the other clergyman, accompanied by a highly commendatory sentence, the formula being as follows: 'In segno d' esultazione pel nostro Vicario Sebastian Valier? "In sign of exultation for our vicar Sebastian Valier.' Of the nature of the services rendered by the worthy gentleman which entitled him to this extraordinary eulogium, I am not informed.

I WAS sailing along the Grand Canal one fine morning in a gondola with a New-York friend, when we espied, for the first time, the black porter of the Leone Bianco Hotel, basking in the sun. Uprose my friend and cried out, I say, Buck, how did you get there?' Great was the darkey's joy, as he replied, on the broad grin, 'Lord bless me, Mas', is you American?' 'Well, I am,' was the reply; what do you do here?' With a still intenser grin, shutting up both eyes and chuckling, Ebony replied, 'Dey puts me out here in front for a bait to 'trap' de Americans wid!'

I HAVE always been an admirer of flying leaves,' popular songs, and ha'penny literature generally. Nor do the 'last dying speeches and confessions' of England; the 'Marseillaise,' ' Bon roi Dagobert,' and 'Chant du Départ' of France, or the Volksbücher of Germany, afford a more certain indication of the respective national temperaments and tendencies of the people of those countries than the corresponding class of compositions in Italy of that which interests its own multitude. In Rome and Naples, with the exception of many popular songs, (for which vide the Agrumi of Von Kopisch,)* the vulgar literature is exclusively religious. With that of Florence I am not acquainted. In Venice, a new element develops itself, at least one half of such leaves or pamphlets consisting of accounts of noted criminals, or historical, supernatural, or humorous sketches and legends. In Bologna and Milan, a coarse, vulgar humor pre

• ALSO, MIGLIORATO's collection of 'Canzoni popolari Nap. e Sic.' VOL. XXXIX.

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dominates. The titles of my own bundles would form a chapter interesting enough to the D'Israelis of literature.

I design these remarks as an introduction to the translation of a little pamphlet of six pages, which I bought in the Piazzia di San Marco. And I sincerely trust that no one will understand me as designing or desiring by its publication to cast the slightest ridicule on religion or on faith, in however humble a form it may manifest itself.

FAIRY LAND.

BY WILLIAM BELCHER GLAZIER, 38Q

LOVE! those were wondrous days of old,
When fairies revelled on the earth,
Now dancing in the moonbeams cold,
Now hovering o'er the cottage hearth,
Now cradled in the perfumed beds

To which moss-roses oft would woo them,
Now, where the tall pines nod their heads,
Floating, like strains of music, through them.

Deep, deep within the forest dells,

Where foot of man had never trod,
Where old oaks stood like sentinels
Around the smoothly-shaven sod,
Their merry bands would come and sport
Throughout the live-long summer day;
And there would OBERON hold his court,
Surrounded by each sprite and fay.

Beneath their feet would fountains spring,
That cast above them silver showers,
Wherein they laved each weary wing,
As delicate as leaves of flowers.
The trees that bourgeoned at their side
Were hung all o'er with rarest fruit;
The breeze that wantoned wild and wide,
Made music like the softest lute.

Above this strange, sweet place, the sky
Hung tinged with glorious, golden hues
Or if a storm-cloud floated by,

It melted into fragrant dews.

Oh, for one glance at this bright spot,
One moment on its soil to stand!

But mortal eyes might view it not,
Nor mortal tread on FAIRY-LAND.

They all have fled, those gentle sprites,
Within those haunted dells no more

TITANIA with her train alights:

The fairy revels all are o'er.

But there are spots my feet have pressed,
When summer suns were sinking low,
That seemed to me so calm, so blest,
That fairies well the haunt might know.

Sit closer to me, sweet: the blush

Is mantling rarely on thy cheek;
I know full well that gentle flush
Betokens what thou may'st not speak;
For memory summons to thy brain
The eve when, with a happy band,
We crossed the fields and reached the plain
That thy dear lips named 'FAIRY-LAND.'

Through slumberous woods the pathway steals
That leadeth to this quiet scene,

And suddenly its close reveals

The hidden landscape, smooth, serene.

On either side, a gentle hill,

To meet the plain, comes greenly down,
And there, embosomed, hushed and still,
It lies, a gem in Nature's crown.

Upon that eve, the burning thought
That in my bosom long had lain,
Rose up, and for expression sought,
And yet I hushed it down again:
For thou wert coy, and shunned my side;
Dearest, thou wilt not shun it now!
And Love, o'ermastered, quelled by Pride,
In vain had flushed my cheek and brow.

We left that lovely spot: my heart

Throbbed high with passion, mixed with fear; And oh! I felt the tear-drop start,

To think that thou wert still so dear:

Yet ere the moon began to wane,

That shone that evening in the grove,

I looked into thine eyes again,

And in those eyes read naught but love!

Thou lovest me: my heart has found
The rest that it hath sought so long:
Through grief and pain its pathway wound,
To happiness untold in song:

And with thy dear form close to me,
Thus clasped in mine thy timid hand,

Oh, loved one! canst thou doubt that we
Have found the spirit's FAIRY-LAND?

Above us spreads the sky of Hope,

Beneath us flowerets wave and move,
Sweet flowers, whose dewy petals ope
To catch the welcome breath of Love:
Our footsteps tread on magic ground,

Our brows by fragrant winds are fanned;
Yes, yes! at last our hearts have found
The soil, the breeze of FAIRY-LAND!

Newcastle, Me, Nov. 19, 1851.