hot, sullen, and still, and no motion in the statue-like form itself, stirred even the folds of that raiment of very vapor which hung around it as the heavy marble hangs around the Niobe. Yetstrange to say!-her large lustrous eyes were not turned downwards upon that grave wherein her brightest hope lay buried— but riveted in a widely different direction! The prison of the Old Republic is, I think, the stateliest building in all Venice-but how could that lady gaze so fixedly upon it, when beneath her lay stifling her own child? Yon dark, gloomy niche, too, yawns right opposite her chamber window-what, then, could there be in its shadows-in its architecture-in its ivy-wreathed and solemn cornices-that the Marchesa di Mentoni had not wondered at a thousand times before? Nonsense!-Who does not remember that, at such a time as this, the eye, like a shattered mirror, multiples the images of its sorrow, and sees in innumerable far off places, the wo which is close at hand?

Many steps above the Marchesa, and within the arch of the water-gate, stood, in full dress, the Satyr-like figure of Mentoni himself. He was occasionally occupied in thrumming a guitar, and seemed ennuye to the very death, as at intervals he gave directions for the recovery of his child. Stupified and aghast, I had myself no power to move from the upright position I had assumed upon first hearing the shrick, and must have presented to the eyes of the agitated group a spectral and ominous appearance, as with pale countenance and rigid limbs, I floated down among them in that funereal gondola.

All efforts proved in vain. Many of the most energetic in the search were relaxing their exertions, and yielding to a gloomy sorrow. There seemed but little hope for the child; (how much less than for the mother!) but now, from the interior of that dark niche which has been already mentioned as forming a part of the Old Republican prison, and as fronting the lattice of the Marchesa, a figure muffled in a cloak, stepped out within reach of the light, and, pausing a moment upon the verge of the giddy descent, plunged headlong into the canal. As, in an instant.afterwards, he stood with the still living and breathing child within his grasp, upon the marble flagstones by the side of the Marchesa, his cloak, heavy with the drenching water, became unfastened,

and, falling in folds about his feet, discovered to the wonderstricken spectators the graceful person of a very young man, with the sound of whose name the greater part of Europe was ther ringing.

No word spoke the deliverer. But the Marchesa! She will now receive her child-she will press it to her heart she will cling to its little form, and smother it with her caresses. Alas! another's arms have taken it from the stranger-another's arms have taken it away, and borne it afar off, unnoticed, into the palace! And the Marchesa! Her lip—her beautiful lip trembles : tears are gathering in her eyes-those eyes which, like Pliny's acanthus, are "soft and almost liquid." Yes! tears are gathering in those eyes and see! the entire woman thrills throughout the soul, and the statue has started into life! The pallor of the marble countenance, the swelling of the marble bosom, the very purity of the marble feet, we behold suddenly flushed over with a tide of ungovernable crimson; and a slight shudder quivers about her delicate frame, as a gentle air at Napoli about the rich silver lilies in the grass.

Why should that lady blush! To this demand there is no answer-except that, having left, in the eager haste and terror of a mother's heart, the privacy of her own boudoir, she has neglected to enthral her tiny feet in their slippers, and utterly forgotten to throw over her Venetián shoulders that drapery which is their due. What other possible reason could there have been for her so blushing?—for the glance of those wild appealing eyes? for the unusual tumult of that throbbing bosom ?-for the convulsive pressure of that trembling hand?-that hand which fell, as Mentoni turned into the palace, accidentally, upon the hand of the stranger. What reason could there have been for the lowthe singularly low tone of those unmeaning words which the lady uttered hurriedly in bidding him adieu? "Thou hast conquered," she said, or the murmurs of the water deceived me; "thou hast conquered-one hour after sunrise-we shall meet-so let it be!"

The tumult had subsided, the lights had died away within the palace, and the stranger, whom I now recognised, stood alone upon the flags. He shook with inconceivable agitation, and his

about his feet, discovered to the wondergraceful person of a very young man, with name the greater part of Europe was ther

deliverer. But the Marchesa! She will -she will press it to her heart-she will and smother it with her caresses. Alas! taken it from the stranger-another's arms and borne it afar off, unnoticed, into the chesa! Her lip—her beautiful lip trembles : n her eyes-those eyes which, like Pliny's ad almost liquid." Yes! tears are gathering ee! the entire woman thrills throughout the has started into life! The pallor of the the swelling of the marble bosom, the very feet, we behold suddenly flushed over with ble crimson; and a slight shudder quivers me, as a gentle air at Napoli about the rich

lady blush! To this demand there is no having left, in the eager haste and terror the privacy of her own boudoir, she has negr tiny feet in their slippers, and utterly forher Venetián shoulders that drapery which at other possible reason could there have been

for the glance of those wild appealing eyes? mult of that throbbing bosom -for the conthat trembling hand?-that hand which fell, into the palace, accidentally, upon the hand of hat reason could there have been for the lowtone of those unmeaning words which the lady in bidding him adieu ? "Thou hast conquered," urmurs of the water deceived me; "thou hast hour after sunrise-we shall meet-so let it be!"

d subsided, the lights had died away within the stranger, whom I now recognised, stood alone He shook with inconceivable agitation, and his

eye glanced around in search of a gondola. I could not do less than offer him the service of my own; and he accepted the civility. Having obtained an oar at the water-gate, we proceeded together to his residence, while he rapidly recovered his self-possession, and spoke of our former slight acquaintance in terms of great apparent cordiality.

There are some subjects upon which I take pleasure in being minute. The person of the stranger-let me call him by this title, who to all the world was still a stranger-the person of the stranger is one of these subjects. In height he might have been below rather than above the medium size: although there were moments of intense passion when his frame actually expanded and belied the assertion. The light, almost slender symmetry of his figure, promised more of that ready activity which he evinced at the Bridge of Sighs, than of that Herculean strength which he has been known to wield without an effort, upon occasions of more dangerous emergency. With the mouth and chin of a deity— singular, wild, full, liquid eyes, whose shadows varied from pure hazel to intense and brilliant jet-and a profusion of curling, black hair, from which a forehead of unusual breadth gleamed forth at intervals all light and ivory—his were features than which I have seen none more classically regular, except, perhaps, the marble ones of the Emperor Commodus. Yet his countenance was, nevertheless, one of those which all men have seen at some period of their lives, and have never afterwards seen again. It had no peculiar it had no settled predominant expression to be fastened upon the memory; a countenance seen and instantly forgotten-but forgotten with a vague and never-ceasing desire of recalling it to mind. Not that the spirit of each rapid passion failed, at any time, to throw its own distinct image upon the mirror of that face-but that the mirror, mirror-like, retained no vestige of the passion, when the passion had departed.

Upon leaving him on the night of our adventure, he solicited me, in what I thought an urgent manner, to call upon him very early the next morning. Shortly after sunrise, I found myself accordingly at his Palazzo, one of those huge structures of gloomy, yet fantastic pomp, which tower above the waters of the Grand Canal in the vicinity of the Rialto. I was shown up a broad