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sluggish, canal-like stream; and its summer palaces set down in the most uninteresting of all possible situations-great, bare, ruinous, poverty-stricken houses. Some of them, notwithstanding, are by Palladio, and the architecture, doubtless, is fine, if one could bring his mind to think so.

But a breath is on our cheek, which the islander recognises among all the winds in the world. We feel that we are near the sea; and our heart begins to beat with delight and expectation. The ground is so level, however, that we have no more view than if we were in Holland. There is a town, or a village, in front-but it does not look like a sea-port. Yet we cannot be mistaken: we are near the sea.

P

CHAPTER X.

THE SEA-CYBELE.

THE shades of evening were already beginning to fall, when we found ourselves on the high-road to Venice. The old diligence was discarded, as being "of the earth, earthy," and therefore unfit to approach the tower-crowned goddess. The new one was of a long, narrow, barge-like shape; the interior being a comfortable apartment, half cabin, half pavillion, capable of holding luxuriously a dozen persons. The horses we did not see, as our view was intercepted by the front of the diligence; on which the conducteurs (for there were two of them) stood, one on each side, in the most picturesque of attitudes.

It was a warm, dull, hazy evening, with scarcely a breath of wind to raise the dust, had there been any, on the road. The road itself was as smooth as if it had been constructed of molten glass, and of a dead blueish colour. The motion was of so

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dreamy and poetical a character, that it gave the idea of a journey through cloud-land; and looking around you on the field of road-for the track itself was somewhat vague and unprecise-you might indeed have seen a sort of vision of the clouds, a faint-lined, vapoury representation of the sky.

Not a word was spoken by our fellow-travellers; they all seemed to be impressed with the seriousness of men entering upon an adventure of some consequence. The conducteur of the old diligence sat without moving a muscle, and yet by no means in an attitude of rest or enjoyment. Even the Milanese lady was mute- she who had talked every inch of the way from "Milano la Grande”* to the Gulf of Venice. She leant against the door in an attitude of expectation that was almost solemn from its silence. No wonder. We had left terra firma behind us, and were now on our way to visit the daughter of Heaven and Earth-that mythological queen, whose "tiara of proud towers is beheld rising from the Adriatic.

Heavier and heavier the shadows of evening

Similar epithets are popularly applied to almost all the cities of Italy. Venice was once called Venezia la Ricca; Rome is still Roma la Santa; Naples, Napoli la Gentile; Genoa, Genova la Superba; Florence, Firenze la Bella; Bologna, Bologne la Grassa; Ravenna, Ravenna l'Antica; and Padua, Padova la Dotta. Of these cities, Ravenna is the most fortunate in its designation, the applicability of which will increase every day; while the holiness, gentility, magnificence, beauty, fertility, and learning of the others will perhaps soon followsome have already followed-the riches of Venice.

gathered upon the surface of the lagoon. We could see, however, at length, that the channel through which we glided, and which is one of the great water-roads of Venice, began to assume a more regular and highway-like form. Low banks, on

either side, if our optics did not deceive themselves in the gloom, shut in our path from the common surface; and these, as we advanced further, were crowned with some works that were either fortifications built of stone, or were hewn by our imagination out of the shadows of night. Soon the channel grew wider, or the darkness increased; the banks vanished; and for some time we glided on with scarcely any thing to remind us that we were awake, except a dreamy consciousness of motion.

Suddenly the sea-diligence stopped; and, looking up, we saw the apparition of a man, as if standing on the water, with a lamp in his hand. The apparition glided into the boat, and, without uttering a word, extended its lamp within two inches of our individual physiognomy, and almost blinded us with the glare. This infliction continued for upwards of a minute; during which time we could see, through our trembling lids, that a pair of keen eyes were fixed in attentive perusal of our features. "What is your name?" demanded the spectre. We answered to the best of our knowledge.

“And your country?—your profession?" Being satisfied on these points, the lamp was withdrawn, and its light next fell on the pale but pretty face

of the Milanese. Two or three common physiognomies were then visited-which, indeed, were nothing more than sets of features, such as noses, eyes, and mouths; and when at last the short head, and red, coarse, sensible, strongly-marked countenance of the old conducteur had loomed out in the light, both lamp and ghost vanished, and we were left as before in the dark.

When our optics became a little accustomed to the situation in which they were placed, we detected the dull outlines of a building streaked against the heavy sky; and the idea, which turned out to be correct, passed across our mind, that we were temporary prisoners at a sort of dogana or custom-house, which serves as a toll-gate, as well as guard-house, on this water-road. In the meantime, to our great relief, the lamp of our own cabin was lighted; and, being thus afforded wherewithal to see that we were in no danger of sudden death, the agitation of our blood began to subside, and finally settled at the point of romantic and poetical sensibility.

We were again in motion; the building disappeared; and we all relapsed into the quietude and silence which the adventure of the dogana had interrupted. We had not long been in this state, however, when a-something-shot past us in the gloom, which stirred our heart like one of those faint touches of electricity that startle without alarming. We caught but a momentary glimpse of it as it passed; but this was sufficient to awaken