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"Sir William Bazleton!" repeated he, in a tone of pointed derision, "Sir William Bazleton! and will he, the sordid, skulking dependant on hourly cunning, for a day of liberty-bankrupt in reputation and exposed in fraud -the taunt of station, and the rabble's jeerwhen this ruin shall o'ertake you, (as presently it will,) when they on whom you have trampled and heaped insults shall trample in their turn and savagely repay their debt of scorn-think you this shattered braggart will raise a finger for your aid, or advance one step to shelter you?"

"Oh! spare me! spare me! Hartop," cried Margaret, in a burst of unfeigned agony, as though some maddening recollection at that moment had taken possession of her senses—“ spare me this terrible suspicion-what can I do?"

"Live! honoured-cherished-in one heart, loved and cherished! Margaret," again exclaimed Hartop, passionately-" in one bosom dwell securely, prosperously."

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Bazleton!" ejaculated the terrified Margaret, can it be possible! -the world-the merciless, exulting world-save me from that!" -and she clasped her hands with the violence of one despairing. "I will-I will!" said he, with equal energy.

"My father-my aged, sinking father!" continued Margaret abstractedly" he will die-he will die! Hartop, leave me-leave me, I say!"

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Your father!" repeated he, in a tone of measured severity-" Your father! Margaret-what cant-what puling artifice is this!-your father! When had he ever cause to bless the tender vigilance of a child?-never! When rejoiced you in his prosperity or partook his sorrows?-never! A stranger-a willing, froward stranger have you been to every dictate of his heart, a contemner of his confidence. Selfish and unfilial, when did you ever forego one idle pleasure to assuage his solitude or beguile a tear?--never! never!-and do you now, when danger-ruin, inevitable ruin, is at your heels ———.

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Oh! crush me! crush me at once!" uttered the frantic beauty, "but do not torture me. Bazleton! impossible-the world, indeed!"

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"Torture you,-loved idol of my soul!-Oh! Margaret-believe how willingly I would restore you to your court of spells-to your career of joy. Trust me, and I will. Listen to me," continued he in accents intended to inspire implicit confidence. Creditors are sometimes generous, turning their just demands to gifts and benefits. Your father's wants will not be contemned. Hark you! Margaret, your very flight will be as an appeal to their humanity, and the desertion of a child will purchase the protection of strangers for the father. Nay-start not, Margaret-but such it will be. Let no pernicious, sickly sentiment, qualities which yet you have despised, stand in the only path which opens to your safety. Margaret, you must fly to safety, ease, prosperity; and by this one act more, which public clamour may condemn, you will at least be satisfied your parent has obtained that shelter which else perhaps had never been bestowed. This doneOh! think again from what you will be snatched-for what you will be preserved the full enjoyment of your heart's best ambitionthe marvel, the admiration of the crowd!"

Infamous as was this address, and urged by a manner that but ill concealed the deadly promptings which gave it utterance, it was still

calculated to the purpose. The vain, frail heart of his victim, quailing one moment in the awful recollection of crimes already passed, could yet be hurried into still deeper accountabilities by the coarse language of pestiferous adulation. They fled together.

A brief span of time was passed in such joys as spring from such adventures; but retribution was at hand-namely, that misery which alone is consequent on a course of sin.

NOTES AND ANECDOTES.

BY CHARLES HERVEY.

VENICE.

I.

In the year 1427, Stamati, a native of Candia, conceived the bold idea of robbing the cathedral of St. Mark of some of its most precious treasures. Having succeeded in concealing himself in the church until the doors were closed at night, he contrived to enter the treasury, and abstracted, by degrees, its most valuable contents, which he hid in a vault underneath the steps of the cathedral. In the morning he took advantage of the unlocking of the doors to escape unobserved, amusing himself by wandering about the city during the day, and returning towards evening in time to be locked in as before. This continued for six nights, when, having added to his store of plunder the Doge's cap, valued at more than 200,000 crowns, he prepared to decamp with his booty; but first, unluckily for himself, resolved on confiding his secret to his friend Gerio, likewise a Candian by birth. Having brought him privately into his apartment, whither he had by this time transported the spoil, he proposed to share the whole with him: Gerio feigned compliance, and advised a speedy departure from Venice, adding, that he would arrange his own affairs as quickly as possible, and rejoin him.

Instead of this he went straight to the Doge's palace, and, either from fear of discovery or scruples of conscience, reported the matter to the Council, by whose orders Stamati was immediately arrested, and the treasure recovered. The criminal was condemned, after a short trial, to be hung between the two columns on the Piazza of St. Mark: he is said to have petitioned his judges that the rope might be gilt, but whether his request was granted or not is not recorded.

II.

In the arsenal at Venice is shewn a curious dressing-case, containing six small cannons, which are so adjusted as to explode on the opening of the case. This is said to have been sent as a present to the Contessa Sacrati, by Francesco Carrara, the last Lord of Padua, famous, or rather infamous, for his cruelties. The unfortunate lady, little suspecting the nature of the cadeau, hastily touched the spring by which the box was opened, and immediately fell, shot through the heart. In the armoury are also preserved several pocket crossbows and steel

arrows, with which the same wretch was accustomed to amuse himself by killing or wounding all those against whom he bore a grudge, without their knowing from whence the blow came. He was strangled at Padua, in 1405, by a decree of the Venetian senate, as a fitting punishment for his abominable crimes.

III.

The Venetian nobility of the ancient régime were divided into three classes the first in rank were those whose ancestors were noble before the existence of the republic; the second class comprised all who had acquired their nobility by services done to the state; and the third consisted solely of those who had purchased their titles. Notwithstanding its parvenu origin, this last class obtained its fair share of honours and dignities; for, thanks to the sovereign influence of wealth, its possessors were frequently raised to the highest offices in the state, from which the poorer though more illustrious nobili were excluded. Nevertheless, it has been said with truth, that nowhere was poverty more respected than in Venice, and for this reason; as all the nobility had a voice in the grand council, where every public functionary, even including the Doge himself, was elected by vote, the rich nobles, who aspired to place and power, found it necessary to ingratiate themselves with their poorer brethren, one dissentient voice being sufficient to blackball the most popular candidate.

The Venetians tell the following story in illustration. A poor noble, before setting out on a journey, went to pay his farewell respects to his neighbour, a wealthy signor, and, in the course of conversation, begged him to lend him a travelling cloak. The signor, not foreseeing the consequences of his refusal, declined granting the request, and the poor noble was forced to shift as he could without a cloak. Some time afterwards, the Doge dying, this same rich magnifico came forward as a candidate for the vacant honour. He was on the point of being elected, when the poor noble, who had meanwhile returned to Venice, entered the council chamber, and was immediately accosted with many profound reverences by the obsequious candidate, and his vote solicited. "Signor," replied he, making, if possible, a lower reverence than the other, "io staro senza fariol, e lei senza corno."—(I will remain without a cloak, and you without a ducal cap.)

IV.

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Travellers should be on their guard against the impositions practised by Venetian picture dealers, as even the most experienced connoisseur may easily be taken in by them. Not long ago a gentleman visited a celebrated depôt of paintings in this city, and, happening to fancy a particular picture, agreed, after some little bargaining with the dealer, to purchase it. All was settled, but the gentleman insisted on taking it home with him, having his gondola at hand. What," said the dealer, "have you any doubts of my sending you the original? Put your own seal on the back, and satisfy yourself.' This was, however, declined by the purchaser, who, sending for his servant, ordered him to carry the picture downstairs in spite of the entreaties and remonstrances of the collector. On arriving at his hotel the gentleman found, after a close scrutiny, a copy neatly inserted in the frame

behind the original, which copy he would have sealed, had he suffered himself to be prevailed upon. Of course he kept both, the dealer, as may readily be imagined, never appearing to claim either.

V.

The Venetian dialect is far more harmonious than either the Neapolitan or Genoese. Its principal peculiarities are the substituting a for s, and g for c. Che becomes ghe, and il el, as in Spanish. The u is often omitted when coupled with o, as omo for uomo, and the use of the z is frequent. The two first lines of a favourite air may be quoted as specimens:

"El (il) gusto del boccolo
Gha (ha) Nina vezzosa;"

differing, in truth, scarcely at all from the present Tuscan. A collection of poems, in the Venetian dialect, was published at Venice in 1817, under the editorship of Bartolomeo Gamba, forming fourteen volumes.

VI.

While sitting one afternoon at the window of our hotel (the Leone Bianco), we saw several boats moored at the side of the canal, and filled with large fish, which were brought out one by one, and decapitated with a cleaver in the presence of two officers of police. On inquiry, we learnt that they had been caught near Istria, and were opened by direction of the Government, in order to ascertain whether they were fresh and fit for public consumption. We were also told that these fish, which are greatly esteemed by the Venetians, were seldom caught except in very stormy weather.

VII.

Among the numerous mosaics in the Cathedral of St. Mark, are representations of the four evangelists. Above the figure of St. Mark is written, in old rhyming Latin,

"Sit nobis Marce, celesti gratus in arce,"

and above that of St. Luke,

"Quo lucet Lucas, nos Christe piissime ducas."

In the same church are four lions, also in mosaic, two represented in the water and two on the land; the former are fat and sleek, the latter miserably lean. These were intended by the artist as types of the Venetians themselves, the lion being their national emblem; thereby intimating that their prosperity and glory depended upon the seagirt position of their city, which if they relinquished for the land, their speedy decline would follow.

VIII.

The following miracle is detailed in a volume anciently kept in the sac risty of St. Mark. On the completion of the Campanile, from the summit of which Galileo is said to have made astronomical observations, a workman, employed in its erection, lost his balance and fell from the top. Being endowed with sufficient presence of mind to invoke the aid of St. Mark, and inwardly vowing that, in the event of his delivery, he would for the future devote himself to the service of the saint, he was miraculously supported by a beam jutting out from the tower, which impeded his further descent without injuring him,

until, by means of a rope let down from the summit, he reached terra firma in safety. The legend adds that, "mindful of his vow, he passed the remainder of his life in devout works, and saluberrimé diem clausit extremum."

IX.

The manufacture of beads is carried on in a small island about an hour's row from Venice; great quantities of them are annually exported to Greece and Turkey, and the remainder supply the Venetian artificers with the materials for making bracelets and other ornaments. The process is kept very secret, the workmen not being allowed to show anything except in the presence of the master. In the same island is the glass manufactory, but the specimens shown us were clumsy and ill-formed, and of an inferior quality.

X.

In the sacristy of the Chiesa di SS. Giovanni e Paolo is a picture, recording the following miracle :-Saint Dominic, arriving in port after a long voyage, found that he had no money to pay for his passage: he therefore humbly besought the aid of Heaven, and his prayers were answered by the appearance of a large fish, which rose from the water, and passively surrendered itself into his hands. Regarding this as a signal mark of the Divine favour, the saint took the fish, and, opening it, discovered a coin, by means of which he was enabled to discharge his debt.

HAROLD.

(From the German of Uhland.)

BEFORE his gallant company
Rode Harold, dauntless knight;
And through the forest wild they rode,
All in the pale moonlight.

They bear the flags in battle won,

That in the wind wave high; They sing the songs of victory, That echo to the sky.

What in the bushes stirs and lurks,

And with the branches bends? What rises from the streamlet's foam, And from the clouds descends?

What throws the flowery buds about?

What strain so sweetly sounds?
What dances through the warrior's ranks,
And on the horses bounds?

What sweetly kisses, gently soothes,
And holds so fondly prest?

The knight unhorses, steals his sword,
And leaves no peace nor rest?

It is the airy elfin train,

No mortal can withstand;

The warriors soon have vanished all-
Are all in fairy-land.

Alone the bravest still remain'd,

Bold Harold-dauntless knight;

From crown to sole ensheath'd is he
In armour glittering bright.
His brave companions all are lost,
Their arms around him strew'd;
The horses, from their masters free,
Run wild about the wood.

In bitter sorrow rode away

Proud Harold, dauntless knight;
Through the wild wood he rode alone,
All in the pale moonlight.

A streamlet trickles from the rock,
Its crystal waters gleam,
He springs to earth, unclasps his helm,
And drinks the cooling stream.

But scarcely has he drunk, his limbs
No more their vigour keep;

He sits perforce upon the rock,

He nods, and sinks to sleep.

And now, for many hundred years,
He sits and slumbers there,
His head upon his bosom sunk,
With hoary beard and hair.

When lightnings flash, and thunders roll,
And storms the wood affright,
In dreams he tries to grasp his sword,
Old Harold, dauntless knight.

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