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touched by criticism, undescribed. Andment in his hand, and the seraph-charioted in this picture we have the most perfect Jehovah enveloping Moses upon Sinai in of all modern attempts to realize an an. lightnings. tique myth more perfect than Raphael's The gondola has had a long rest. “ Galatea or Titian's “ Meeting of Bac- Were Francesco but a little more imchus with Ariadne," or Botticelli's “ Birth patient, he might be wondering what had of Venus from the Sea.” It may suffice become of the padrone. I bid him turn, to marvel at the slight effect which melo- and we are soon gliding into the Sacca dies so powerful and so direct as these della Misericordia. This is a protected produce upon the ordinary public, Sit. float, where the wood which comes from ting, as is my wont, one Sunday morning, Cadore and the hills of the Ampezzo is opposite the “ Bacchus, four Germans stored in spring. Yonder square white with a cicerone sauntered by. The sub- house, standing out to sea, fronting Muject was explained to them. They waited rano and the Alps, they call the Casa an appreciable space of time. Then the degli Spiriti. No one cares to inbabit it; youngest opened his lips and spake: for here, in old days, it was the wont of * Bacchus war der Wein-Gott.And they the Venetians to lay their dead for a all moved heavily away. Bos locutus est. night's rest before their final journey to “ Bacchus was the wine-god!”. This, ap- the graveyard of S. Michele. So many parently, is what a picture tells to one generations of dead folk had made that

To another it presents divine har. house their inn, that it is now no fitting monies, perceptible indeed in nature, but home for living men. San Michele is the here by the painter-poet for the first time island close before Murano, where the brought together and cadenced in a work Lombardi built one of their most romanof art. For another it is perhaps the tically graceful churches of pale Istrian hieroglyph of pent-up_passions and de- stone, and where the Campo Santo has sired impossibilities. For yet another it for centuries received the dead into its may only mean the unapproachable inim- oozy clay. The cemetery is at present itable triumph of consummate craft. undergoing restoration. Its state of

Tintoretto, to be rightly understood, squalor and abandonment to cynical dismust be sought all over Venice - in the order makes one feel how fitting for ltal. churcb as well as the Scuola di San Rocians would be the custom of cremation. so; in “ The Temptation of St. Anthony "An island in the lagoons devoted to at S. Trovaso no less than in the tempta- funeral pyres is a solemn and ennobling tions of Eve and Christ; in the decorative conception. This graveyard, with its ruinpomp of the Sala del Senato, and in the ous walls, its mangy riot of unwholesome Paradisal vision of the Sala del Gran weeds, its corpses festering in slime beConsiglio. Yet, after all, there is one of neath neglected slabs in hollow chambers, his most characteristic moods, to appre. and the mephitic wash of poisoned waters ciate which fully we return to the Ma. that surround it, inspires the horror of donna nell'Orto. I have called him “the disgust. painter of impossibilities.” At rare mo. The morning has not lost its freshness. ments he rendered them possible by sheer Antelao and Tofana, guarding the vale imaginative force. If we wish to realize above Cortina, show faint streaks of snow this phase of his creative power, and to upon their amethyst. Little clouds bang measure our own subordination to his in the still autumn sky. There are men genius in its most hazardous enterprise, dredging for shrimps and crabs through we nust spend much time in the choir of shoals uncovered by the ebb. Nothing this church. Lovers of art who mistrust can be lovelier, more resting to eyes tired this play of the audacious fancy - aiming with pictures than this tranquil, sunny at sublimity in supersensual regions, expanse of the lagoon. As we round the sometimes attaining to it by stupendous point of the Bersaglio new landscapes of effort or authentic revelation, not seldom island and Alp and low-lying mainland sinking to the verge of bathos, and de- move into sight at every slow stroke of manding the assistance of interpretative the oar. A luggage-train comes lumbersympathy in the spectator — such men ing along the railway bridge, puffing white will not take the point of view required of smoke into the placid blue. Then we them by Tintoretto in his boldest flights, strike down Cannaregio, and I muse upon in “The Worship of the Golden Calf” and processions of kinys and generals and in “ The Destruc:ion of the World by noble strangers, entering Venice by this Water.” It is for them to ponder well the water-path from Mestre, before the Aus. flying archangel with the scales of judg. trians built their causeway for the trains. Some of the rare scraps of fresco upon dine at the garrison mess.

I had never house fronts, still to be seen in Venice, been at a similar entertainment, and I are left in Cannaregio. They are chiaro. cannot but think, now that I look back on scuro allegories in a bold bravura manner it, that the officers played some trick on of the sixteenth century. From these and me. I only know that they were profrom a few rosy fragments on the Fondaco digiously polite, which always looks susdei Tedeschi, the Fabbriche Nuove, and picious. From a certain point, from the precious fading figures in a certain court. third course, I remember very little; a jard near San Stefano, we form some sort of cloudy curtain intercepts the view notion how Venice looked when all her like the curtains that come down in panpalaces were painted. Pictures by Gen- toinimes, and all the rest of it is like a pan. tile Bellini, Mansueti, and Carpaccio help tomime, and I don't know whether I was the fancy in this work of restoration. clown, or pantaloon, or columbine. And here and there, in back canals, we Yet something must have happened to come across colored sections of old build me, a great many things. I've been sleep. ings, capped by true Venetian chimneys, ing in my white tie; and then my face ! which for a moment seem to realize our What a shockingly yellow, dissipated dream.

face ! Upon my word, it is a pretty A morning with Tintoretto might well affair! At my time, one-and twenty, to be followed by a morning with Carpaccio be overcome by wine like a schoolboy out or Bellini. But space is wanting in these for a holiday! I cannot express what I pages. Nor would it suit the manner of think of it. this medley to hunt the Lombardi through How am I to know what happened last palaces and churches, pointing out their night? Ask my landlady? No; I cansingularities of violet and yellow panel- not let her see how ashamed I am. Be. lings in marble, the dignity of their wide- sides, she would only know the condition opened arches, or the delicacy of their in which I came home; and that I can shallow chiselled traceries in cream-white guess. Istrian stone. It is enough to indicate

They say that from a single bone Prothe goal of inany a pleasant pilgrimage : fessor Owen can reconstruct an entire warrior angels of Vivarini and Basaiti, / antediluvian animal; I must try and do hidden in a dark chapel of the Frari; Fra something similar to reconstruct my exFrancesco's fantastic orchard of fruits and istence during the last twelve or fourteen flowers in distant S. Francesco della hours. I must get hold of two or three Vigna; the golden Gian Bellini in S. Zac- clues. caria; Palma's majestic S. Barbara in S. Where can I find them? Maria Formosa; San Giobbe's wealth of In my pockets, perhaps. sculptured frieze and floral scroll; the Since I was a small boy I have always Ponte di Paradiso, with its Gothic arch; had the habit of stuffing them with all the painted plates in the Museo Civico; manner of things. Now, this is the time and palace after palace, loved for some for me to search them. quaint piece of tracery, some moulding I tremble. What shall I find ? full of mediæval symbolism, some fierce impossible Renaissance freak of fancy.

(Searches his waistcoat pocket.) I have gently insinuated two fingers into my waistcoat pocket, and have brought out my purse. Empty! Hang it!

(Lifts his overcoat from the floor.) From Teniple Bar.

On picking up my overcoat I have ADAPTED FROM THE FRENCH OF M. CHARLES found my pocket-book, balf open, and the MONSELET,* BY F. B. HARRISON. papers fallen from it on the carpet.

The first of these papers which catches I cannot deceive myself - I was hor. ribly tipsy last night. Let him who has my eye is the carte of last night's dinner. never been in like case throw the first Several of the fellows I knew, of course;

Well, who was there? How many of us? empty bottle at me! How did it happen? In this way, I, The menu will remind me of their vari.

but which of them? Happy thought! a civilian, reading law, was invited to ous tastes and reveal their names to me.

Oysters. Well, I know that the colonel • From Saynètes et Monologues, Première Série, Tresse, Editeur, Galerie du Théâtre Français, Palais is a tremendous hand at oysters, so I am Royal, Paris.

sure he was there.





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Mulligatawny. That is Captain Simp. The other: kios's soup, or rather liquid fire, so Simpkins was there. Two of them.

Major Garnet Havelock Cannon,

Rifle Artillery.
Roast beef. Makes me think of little
Dumerque, the Jersey man who wants to

Now, what does it all mean? I do not be a thorough Englishman. He know those military gentlemen. They there.

must have been guests like myself. How Saddle of mutton. Tom Horsley, the do. I come to have their cards? There inveterate steeplechaser.

must have been some dispute, some quarCharlotte Russe. That is Ned Walker, rel, some row. These two cards must who published his travels from “ Peter- have been given in exchange for two of borough to Petersburg."

mine. Now I know pretty well who some of

It all comes back to me! my fellow.guests were. As for the oth.

A duel — perhaps two duels !

But duels about what? Whom did I

affront? I know I'm an awful fire-eater (Picks up some photographs.)

when I've drank too much. But was I Hullo! were there women at the mess? | the challenger or the challenged ? I No, certainly not. Then we must have think my left cheek is rather swollen as talked of women, and the men must have if from a blow; but that is mere fancy: given me photographs of their female What dreadful follies have I got myself relatives. Strange thing to do! espe.

into ? cially as I don't know the ladies. Here's I can make out some pencil marks on an ancient and fish-like personage in a the first card, that of the captain in the blue jersey. Dumerque's grandinother, Lancer Dragoons. Yes." Ten o'clock,

“ l'll be bound. Here a stout, middle-aged behind St. Martin's Church.” dame, widow probably. I know Simpkins Ah, a hostile meeting, that is clear. I wants to marry a widow; but why give must run; perhaps I shall be in time. me her portrait ?

No, too late; it is half past eleven. And this - this is charming! Quite I am dishonored, branded as a coward ! in the modern style - low forehead, small No one will believe me when I say that I nose, tiny mouth, all eyes, and what splen- had a headache, and overslept myself on did eyes! and such lashes! She is fair, the morning of a duel. as well as one can judge from a photo- I have no energy to look further in my graph. And the little curls on her fore- pockets. Still, one never knows head are like rings of gold. And so young, a mere child. lovely figure;

(Brings out a handkerchief.) our forefathers would have compared her A handkerchief - - a very fine one to a rose-tree, but then our forefathers thin cambric. But it is not one of mine. were not strong in similes. She has nei- | There is a coronet in the corner. How ther earrings nor necklace; perhaps that did I come by this handkerchief? Could gives lier that look of disdain. Disdain! I have stolen it? I seem to be on the She knows nothing yet of life, but tries road to the county gaol. to seein tired of it. They are all like Oh, how my head aches ! that.

A flower is in my buttonhole. How Who is she? She must be the colonel's did it come there? Forget-me-nots; their daughter; I've heard that his daughter is blue eyes closed, all withered and droopa pretty girl. I must have expressed my ing. I could not have bought so huinble warm admiration of the photograph, and a bouquet at the flower-shop; it must he must have responded by giving it to have been given me. It was given me, it me. Did I ask him for her hand? Did came to me from the fair one with golden he refuse it? or did he put off his reply? curls. Her father gave it to me from Perhaps that was why I drank too much. her, knowing that I was about to risk my

Now let me proceed. What further life – to risk my life for her sake, no happened ? Let me continue my re- doubt. searches.

Yes, that is it. My fears increase. I (Tries the pockets of the overcoat.)

dread to know more. I am afraid to

prosecute my researches in my pockets. By Jingo! Two! The I may find my hands full of forget-me-nots

or of blood! Captain Wellington Spearman,

Oh! Ah! by Jove !
First Royal Lancer Dragoons.

What now?

first says:




This overcoat — is not mine. No, mine but she never had a very long spell of is dark grey, this is light grey. I have that pastime, for she had to be at work not travelled through my pockets, but winter and summer by about five or six through the pockets of somebody else. in the morning. The fisher-folk do not

But then — if the coat is not mine, waste many candles by keeping late hours. neither is the duel.

She was very healthy and powerful, very Not mine the carte.

ignorant, and very modest. Had she Not mine the photographs.

lived by one of the big barbors, where Not mine the forget-me-nots.

fleets of boats come in, she might have Not mine the cards.

been as rough and brazen as the girls I have not stolen the handkerchief. often are in those places. But in her seI am all right; thank goodness, I am cluded little village the ways of the peoall right!

ple were old-fashioned and decorous, and And my romance about the colonel's girls were very restrained in their manlovely daughter - I am sorry about it, ners. No one would have taken her to upon my word. At least, I am sorry for be anything more than an ordinary counher, for' I fear she will never now make try girl had not a chance enabled ber to my acquaintance.

show herself full of bravery and

Every boat in the village went away north one evening, and not a man

mained in the Row excepting three very From St. James's Gazette.

old fellows, who were long past work of THE HEROINE OF A FISHING VILLAGE.

any kind. When a fisherman grows helpUntil she was nineteen years old, less with age he is kept by his own peoDorothy lived a very uneventful life; for ple, and his days are passed in quietly one week was much the same as another smoking on the kitchen settle or in lookin the placid existence of the village. ing dimly out over the sea from the bench On Sunday mornings, when the church- at the door. But a man must be sorely bells began to ring, you would meet her "failed” before he is reduced to idleness, walking over the moor with a springy and able to do nothing that needs strength. step. Her shawl was gay, and her dress A southerly, gale, with a southerly sea, was of the most pronounced color that came away in the night, and the boats could be bought in the Her could not beat down from the northward. brown hair was gathered in a net, and her By daylight they were all safe in a harbor calm eyes looked from under an old-fash. about eighteen miles north of the village. ioned bonnet of straw. Her feet were the sea grew worse and worse, till the always bare, but she carried her shoes usual clouds of foam flew against the and stockings slung over her shoulder. houses or skimmed away into the fields When she got near the church she sat beyond. When the wind reached its down in the shade of a hedge and put height the sounds it made in the hollows them on; then she walked the rest of the were like distant firing of small arms, and distance with a cramped and civilized the waves in the hollow rocks seemed to gait. On the Monday mornings early shake the ground over the cliffs. A little she carried the water from the well. Her schooner came round the point, running great “skeel” was poised easily on her before the sea. She might have got clear head; and, as she strode along singing away, because it was easy enough for her, lightly without shaking a drop of water had she clawed a short way out, risking over the edge of her pail, you could see the beam sea, to have made the harbor how she had come by her erect carriage. where the fishers were. But the skipper When the boats came in, she went to the kept her close in, and presently she struck beach and helped to carry the baskets of on a long tongue of rocks that trended fish to the cart. She was then dressed in far out eastward. The tops of her masts a sort of thick flannel blouse and a singu- seemed nearly to meet, so it appeared as lar quantity of brief petticoats. Her if she had broken her back. The seas head was bare, and she looked far better flew sheer over her, and the men had to than in her Sunday clothes. If the morn- climb into the rigging. All the women ing were fine she sat out in the sun and were watching and waiting to see her go baited the lines, all the while lilting old to pieces. There was no chance of get. country songs in her guttural dialect. In ting a boat out, so the helpless villagers the evening she would spend some time waited to see the men drown; and the chatting with other lasses in the Row; I women cried in their shrill, piteous man


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ner. Dorothy said, "Will she break up any reward she would probably wonder in an hour? If I thowt she could hing why she should receive one. there I would be away for the lifeboat.” But the old men said, “ You can cross the burn.” Four miles south, behind the point, there was a village where a lifeboat was kept; but just half-way a

From The Cornhill Magazine. stream ran into the sea, and across this

WHITEHALL, PAST AND FUTURE. stream there was only a plank bridge. The original residence was built by Half a mile below the bridge the water Hubert de Burgh, Earl of Kent, about the spread far over the broad sand and became year 1240. It was given by him a few very shallow and wide. Dorothy spoke years later to the Black Friars, who, in no more, except to say, “ I'll away.” She their turn — perhaps of their own free ran across the moor for a mile, and then will, perhaps from pressure put upon scrambled down to the sand so that the them— made it over to the Archbishop of tearing wind might not impede her. It York. His successors regularly inhab. was dangerous work for the next mile. ited it when they made their journeys to Every yard of the way she had to splash London, and as it was known in consethrough the foam, because the great waves quence as York House. It would be more were rolling up very nearly to the foot of than tedious to give even a sketch of its the cliffs. An extra strong sea might history through the reigns of monarchs have caught her off her feet, but she did from Henry 111. to Henry VIII.; but we not think of that; she only thought of turn towards it instinctively and with waksaving her breath by escaping the directening interest when we find Wolsey onslaught of the wind. When she came seated there in more than kingly state. to the mouth of the burn her heart failed The most brilliant page of the history of her for a little. There was three quarters Whitehall begins with Wolsey's naine. of a mile of water covered with creamy He kept up a state that would not have foam, and she did not know but that she disgraced the wealthiest monarch in might be taken out of her depth. Yet Christendom. The walls of his chambers she determined to risk, and plunged in at were hung with cloth of gold and tissue,

The sar was hard und foot, cloth of silver, and other rich cloths but, as she said, when the piled foam wrought about with divers colors.

In came softly up to her waist she “ felt gey one chamber hung his suit of copes, which funny: Half-way across she stumbled were of unequalled richness, jewelled and into a hole caused by a swirling eddy, embroidered. In a room called the Gilt and she thought all was over; but her Chamber was all his gold plate, much of it nerve never failed her, and she struggled being set with pearls and other gems. In till she got a footing again. When she the Council Chamber everything was silreached the hard ground she was wet to ver and parcel-gilt. He housed and mainthe neck, and her hair was sodden with tained a vast retinue. In every progress, her one plunge “overhead.”. Her clothes he took with him a train of eight hundred troubled her with their weight in crossing persons, among whom were ten lords, the moor; so she put off all she did not fifteen knights, and forty squires. In a need and pressed forward again. Pres. contemporary print of one of these jourently she reached the house where the neys, Wolsey himself is seen riding, not coxswain of the lifeboat lived. She on a prancing palfrey, but- -as became a gasped out, “The schooner! On the lowly priest - on a mule. That, surely, Letch ! Norrad.”

is a good illustration of “the pride that The coxswain, who bad the apes humility." His cook was dressed in schooner go past, knew what was the a jerkin of satin, and wore a gold chain matter. He said, “ Here, wife, look after round bis neck. The entertainments the lass,” and ran out. The “lass” need. given to Henry were of unparalleled mag. ed looking after, sor she had fainted. But nificence; but it would be tedious and her work was well done; the lifeboat indeed impossible to give, in a brief artiwent round the point, ran north, and took cle, an adequate idea of any one of them. six men ashore from the schooner. The Suffice it to say that masques and pag. captain had been washed overboard, but eants and banquets, mirth and revelry of the others were saved by Dorothy's dar- all kinds, were continually set forth. ing and endurance. The girl is as simple When, in 1529, Whitehall was bought by as ever, and she knows nothing whatever Henry from Wolsey, the king maintained about Grace Darling. If she were offered | all the cardinal's magnificence. But he

a run.

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