OR, WEEKLY THE VISITOR. IT is near three months since I was at Venice. After having vi sited whatever was worthy of curiosity in that great city, I was preparing to quit it, when an unforeseen and extraordinary incident prolonged my stay. One morning, as I was exploring the spacious rooms of the library of St. Mark, my eyes were by chance attracted towards a large folio volume, with this title on the back of it--A Description of the Cavern of Strozzi, Expecting by the perusal of the work, to find some thing that might be applicahle to one I was composing, upon the singular productions of nature in the mineral reign, I went and requested the librarian to give me the book: as soon as I had it in my hands I retired to one of the window seats, to peruse it the more at my ease. I had already read a few of the first pages, without receiving any [NO. 7%. very great satisfaction: at the ninth page I was going to throw down the book; when, on turning the leaf, I thought I perceived transparent characters in the paper, as the light reflected upon it. Curious of ascertaining what they expressed, I raised the book to the window and placed the leaf that. had interested my curiosity before it, and between the first thirteen lines, which commenced the history of the petrifactions of the Cavern of Strozzi, I distinctly read these words, although Gothic characters had been employed in order to trace them : read the mysterious lines again and again; but the more I meditated, the less could I discover their meaning; and though they were written in Gothic characters, yet as the book was of a recent date, these lines must evidently be so too. Then I said to myself," OF what passions can a dark and isolated Cavern be the theatre ?Even supposing murders to have been meditated or commited there, how can i now exhibit a which human weakness attaches a kind of fatal influence, did not seem to me to have been the effect of chance; therefore the prejudice which actuated the writer in using it, rendered the inscription still more surprising. I copied it with a pencil upon a card: I did not forget to note down the title of the work, the name of the book seller who had published it, the place and year it had been printed, and the numbers of the fatal pages on which the inscription had been in-representation of horrors that are terlined; I also remarked the shelf of the library on which the volume was placed and then, returning it to the librarian, I asked him, affecting as much indifference as I possessed curiosity, whether he could inform me of the name of the author of the work. The good friar (for they are of the order of Dominicians who have the charge of the library of St. Mark) answered in the negative; but he presumed it was some one who attentively examined the rare Night surprized me in the midst productions of the Cavern of Stroz-of my meditations, which were the zi. To me, who had not read much of the contents of the book, this answer might have conveyed a double meaning; but I perceived, by the rest of the discourse, that he was less informed on the subject than myself; therefore, taking leave of him, I went to indulge in those reflections this event had suggested. past? Besides, the author of the inscription has not pointed out the period to which he refers. It was possible some hermit, wearied of the follies of youth, and the victim of his own passions, had inhabited: the cavera-But did he still reside there? Who was he?-He must have been heard of at Venice." Such were the questions I had to resolve-such the doubts to clear up. more painful as I had no che to direct them; but in whatever way I considered the subject, my mind was still embarrassed, and at a loss to form any reasonable conjecture. Neither the dead silence of the night, nor the depth of my reflections, afforded me any assistance in my researches. When day appeared, I went to every bookseller Having retired to one of the so- in Venice, to enquire for the Delitary walks in the garden belong-scription of the Cavern of Strozzi; ing to the library of St. Mark, I but among thirty 1 only found three who had ever heard of the book, and only one who could procure it for me. I bought this single copy, and shut myself up in my study, to discover the sense of the otacle which appeared so mysterious. My hopes were deceived: it was in vain I turned to every thirteenth leaf; I found none of the transparent characters, and was obliged to refer again to my card. All these obstacles, instead of stifling my curiosity, rendered it more active. I have often traversed miles to gather remarkable plants, or discover the rare productions of nature; but I would travel to the remotest parts of the globe, it by doing so I could discover a new region in the heart of man, or develope a secret fold in which some new passion was concealed. The leaves of the hieroglyphic volume, which I compared to those of the Sybil, promised me this satisfaction; and I was anxious not to neglect an opportunity which might never again present itself. I informed myself respecting the Cavern of Strozzi : I learned that it was situated in a small island of the same name in the Adriatic gulph, to the north of Venice, about the distance of five miles; had it been an hundred I should have gone. The next day I bargained with a gondolier, and having provided myself with arms and some provisions, I embarked at sun-set. The nature of this recital does not allow me to interrupt it, to describe the magnificent effect of that beautiful planet which was slowly sinking into the tranquil wave gilded by its rays; nor is my hasty pen worthy so grand a picture; but I cannot avoid recommending to those who are desirous of enjoying such a scene, to figure to themselves the infinite number of barks and gondolas which at that moment covered the sea, and whose floating streamers seemed to reflect, by the pleasing variety of their colours, the glowing tints which are painted in the heavens. After a passage of an hour and a quarter we anchored in a little creek of the island; when the gondolier, after having put me on shore, and received my orders to return at the same hour next day, wished me a good night and rowed off. I had landed on the side nearest the Cavern, and had not proceeded two hundred paces, when, from the difference of the soil on which I stood, and the dampness of the air, I conjectured I was near it. To the rich and luxuriant fields I had quitted, succeeded barren heaths and arid sands. My sight, which had at first been gratified by the appearance of poplars and palm trees, whose foliage, lightly waring, presented a moving shadow, must extinguish ?-Oh passions! wild ungovernable passions! if ye disturb these rocks, what lonely cottage can ye leave in peace?? now saddened at the mournful aspect of the yew and weeping willow. I soon found myself sensibly descending, and in a few minutes was at the mouth of the Cavern. Rugged and steep rocks obstructed the entrance, and between their cavities were planted gloomy cy-replaced by the pale and trembling The day, or rather evening, glided insensibly away, and was light of the moon. This circumstance still added to the horror of the situation; the gigantic forms of the rocks became more hideous and the immense shadows they projected froze my soul with terror. On a sudden I figured to my imagination that this dreadful cavern had been stained with the blood of some sad victims; and from the midst of a large and dark opening, which seemed like the jaws of death threatening me, I thought I beheld pale phantoms flitting along doubtless it was presses. A sort of brownish moss grew about the rocks, whose white summits formed a strong contrast with the dull aspect of surrounding nature, and rendered the prospect still more dismal. The cxpiring rays of the sun, which reflected on them, coloured their extremest points; but the faint tint they bestowed, instead of enlivenig the scene, added to its horror. Never was my soul so harrowed as when contemplating this dreadful picture. It was in vain I looked round me; the sun had disappeared, and I seemed as though plung-nothing more than an illusion.... ed into an immense tunnel, the sides of which, thick sown with pointed flints, and trees of mournful hue, announced naught but despair and death. "Alas!" I exclaimed involuntarily, as if transported by one of those rapid emotions which a soul evidently agitated cannot command "Alas! how, in such a desert, can man be a slave of passions ?Is it here they reign with full sway ?- -What! where nature seems extinct, can the passions still exist?-Where is the soul intrepid enough not to be intimidated at this scene?-What flame, however devouring, but this place Reason calmed the sallies of may disturbed imagination, and I proceeded in search of some place of security where I might pass the night. I explored the Cavern a considerable time; during which I almost repented having attempted so hazardous an adventure.. -At length, having found a spot shaded by a willow, I seated myself, examined my pistols, which I found in good order, took a little refreshment, drew my sword, and wrapping myself in my cloak, I lay down, in the hope of enjoying the sweets of sleep. I had been in this position about I half an hour, and had began to doze, when an hollow and distant murmur drew my attentinn. pushed back the hood of my cloak, with which I had covered my head, placed myself on my seat, and listened with the most silent attention. The noise, which at first seemed as if approaching me suddenly ceased, and for some minutes I heard no more; but it soon became more distinct. By the sound, I thought it was produced by chains dragged along under the vaults of the Cavern; and their horrid clanking appeared to advance nearer and nearer: presently a part of the rock, which formed an entrance to a more secret part of the cavern, was removed, with a noise that made the whole place resound, and I saw a tall figure, clad in white, and chained, led out by another, who appeared somewhat shorter. After several windings, during which the two spectres preserved a profound silence, they changed their direction, and were proceeding to the spot where I was. I had just time to rise, seize my arms, and retreat behind the willow, whose aged trunk was sufficiently large to have concealed three persons. I was in the shade, and consequently my motions were not discovered. (To be continued.). It is a happy thing to converse with the righteous and virtuous—their counsel and example cannot but leave some tincture behind them. Envy, to which the ignoble mind's a stave, Is emulation in the learn'd or brave. POPE. EMULATION is one of the noblest principles that inspires the bosom of man. It fills the mind with esteem, respect, and a desire to excel our fellow mortals in every action that is generous and noble It is so far superior to envy, that it prompts us to gain a superiority by upright and virtuous. conduct rather than by meanness and intrigue. ENVY has its secret and corroding workings in the bosom, and prompts men to endeavour to gain an ascendancy over one another, by a clandestine meanness, only when they are conscious of their own inferiority, and are sensible that they possess neither genius, learning, nor fortitude, to distinguish themselves by that line of conduct. and behaviour, which is calculated to command the good will and admiration of their acquaintance. The man whose bosom is fired with emulation, will manifest it in all his actions-Every movement that he makes will betray something above the vulgar and ordinary rank of mankind. His soul will soar above his inferiors in prosperity, not because he is favoured with fortune, but because he wishes to shew that he has a |