Am I, a living, breathing corpse, interred,

To go not forth till prisoned in my bier.
O earth! O heaven! if love and truth are heard,
Or honor, fame, and virtue worth a tear,
Let not my prayer be fruitless or deferred."

The poet was at length liberated, and removing to Naples, died of a broken heart in the monastery of St. Onofrio, to which my readers have already been taken.

The house of Ariosto is here, and his room is just as he left it. The chair on which he sat, the table at which he wrote, and the very inkstand which he used remain. His tomb is in the Church of the Benedictines, and over it yet stands the lightning-riven bust, and is visited by many who have read and admired his writings.

Just at night we left Ferrara, and soon crossing the River Po, entered the Austrian dominions. There we were subjected to an examination. Our baggage was overhauled without much ceremony. There was nothing suspicious in my bag but a sermon which I had nicely folded up in the very bottom of my budget. The official, a good-natured man, drew it forth, and turned over its pages, which I could hardly read myself, much less he, and seemed in considerable trouble about the harmless thing. He turned it over, handed it to his assistant, and mumbled in a strange tongue. Now and then, a glance at me would be given, as if he was endeavoring to read in my countenance whether I was a red republican, socialist, or rebel. But my countenance was as blank as the sermon, which he finally threw into my bag with as much violence as if it had burnt his fingers. But this was not all. We were to be examined by our passports to see if they were right. Dr. M. went first, and passed very well. His well-brushed coat

-'s

and white hat, and dignified demeanor, answered very well to the description of the document which declared him to be "an ecclesiastic." Next, Rev. Mr. — turn came. His papers declared him to be an ecclesiastic, but his personal appearance seemed to belie the statement. His sack coat, hanging loosely upon his thin form, his cap turned half round, and his lips fixed for a discussion with porter or priest, rendered it somewhat difficult for the officials to believe the statement made over the name of our honorable secretary of state, and indorsed by a legion of consuls, ministers, tidewaiters, and cheats. But at length he was permitted to pass. My turn came next, and my plight was more sad than either of my companions. To a coat of a peculiar cut I had added a little blue velvet Turkish cap, with a huge red tassel, and in my hand I carried a straw hat, which I used for fan, umbrella, and house roof. My companions looked bad enough, but I was in a more pitiable condition than either. So, when my passport was opened and read, the officer looked up with a most provoking smile, and exclaimed, "What! you an ecclesiastic too!" then, setting up a loud laugh, in which some dozen persons present joined, handed me back my papers, as if he imagined I was playing a clever trick, and palming myself off for what I was not.

Having escaped, we pursued our way along in the dark, half asleep and half awake, until an extraordinary stir outside convinced us that we had arrived at Padua, where we were to take the cars for Venice. The sun was not yet up, and we repaired to Hotel Royal, where we arranged our toilet and prepared for a new start. All I remember of Padua is empty streets, rude buildings, a poor breakfast, an exorbitant price, a wrangle with the porter, a quarrel in the street with a man who wished

to carry my carpet bag to the depot, a race to reach the cars, a dull stop of an hour waiting for them to start, and a comfortable sleep of half an hour after leaving the station. I did not stop long enough in what appeared to me to be a very mean Italian town to see St. Antony's or St. Justina's, to visit the Comaro or the Pisani, but hurried away to the watery empire of the "Mistress of the Hundred Isles," the gay, proud "Queen of the Adriatic."

XXXIV.

VENICE-VERONA - MILAN.

THERE are few cities so dreamlike and enchanting as Venice. We arrived one morning in the summer, when all nature seemed alive with beauty and redolent with praise. We entered in the cars, riding over a long bridge of stone, and landed at the railway station. This bridge connects Venice with the main land, and chains this daughter of Italia to her ambitious parent. We found at the railway, instead of cabs and carriages, such as we see in France and England, a long line of neat gondolas, each manned, and ready to put off into the city.

Venice was built long ago by refugees from the main land, who fled to the reeds and marshes of the Rialto, and amid the little islands built their houses and prepared their homes. From the bosom of the wave rose up the great city, with its palaces, churches, and towers. For a long time, the city was governed by a doge, assisted by the tribunes. The city continued to increase; the glory of Venetian arms was sounded from Constantinople to Jerusalem; and the richness of her commerce was the wonder of the Archipelago. From a little city of huts and rushes arose a great and magnificent republic, and in the sea appeared fine edifices, which outbeautified those upon the solid land. Unlike any other city on earth, the seat of vast wealth, filled with a joyous and pleasure-loving people, it became, and continued for a while, the most gay and delightful city in the world,

mocking even the spiendors of Rome. Florence, and Farmin Artists and poets bere gathered to kindle the sacred fame of art: and men of commerce here convened to amass princely fortunes. The lovers of the beautiful and the sublime, the priests of religion, the slaves of sensualism, all found in Venice congenial pursuits and associates; while on the bosom of the deep, the Queen of the Adriatic" herself reposed, a sparkling gem in nature's ephod

“Underneath day's azure eyes,
Ocean's nursing. Venice, lies-
A pecoled labyrinth of walls,
Amphitrite's destined halls,
Which her hoary sire now paves
With his blue and beaming waves.
Lo, the sun upsprings behind,
Broad, red, radiant, half reclined
On the level, quivering line

Of the waters crystalline;

And before that chasm of light,

As within a furnace bright,

Column, tower, and dome, and spire

Shine like obelisks of fire,

Pointing, with inconstant motion,
From the altar of dark ocean,
To the sapphire-tinted skies,
As the flames of sacrifice
From the marble shrines did rise,
As to pierce the dome of gold

Where Apollo spoke of old."

On leaving the depot, we entered a boat, and sailed by palaces, churches, halls, and gardens, to a hotel, situated near the centre of the city. The gondolas, which are used instead of cabs, are long, black, narrow boats, with a black awning to protect the traveler from the rays of the sun. The boats are all of one