observe, we have need of motion and variety; these spacious palaces are fine, but they are gloomy. The marine vegetable is gnawing their foundations, and the limpid waters which reflect them, are frequently covered with vapours which fall again in tears. This splendour of ours is stern, and those traces of nobility with which you are so much pleased, are a long series of epitaphs and tombs which we must perforce garland with flowers. We must fill with living beings a gloomy abode where your very footsteps would sound fearful and hollow, if you were alone.

"I must throw money from the windows to poor people, whose nightly resting place is the balustrade of a bridge, in order that the sight of their wretchedness may not mar our enjoyment by forcing us to think. Come, come, be goodnatured-be careless. Laugh when we laugh, and sleep when we sing. Depend upon me, for arranging matters so as to make life agreeable to you, if not absolutely delightful. Be my wife, my queen at Venice, and again you shall be my angel, my sylph, amid the glaciers of Switzerland."

In this way did he appease my importunities, and drag me along insensible and confiding, to the edge of the precipice. I thanked him earnestly for the trouble he took to convince me, when with a sign he might have compelled my obedience. A tender embrace ensued, and we returned to the noisy saloon where our friends were in readiness to separate us.

Day followed day in this manner, but Leoni no longer exerted himself to make them pleasing to me. He paid less attention to the annoyance I felt, and whenever I complained of it, he argued me out of my humours with less sweetness than of yore. One day in particular, he was abrupt and bitter,-I saw that I annoyed him, and determined I would not complain again; but I began to suffer very much, and to feel myself absolutely unhappy. I waited with resignation until Leoni found time to think of me, and I must admit that when he did think of me, he was so kind, so tender, that I accused myself of folly and weakness for having suffered so much. My courage and confidence revived for some days, but those days of consolation were few and far between. Seeing me gentle and submissive, Leoni always treated me with affection, but he no longer took notice of my melancholy. I became the victim of ennui. Venice became hateful to my sight; its canals, its atmosphere, its gondolas, everything in it became offensive to my eyes. At night, when Leoni and his companions were absorbed in the pleasures of the gaming-table I wandered

alone on the terrace at the top of the house; bitter were the tears I shed as I called to mind my country-my home-the careless days of my youth,-my mother so lively, and so goodnatured-my poor father, so affectionate and so light-hearted, and even my aunt, with her attentions and her lectures: It seemed as if I had caught the maladie du pays,—that I felt an impulse to flee away, and throw myself at the feet of my parents, and to forget Leoni for ever. But when a window was thrown open on the floor beneath me, and when from that window Leoni, overcome with heat and play, stepped forward on the terrace to inhale the freshness of the night air, I leant over the balustrade to observe him, and my heart beat as warmly as on the first days of my passion; when the moon shone full upon him, and allowed me to distinguish the rich fancy dress he always wore at home, my bosom throbbed with pride and pleasure, as at that hour when we entered the ballroom from which we fled never to return. When his fine voice, warbling a snatch of an opera song, vibrated along the sonorous marbles of Venice, and ascended to my ears, I felt the tears overflow my cheek, as they were wont to do in those evenings on the mountain, when he sang me a romance com. posed for me in the morning.

Some expressions which I heard by some of his companions, increased my melancholy and my disgust to an insupportable degree. Of the twelve familiar friends of Leoni, there was one, called the Marquis de Chalon-a French emigré, whose attentions were peculiarly disagreeable. He was the oldest and the wittiest of the whole set, but beneath the exquisite refinement of his manners there lurked a species of cynicism which frequently stung me to the soul. He was sardonic, indolent, and dry he was as I afterwards learned, a man without morals and without heart; but at that time I knew nothing of this, though I disliked him quite as much as if I did. I was standing one night in the balcony hidden from observation by the silk curtains which were drawn across the window, when I heard him say to the Venetian Marquis :-" but what has become of the fair Juliet?" This way of talking of me, made the blood rush to my face-I listened with breathless attention. "I don't know," replied the Venetian carelessly. 'Ah, you are smitten with her somewhat," replied the other. "And Leoni?" said the Marquis. 66 Pooh, he'll tire of her; there is no obstacle there." "What! his wife!" "Come, come, my dear Marquis," said the Venetian, "she is no more his wife than she is yours. Some girl he ran away with from

Brussels, and whom he will very soon run away from." I heard no more, half dead with anguish, I leant across the balustrade, and, burying my face in my shawl I sobbed with anger and shame.

I hurried to my room, and sent for Leoni. I told him what I had heard, and asked him with indignation if this was the way I was to be treated by his friends. He listened to the insult, and to my remonstrance, with a coolness which wounded me to the core. "You are a little fool," said he, "you dont know what beings men are-their thoughts are indiscreet, and their words still more so; the very best of them, are but roués. A strong-minded woman should laugh at their pretensions, instead of being vexed at them."

I dropped into an arm-chair, and burst into tears. "Oh, mother! mother!" I exclaimed, "what has your daughter

come to !"

Leoni made an effort to calm me, and he succeeded but too quickly. He knelt before me, kissed my hands, conjured me to despise such nonsense, and to confide in his unalterable affection.

"Alas!" said I, "what am I to think when your friends talk of me as they would of one of your hookhas?"

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"Juliet," replied he, your wounded pride makes you severe and unjust. I have often confessed to you, that I was far from being immaculate in my youth; but I was purified in the atmosphere of our Swiss valley. These men have passed through no such ordeal. They can never comprehend six months like those we spent together. But can you have forgotten them, can you have misapprehended them?" I asked his forgiveness, and I tried to forget the painful impression which the incident had produced upon me. I flattered myself he would seek an explanation with his friends, and insist upon them being more respectful in future; but he was either averse to it, or he forgot it, for the very next day I read in the eyes of the Marquis de Chalon, a repetition of his former insult. I was in despair, but I could see no means of escaping from the evils in which I was plunged. I had too much pride to be at ease, and too much love to withdraw. One evening I happened to go into the saloon to fetch a book I had left upon the piano. Leoni was holding a council with his select few. They were grouped around a small table, at the further end of the room, which was so dimly lighted that they did not perceive

me.

The Venetian Marquis seemed to be in one of his most sarcastic humours, and to be giving full play to his malicious

wit. "Most noble Baron Leone di Leoni," said he, "do you know that you are going to the devil with most wonderful expedition."

"What do you mean?" said Leoni, "I have not got into debt at Venice as yet."

"But you will shortly."-" I hope not," said Leoni, with the utmost composure.

"How you do get through the cash," cried the Marquis de Chalon. "You are the prince of spendthrifts-a hundred and fifty thousand francs in four months-that is really handsome."

Amazement rivetted me to the ground; breathless and motionless, I waited to hear the continuation of this singular dialogue.

"A hundred and twenty thousand francs," said the Venetean Marquis slightingly.

"Yes," replied Chalon, "that Israelite, Thadæus, paid him down as much in hard cash, four months ago."

"A goodly sum," said the Venetian. Leoni, have you paid the rent of your hereditary palace?"

"That he has, in advance," interposed Chalon;

he would be here if he had not?"

"think you

"What do you intend to do, when all's up," said a young Venetian.

"Get into debt," said Leoni, with imperturbable placidity. "That's much easier than to find a jew who will leave us at liberty for three months; but when you are wanted? what then ?"

66

Step into a nice little boat," said Leoni laughing. "Good,

-cross the water to Trieste."

"No-too near-to Palermo. I have not been there yet.". "But then you must cut a dash on your arrival; how are you to manage that?"

"Oh! I leave that all to Providence," said Leoni. "It always befriends the bold."

"But not the lazy," said Chalon: "and I greet you as generalissimo of the genus. What could you be doing in Switzerland for six live long months with your infanta ?" "No more of that," said Leoni.

The Venetian offered no reply to this species of provocation, and Chalon made haste to change the subject.

"But why the devil don't you play?" said he to Leoni. "Gracious heavens! Don't I play every day to oblige you?

You are mere fools when you have made a coup; instead of living at your ease and enjoying life like conquerors, you riggle about until you spoil the chances."

"We all know what that means, of course," said the Venetian Marquis.

"Thank you," said Leoni; "I don't wish to know anything more about it; I was nicely caught at Paris. When I think there is a man

"Well, what of him?" said Chalon.

"A fellow," said the Venetian Marquis, "whom we must remove, cost what it will, if we would enjoy liberty upon earth; but his time is up."

"Be easy upon that point," said Leoni, "I am not so degenerate a son of Venice, as not to know how to remove a troublesome fellow from any path; and, but for that love affair which got the better of my head, I had a fine opportunity in Belgium."

"Bah," said the Marquis, "" you have never practised in that line: you would not have the courage."

"The courage!" said Leoni, half rising; his eyes flashing with passion.

"Come, no nonsense," said the Marquis, with that appalling coolness which was common to them all. "You have courage

to kill a bear or a wild boar I admit; but as for killing a man, you have too much sentimental and philosophical stuff in your head for that."

"That may be," replied Leoni, reseating himself; "but wait."

"Well, you can't play at Palermo, that's clear."

"Away with play, cards, dice, and everything thereunto appertaining. If I could work myself into a passion for anything, whether shooting or hunting, I would shut myself up in the abruzzi for the whole of next summer."

"Haven't you, Juliet," can't you blow the embers of your last spring's love," said the Venetian Marquis."

"I will not blow the embers," said Leoni, with warmth; "but I'll blow your head off if you mention her again." "Come, come, Leoni," said Chalon, taking him by the you are treating us badly this evening. Are you tired of our friendship? Do you doubt us?"

arm;

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"I don't doubt you," said Leoni; " you have given me as much as you took from me. I know exactly what you are worth; I take the good with the bad, without prejudice."

"Come, no rhapsodies; wine wine," cried a number of