to be released from the cares of state, and twice was he denied the boon; as if by compelling him to remain and pass sentence on his beloved son, it was sought to render his continuance in office a source of misery to him and his. Yet no sooner was it wished to add insult to his other wrongs, than he was forced to resign; nor was he suffered to end his few remaining days in the palace where latterly so many wretched ones had been passed. When we reflect on the desire evinced by Francesco Foscari to be elected Doge, and the opposition he encountered in attaining this high dignity, we are reminded of the inscrutable decrees of Providence; which often wills it that the fruition of our wishes should entail on us the misery, from which a disappointment might have exempted us.

The nuptials of Giacopo Foscari, then sole surviving son of the Doge, with a daughter of the noble house of Contarini, furnished the occasion of one of the most brilliant fêtes ever witnessed at Venice. Who that beheld the general rejoicing at this event, could have anticipated the tragedy by which it was to be followed?

The first charge against Giacopo was that of accepting gifts from foreign powers, and no proof being obtained of the guilt his enemies wished to establish, an avowal of it was wrung from the unhappy youth by torture inflicted in the presence of the wretched father; whose trembling lips afterwards pronounced the sentence of perpetual banishment to Napoli di Romania.

For five years, did Giacopo drag on a miserable existence in banishment, pining for his home and those who rendered it so dear to his heart, when Donato, one of the Council of Ten, was found murdered at his own door; and the circumstance of a servant of Giacopo's having been seen in Venice on the evening of the murder, pointed suspicion on the exile as the instigator of the deed ascribed to his domestic.

It was alleged that this man, having been met in a boat off Mestre, early in the morning subsequent to the assassination, on being asked what was the latest news at Venice, related the death of Donato, some hours previous to its being generally known, and this circumstance led to his being arrested as the assassin. Though repeatedly tortured in the most cruel manner that malice could devise, the unfortunate man denied all knowledge of the murderer; and uttered not a word that could justify the suspicion entertained against his master. Nevertheless, Giacopo Foscari was recalled from banishment, and

again, in the presence of his aged father, sentenced to undergo similar tortures to those inflicted on his servant; and though they failed to wring from him an avowal of having even the slightest knowledge of the crime of which he was accused, he was convicted without proof, and sentenced to the more remote banishment to Candia.

A curious proof of the superstition, as well as the cruelty of those times, is furnished in the terms in which the sentence was worded; in which it is stated, that as it clearly appears that Giacopo Foscari is guilty of the crime, the honour of the State demands his condemnation; although by means of spells and enchantments in his possession he has been enabled to support the torture without acknowledgment of his guilt, he having, when undergoing it, uttered no groans or cries, but merely murmured some indistinct ejaculations.

Arrived at Candia, the hapless victim nearly sank beneath. the accumulated ills heaped on him, and for a time he lost the sense of his misery in a temporary insanity. He was then permitted to return to his dearly beloved Venice for the restoration of his health, and with returning reason was again sent to his hateful place of banishment. An irrefragable proof of the malice and gross injustice of his enemies is given by the fact, that when the innocence of Giacopo was established by the deathbed confession of Eriozzo, a Venetian noble, whose animosity to the murdered Donato had excited him to commit this deed, Giacopo was still suffered to remain in banishment, with a heart panting to return once more to that spot where he had endured such unmerited tortures.

To accomplish this object, the whole and sole idea that occupied his thoughts by day, his dreams by night, until it had become, as it were, a monomania, six years after his last banishment he addressed a letter to the Duke of Milan, praying his interference with the Venetian State to obtain for him his recal.

Giacopo was not ignorant of the law that rendered this step so dangerous, but it was his last hope of seeing Venice again; and he preferred, in the madness of his despair, encountering the worst vengeance of his foes there, than dragging out a miserable existence in Candia.

This letter, as he expected, was seized by the spies, who never ceased to watch him, and was conveyed to the Council of Ten, who instantly recalled him to Venice to undergo his trial for this new crime against its laws.

Again was the unhappy Doge compelled to preside at the persecution of his son; and although Giacopo openly avowed that he had written the letter for the sole purpose of being recalled to answer for this infringement of the Venetian laws, again was the wretched father a witness of the agony inflicted on his hapless son, in order to extort from him a denial of the act he had previously acknowledged.

Giacopo remained firm to the last, although tortured until senseless, and apparently lifeless: and once more the sentence of perpetual banishment was pronounced on him, with the additional severity, that the first year of it was to be passed in a prison.

One interview was permitted between the Doge and his son, previous to the latter being sent to banishment; and the grief of both may well be imagined on the occasion. What a heartrending scene must that have been! Yet the noble old man endeavoured to retain some portion of the composure he was so far from feeling and, when urged to appeal for mercy to the Council of Ten, he replied, "Go, my son, submit to the decision of your judges, and seek not to change it."

Well did he know the utter hopelessness of any appeal to them, who would have gloried in his humiliation in urging a boon they would with scorn have denied.

It is said, that the old and heart-broken man fell senseless into the arms of his attendants when removed from the prison of his son; who only lived a short time after his return to the captivity assigned to him in Candia.

But the measure of affliction dealt out to the venerable Doge was not yet quite filled; his cup of bitterness still lacked one additional drop to cause its overflow, and it was not long found wanting. The groundless hatred entertained by Loredano against the Doge, and which sought its gratification by every possible means, now led him, being appointed one of the Council of Ten, to propose that the Doge should be deposed.

But even the Council, ill-disposed as they were towards Foscari, were ashamed to adopt this course with a man who had grown grey in the service of the State; and whose advanced years and shattered health promised soon to release him from the cares of office. After repeated debates on the subject, it was at length decided that the Doge should be requested to resign-a process considered command.

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The oath formerly extorted from Foscari, never to offer his resignation, precluded him from acceding to the proposal; but they stood on little further ceremony, for they forthwith declared his office vacant, and ordered him to quit the ducal palace within three days, under pain of having all his property confiscated.

Deprived of the insignia of state, in à manner, too, that rendered the act unnecessarily humiliating, he was told that he must retire by a private staircase. Summoning up a portion of his native dignity, the venerable old man declared he would descend only by the same stairs by which, so many years before, he had entered the palace as Doge.

Five days afterwards, Malapieri was named successor to Foscari, who hearing the bell ring which announced this event, burst a blood-vessel in the attempt to suppress his emotion, and expired in a few hours after.

I loitered on the bridge of the Rialto to-day, my thoughts full of our Shakspeare, that universal genius, who has appropriated and identified the scenes of other lands with the creations of his own wondrous brain, rendering many of the spots thus iramortalised as familiar to the natives of his own clime as to those who have resided on them from infancy. Who, with an English heart, has not thought of Shylock and Antonio on the Rialto, and not felt proud of belonging to the same country as he who called these characters into action ? '

This is my last evening at Venice, and the sadness experienced at leaving any place, perhaps for the last time, is greatly increased here by the knowledge that every year, nay, every month, takes away some charm from this fast decaying, but most picturesque of all cities.

I leave thee, Venice, never more perchance
To see thy wonders, Adriatic Queen,
Like Venus risen from Ocean, thou hast been
A marvel, fair creation of romance!
Vainly thy beauties painters would inhance

By their bright art, they equal not the scene
Thy every aspect shows, enough t' entrance

All who have memories of the past, I ween,
When mighty conquerors upon thee waited,
Bringing rich trophies from each distant shore,

And thy proud Doge the Adriatic mated,

Who on her wave the bridegroom's troth ring wore.
Ah, Venice! who could then have deemed thee fated
To sink in ruin-all thy glories o'er!

PADUA. Spent the greater part of the day at Arqua, in the house of Petrarch, among the Euganean hills. The drive to it from Padua is charming, passing through a fertile country, presenting at every turn the most rural and cheerful pictures. A large house, called Catio, belonging to the Duke of Modena, is the only object that breaks the rural character of the scenery.

Sheltered by a hill from the north wind, the climate is peculiarly genial; and the spot on which the poet's house stands, the brow of a gentle eminence, commands a beautiful view of the surrounding landscape, which is richly interspersed with abundance of trees and vines, through which green glades and pretty houses are seen peeping forth.

The seclusion and rustic character of the place, the simple, yet picturesque appearance of the dwelling, and the associations called up in the mind, by finding oneself beneath the roof that sheltered the laurelled head of Petrarch, invest this spot with a powerful interest. From the projecting window where he often saw the sun descend, gilding with its rosy rays the surrounding scene, I too sat, contemplating the same picture, tinged with the same bright hues; and experiencing probably similar emotions to those excited in his mind, by the calm yet delicious scene, and the pleasant sounds that enlivened it, proceeding from countless birds tuning their throats in bush and brake, and the lowing of the cows in the distance. Yes, I experienced similar feelings to Petrarch, although the power to describe them as he could have done, is denied me: yet even this sympathy with such a mind is gratifying.

If any thing could dispose one to feel less reverence towards Petrarch's dwelling, it would be the ludicrous paintings that desecrate and not decorate its walls; in some of which Laura is personified in a manner that would have greatly shocked the modesty attributed to her by her lover.

The chair in which Petrarch was found dead is still preserved; it is of oak, of a quaint form, and rudely carved. The skeleton of his favourite cat is also shown; but I turned from these