upon danger and the detachment, and reached Kilmarton in safety."

My uncle now took up the conclusion of the tale, the latter part of which he had told in the words of Walter Bethel.

'Campbell,' resumed the Colonel, was saved. A little time sufficed, as my grandfather had predicted, to put an end to the hanging of the Jacobites. General Bethel, a firm and loyal friend of the existing government, was won over, after some entreaty to petition for the pardon of Campbell; for he was one who had been excepted out of the list of those forgiven..

"He is a flaming, furious Jacobite," said General Bethel, to his favorite, Walter, in reply to his request; a troublesome fellow he is, Walter, and deserves to suffer."

66

"He is Mary's father, my dear uncle," said my grandfather insinuatingly.

""You are a fool, Walter," replied the general, tartly; "at your age you ought to be marching at the head of a file of grenadiers, instead of wasting your time and making love, and - Pshaw! I am ashamed of you." "But my dear uncle "

extenuation.

6.66

Walter was proceeding in

'Why don't you come up to town, sir?" inquired the general, with some sternness. "I have no doubt that I can get you a commission in a couple of months, and a company before you deserve one."

"My dear general," said his nephew once more, calmly, "I thank you for the interest that you take in me; but ambition is for the toga my the gown. I am for civil, while you are for military fame. In the

126 THE PORTRAIT ON MY UNCLE'S SNUFF-BOX.

former, perhaps, I may become the first of my house; but in the latter I must for ever remain eclipsed by your greater reputation."

""You are a goose, Walter," replied his uncle laughing, and pinched his ear: and Walter laughed merrily too; for by compliment he saw that Campbell would obtain his pardon.

1828.

A DAY IN VENICE.

Ir sometimes happens, that a circumstance which is little better than trivial in itself, derives an interest from the simple or earnest manner of the speaker. I have heard the present Sir A- C- narrate a fact, of no great moment, with such dramatic effect, as to excite and maintain a thrilling interest in the mind of every person present. He reanimates an old, dead, unprofitable anecdote in a way that is really marvellous; throwing himself, as it were, into the story, and giving it life, as the Arabian magician revived the stricken fawn, to give pleasure to the Queen whom he loved.

With something of the same talent, but with less effect, the following account of a visit made, in times past, to Venice, was related to me. The manner of telling it excited in me, at the time, no inconsiderable interest. I shall fail probably in communicating much of this; but I will at all events not occupy any serious portion of the reader's patience. And now, as Mark Antony says, 'Lend me your ear.'

It must be upwards of forty years ago, since a lady, then rich and graceful, was travelling with her husband

to Venice. She was very young, and had been but lately married; and she went abroad to gather happiness in whatever place it might be found. Circumstances led her to the South, and it was with a light and bounding spirit that she first trod upon the Italian ground. She descended the Southern Alps, and traversed the Milanese, by Brescia, Vicenza, Verona, Padua, and at last arrived at the famous city, Venice!

And

But it will be better to tell the lady's story, as nearly as may be, in her own words. Although many years have passed since last she looked at a Venetian sky, and although time may have written some marks upon a forehead which once was as fair as marble, yet the brightness of her eye and the powers of her memory still remain unimpaired; and her narrative derives no little interest from the grace which has survived the common and more perishable beauties of youth. indeed there is a matronly as well as a maiden beauty, equally delightful, though in a different fashion. If the reader can admit a distinction between two words usually confounded, I would say that the one is a charm and the other a spell; the one attracts, while the other commands our worship. But he should see the lady of whom I speak. He should have the soft and distinct tones in which she recounts her little story. He should see * her white hand wave up and down as she tells of light boats' dancing' on the blue waves of the Adriatic, and hear her voice droop into sad solemnity, while she describes the hush of the watery streets, and the even

* She died very lately (since the above was written) at an advanced age.

ing chant of the monks and sisters, sailing under her balcony. He should — but, as he cannot by any possibility do all this, I will try to recollect her words. It is thus (or nearly thus) that I have heard her speak :—

Towards the afternoon of a bright day, we left Padua, "learned Padua," and embarked on the Brenta for Venice. The sun was riding towards the west, but he had not yet reached the point where he illuminates the sky like an Iris; he had not begun " to die like the dolphin," but blazed out clear and glorious, and threw his dazzling lights on the vineyards and orangegroves and palladian structures which crown the banks of the Brenta. Time passed, as we glided on, and on, -meeting first a carriage boat, then a gondola, — by fields and villas, by orange and laurel trees, —and at last found ourselves on the open waters, sailing direct for St. Mark's. The evening was now coming on, and it was not until we had approached somewhat near the city, that we saw, enveloped in a haze, and like a mirage of the desert, the towers and turrets, the domes, churches and palaces of the queenly Venice. She rose before us more like a Moorish enchantment, than a real positive Christian city. I thought first of the Fata Morgana, and believed I beheld an illusion; and then of Gulnare's city of the sea; and half expected to meet, amongst pillars of green and gold, and fretwork of crystal, the fantastical shapes of the ocean.

Well, we arrived at the outskirts of Venice; gliding up the road which was marked out by stakes, while, at every stroke of the oar, the city seemed to swell, and come forth and stand more palpably before us. То