Venice Preserved, and many of those in our old dramatists, are already familiar to us; but the following incident, of a wholly domestic character, has, we believe, never yet been appropriated to scenic representation, though presenting abundant sources of interest. The beautiful and accomplished wife of Antonio de' Ricci had long resisted the dishonourable proposals of a rich and powerful noble, allied to the family of the reigning doge. Accidentally discovering the seducer's designs, and his ceaseless importunities, the lady's husband being known to many of their common friends, publicly charged the tempter of her honour with his base and unmanly perseverance in such a pursuit. Relying on his rank and influence, the patrician, in place of offering the least apology, declared before the assembled merchants, on the Rialto, that whether agreeable or not, he was determined to persevere until he had carried his point; it was an affair between the lady and himself. This reply stung Antonio to the quick, and drawing his sword swift as lightning, he flew on his enemy and laid him dead at his feet. He then effected his escape; but a reward was offered for his head; and such were the misfortunes that befel his wife and family as to reduce them to the last stage of destitution. Learning their extreme misery, and determined to afford them relief, the father and the husband secretly returned to Venice, and accompanied by his wife, two daughters, and his young son, delivered himself up bound to the officers of justice, claiming at the same time from the Council of Ten the sum due to those who brought him there, alive or dead. "That," he exclaimed," is now due to this woman and her daugh ters." Their tears and cries, however, too truly evinced the kind of interest they took in the prisoner; and so struck were the members of the council with the boldness and magnanimity of the action, that turning to Antonio, after hearing his tale of wrongs and sufferings endured from his powerful rival, they recalled the edict against his life, and restored him to his family and his friends. In the year 1587, a stranger suddenly appeared in Venice, and addressing a noble on the Rialto, inquired if he wished to view an admirable collection of paintings. He went; and after admiring them for some time, happened to cast his eyes over the chamber-door, where hung a portrait of the stranger: he gazed on it. "This is your portrait, sir," said the noble. The other signified his assent. "Yet," exclaimed the noble with surprise," you look only about fifty! this picture is known to be Titian's hand, who died a hundred and fifty years ago. Good God! how strange!-who are you?-is it possible?" "It is not easy to know what is possible, or who I am," replied the mysterious being gravely: "it is no crime to resemble Titian's picture." The noble retired; but was haunted with the idea of the stranger. He went next day, and was told he had taken his departure. 77 LORD BYRON'S PALACE. In Venice Tasso's echoes are no more, CHILDE HAROLD. THE opposite page presents a view of the palace occupied by Lord Byron during his residence in Venice. When, after his unfortunate marriage, and the destruction of those hopes which he at one period entertained of becoming, under the mild influence of a virtuous and sensible woman, a better and a happier man, Lord Byron once more left England in search of that peace of mind, which was destined never to be his, Venice naturally occurred to him as a place where, for a time at least, he should find a suitable residence. He had, in his own language, "loved it from his boyhood;" and there was a poetry connected with its situation, its habits, and its history, which excited both his imagination and his curiosity. At the same time the melancholy with which his heart was filled was soothed and cherished by the associations which every object in Venice inspired. The prospect of dominion subdued, of a high spirit humbled, of splendour tarnished, of palaces |