LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXIII, Issue 2194, 8 March 1881, Page 3

LITERATURE.

THE MYSTERY OF LORD BRACKENBURY: A NOVEL. BY AMELIA B. EDWABDH, Author of "Barbara's History," ■'Debenbarn's Vow," &o. (Continued.) Chaftbk XLV. THB DIAMANTE. The Madonna, doubtless, permitted herself to be propitiated, for the weather next day turned out just as Donato predicted. Never was autumn morning more brilliant : the air crisp acd cool; tho sky a dome of liquid blue; hills, plain, and city flooded with sunshine. At five, the balls began clanging from the campaniles; and at halfpast six the wheel weight and his niece passed out through the courtyard, and took way towards the semma Oampagna station. The Strada Vieentino is a long, hot road; and they had the sun fall in their faces all the way. But i-'tefano Boni was the lait man in the 'world to fling away a oouple of lire on coach hire, even though it was a Festa. So they trudged en amid a stream of pedestrians bom d for the same goal; and presently Tonio Morettl, with new rosettes at his horse's head and a camellia In his buttonhole, drove past them at a gallop ; bis vettura full of Austrian soldiers. The girl shrank back, and olung to her uncle's arm; but the rf jected suitor, seeming not to see them, vanished in a cloud of dust.

But who is this, in uniform of navy blue all glittering with anchor buttons, coming forward at the station to meet them. Not Ceaare Donato ?

He has a gold band to his cap, and gold braid on his cuffs and collar. Ho looks like an Admiral. So at least thinks La Glnlietta silent and shy, and half afraid oE her lover in his splendonr. * The master of a vessel bringing visitors aboard his ship on a Festa day, is bound to appear in uniform,' he said apologetically. ' It is a question, of discipline.' A question of discipline I The girl began dimly to understand that this Cesare whom she had already learned to look npon as her very own, belonging to a olaes far above that in which she had herself been born and bred. That he was master of a tradingcraft, that he was well-to-do, that he was what Uncle rtefano called 'a good \ match ' —all this she had been told ; bat it had made slight impression on her. Now, for the first time, she realised that he was a man whom other men obeyed. They are seated presently in a secondclass compartment, bound for "Venice; La Giulietta and her uncle on one side ; Donato opposite. Old Stefano has insisted on paying for his niece's ticket and his own, notwithstanding that he is secretly of opinion that third elass seats in. the cheap train which leaves after the express would have answered tneir purpose as well. The girl has never been to Venice. Only once before hat she travelled by rail. That was to Mantua and back by an ordinary market-train some three or four years ago. At first the express speed frightens her. the scarcely dares to watch the flying landscape. But this terror soon wears off; and presently Donato draws her attention to two castles on a solitary hill—the one standing high In piotu-esque ruin ; the other,half-way between the plain and the summit, and comparatively modern. These are the castles or the Montecchi. That shattered stronghold above is at least as old as the time of the famous feud ; and Borneo was probably born within its walla.

How they pass ViceDza with its lofty tower, and Padua, with its domes, Then come marshy flats ; aud soon a broad river is crossed, and Meatre is reached and beyond Meatre lies a silver lake stretching away to the horizon. Quaint Ashing boats with parti-oolored s*ils glide slowly here and there across that placid waste; yonder are some three or four black speoks of gondolas ; and far away, from the midst of a low-lying bank of soft, warm haze, rise the shadowy towers and cupolas of Venioe.

Now the train enters npon the long bridge, and the shining waters are all around them The mainland becomes a ■trip of sand in the distance; the dreamlike city rises higher and nearer; and then all at onoe, they slacken qaosd, run under cover, and come to a dead stop in a station —a big, commonplace railway terminus like any other, full of clamor and bustle.

'lt's all very well,' says Uncle Stefano; ' but I like it best as it used to bo in my time, when you took a boat and rowed it across from Mestre. It don't seem natural to come to Venice by railway.' Now they emerge upon a broad flight of water-washed steps, and there is a general rush towards the gondolas, of which a blaok fleet is drawn up, waiting for hire, .And now, from amid a crowd of porters, gondoliers, and hotel touters, there steps a smart sailor, who touches his broad-brimmed straw hat, puts a whistle to his lips, and blows a shrill note that rings high above all the diu of voices.

Instantly from the opposite side of the canal there darts forward a trim long-boat manned by six rowers, who hoist their oars in salute when Donato comes in eight. ' Round the Grand Canal,' says he handing La Giulietta to a cushioned seat in the stern.

So they take their places. Then the rowers bend to their oa s ; the boatswain steers ; the long boat shoots out into the middle of the stream. And now, as they cleave their rapid way, the green water scintillating at every stroke, there is unfolded a wondrous panorama—a panorama of pillared palace fronts inlaid with precious marbles; picturesque churches of old brown brick; and stately bell-towers, with pyramidical roofs clear cut against the blue. and there are huge post before the palacedoors, striped red and white and green and blue, which cast their many oolored reflections in the shining waters. And there are Gondolas moored to these poets; gondolas everywhere, gondolas crossing and recrosslng, going with the stream and ag-inst the stream. And there are pleasure boats with gay awnings; barges laden with grain; and casks, and timber, and sand ; market-boats piled high with pumpkins, melons, and green and golden gourds. Yonder, under a vine trellis, sit a party of gondoliers drinking and smoking. Here comes an eight-oared pinnace full of white coated officers. Now the boat glides past the mouth of a side canal, and they hear the wild cry of a coming gondolier—" Stali I ah, Stali !' Now they pass under the mighty arch of the Riolto, all iridiscent with reflected lights This beautiful church is Santa Maria della Salute ; that long building with columned portico looking to the lagune is the Sea Custom House. Aud yonder lies the island of Saint George; and that cloistered pa'aco flushed with rose and patterned with lace work, and those opalescent domes beyond, and that solitary belltower standing alone, like a giant obelisk of channelled brickwork - these are the Ducal Palace and the Cathedral and Campanile of St Mark. The girl holds fast by her uncle's hand. She says nothing. She only looks, and is silent. As a child, she used to watch the clouds at sunset, fancying how the pale great heaven was a stainless sea flowing between Islands of amethyst and gold, and picturing to herself how, beyond that sea and those islands, lay the Heavenly City with gates of jasper and pavements of pearl, from whose battlements her mother looked down and listened to her evening prayer. But what dream-city ever ohons so fair as this, or looked so vision-like?

' Those are the Royal Gardens, where yon Bee the trees,' says Donato ; ' and that open spaca —where two high columns are standing alone, is the Piazza of St. Mark. That white arch spanning the water-way between the Ducal Palace and the next building (you sea it high above the bridge across which people are passing),—that la the Bridge of Sighs. And look ! beyond that farthest point stretches the great sandbank which they call the Lido ; and the Liio divides us from the .Adriatic Pea." ' but is not this the sea ?' she asks wonderingly. ' No, no, my little girl,' interposes Uncle Stefano, ' These are the Lagunes ; saltwater shallows that rise and fall with the tide.'

They are level now with the Eea Cnßto* Honse, beyond which rises a forest of masts.

'You see that big vessel ynnder ?" continues Donato « That is the Austrian Guardship. They fire a gun at sunset. And that great steamer with white funnels is the English mail steamer; and thia is thn 'Diamante.' '

This ! This three-masted verse!, all dressed with flags and streamers . . this the ' Diamante 1'

They glide alongside of the shining black hull. _ A rope is thrown and caught. The men ship their oars; the boatswain steadies the side of the boat against the foot of the accommodation-ladder ; Donato jumps out, hands La Giulletta up the tide, and sa she seta her foot upon the deck, takes cit his cap and bide her welcome with as much honor as if she were a Queen. The first and accond mates, with gold bands to their caps and anchor buttons to their jackets, are standing by to receive "J*™- 7 W aalute th ir oaptaia and tike off their caps to bis guests. The Bailors h*ve the name of tho ship painted on the ribbon that goes round their hats. The decks sre smooth aa glass, and clean as new fallen Bnow. The brass fittings of the wheel and the binnacle and the companion-way, shine like gold! Guns, too ! Warliko, deadlylooking guns mounted on gun-carriages as if the Diamante were a ship of war 1 that surprise you ?'says the Captain, with his grave smile. ' A merchant vessel of this tonnage iB hounti to carry heavy ordnance. We need them for firing Falutes ; and sometimes even for self-de-fence. We might fall in with auch folk an pirates, off Borneo and the coast of China, and then we should be *ery glad of our guns.*

I thought you only traded between Pari and Venice,' said Uncle Stefano, with a bewildered face. *I never said that. Not but what we have sometimes shipped a cargo at Buri. But for the most part, the Diamante trades farther afield. Our last trip was to the West India Inland*.' Then he takes them round the decks, and La Giulietta, who has never Been anything in the way of a boat bigger than the pleasure skiffs on the Adige, has the compass explained to her, and the use of the steersman's wh- el ; and peeps down into thehuge, dark, empty hold, not long sino« cleared of Its cargo of indigo, coffee, and spioes. Then a bell sounds, and they go down to luncheon.

A cabin, not large, indeed, but well lighted, with little mirrors let into panelled walls, and fittings of horrehair and mahogany, and a sofa seat under the stern windows ; a table glittering glass and bright with flowers ; a lucheon that is in truth a dinner, well cooked, well served ; wines that froth when thoy are poured out, and forks made of silver and bigger than spoons ! —such wonders as these hold the simple guests silent aud awestruck. Donata takes the head of the table, and his first mate the foot ; I a Giulietta sits at her lover's right hand, and her uncie at his left. The seoond mate does not appear. The steward waits, with a napkin under his arm. Little is done in the way of conversation, and that little is led by the Captain and respectfully seconded by the mate. La Giulietta, meanwhile, marvels how her uncle can find courage to eat in the midst of so much magnificence ; for Stefano Beni, despite his amazement, is perfectly able to enjoy his dinner. The mate leaves the table when the cloth is removed, and the Captain and his guests are served with coffee. Then it is time to see something of the eights of Venice. ITo be continued on Saturday.')