glory with which the imagination is ever apt to invest it. Most dull, stupid, and unpoetical does it appear. With a long range of dirty grey or red-brick houses, mean and low, and a huge factory on the shore sending forth volumes of dark smoke, I could, had it not been for the total absence of shipping, have almost fancied myself off Wapping or Rotherhithe! We presently passed a small fort standing in the midst of the water, half a mile from the city, and soon after entered the Canal Reggio, and then all such profane resemblance vanished, and I was in a picturesque old Italian city, with decayed weather-stained houses on either side of the canal, but, except in respect of the gondolas, it was not yet Venice. A few minutes more, however, and we shot beneath a bridge into the Grand Canal, and then the glories of Venice burst upon me. Then I was indeed in Venice-in the Venice of my imagination—the Venice of Canaletti the Venice of a thousand palaces for there they were, stretching away on both sides the canal as far as the eye could reach, in stateliness and beauty, like a garland of flowers bound round the brow of the Ocean Queen. But I looked again, and saw that the flowers were faded; their freshness and glory have departed, decay and ruin only are left. The feelings of anxious delight which I naturally carried into a city so renowned in history, and so peculiar in herself, were at once checked by the melancholy air of everything around. These palaces, "This long array Of mighty shadows, whose dim forms despond the narrow dark canals, which at intervals debouched upon that in You will easily imagine my eagerness to see everything around me, and believe that I had several narrow escapes of being guillotined by the sharp steel prows of the gondolas as I was stretching my head out of the window of mine. In a short time the canal made a sharp bend to the right, and we suddenly shot beneath a wide bridge of a single arch, and a moment afterwards, on looking up, I recognised the Rialto. Palaces again, as far as the eye could reach, with church towers of various forms rising at intervals behind; but I had only begun to look about me; when the gondola turned suddenly to the left up a very narrow canal, and stopped immediately at a flight of steps. The vast gloomy building above was the "I. R. Direzione della Posta," and the little canal was the court-yard of our water-omnibus. Here we dismounted, or disembarked if you please, and, ascending the steps, entered the hall of the palace for such it was originally,* -a vast * The Austrian Government, I was told, had purchased this palace of the Grimani family for about four thousand pounds sterling. In England such a mansion would be worth ten times that sum. hall of great length, with sentries pacing within, and the coverings of three or four gondolas arranged like coffins along the sides. The building is laid out in public offices, that of the diligences being at one end of the hall, and the "Posta dalle Lettere" at the other. I had already learned that there were three good hotels in Venice.— viz. the Leone Bianco, which I had just passed, almost adjoining the Posta, and comnianding a fine view of the Rialto and Grand Canal,the Albergo dell' Europa, at the mouth of the same canal, and near the Piazza of St. Mark and the Ducal Palace,-and the Albergo Reale, on the quay overlooking the port and shipping. Judging of their comparative advantages of situation by my map, I chose the second, and have had no reason to repent my choice. Hiring a gondola-not one like that I had just quitted, but one of the ordinary canoe-like things, which scarcely seem to touch the waters as they glide over them, (not an omnibus, in fact, but a cab,)—I seated myself on the black leathern cushion. Oh, luxury of luxuries! Talk of sofas, of easy chairs, of air-cushions! Commend me to a gondola, with its deep, well-stuffed, springy seat, gently raised from the flooring, with its slightly sloping back against which to recline, and its two little footstools, similarly padded, one on each side the boat, on which to rest one's limbs, and enjoy one's otium cum dignitate. He must have been a very epicure in repose who contrived the internal arrangements of the gondola. Then you can see through the open windows all that is passing on both sides, or before you; or, if you would keep out the vulgar gaze, there are glass and wooden sliding shutters, to be shifted at pleasure, and suiting any degree of publicity or privacy you may desire. The gondola is the most delightful, commodious, and convenient of all vehicles, aquatic or terrene. You can make it your chamber - what bed more luxurious than its cushions?—your study, Not that I have yet tried this experiment, but I have Shelley's authority that it may be done. But, what may not be done in a gondola ? On I floated between lines of palaces, solemnly gorgeous, and of every variety of architecture-Gothic, Saracenic, Greek, or Italian ;-towers and domes rising proudly behind. English-rigged vessels in full sail; other nondescript craft lying along the shore; gondolas shooting about in every direction, all reflected in the dark-green waters, and each object fixing my eye for a moment, till it was involuntarily drawn off by some other more novel and attractive. At length, just as I had begun to gaze with admiration on the sublime dome of the church of the Salute, which rose from the right bank of the canal, the gondola was steered up to the steps of an ancient Gothic palace on the opposite side; the rowers shipped their oars; I stept ashore, mounted the steps, and found myself within the vast hall of the Albergo dell' Europa, or Hotel of Europe. COLIN CLIN K. BY CHARLES HOOTON. BOOK THE SECOND. CHAPTER V. The doctor's reflections on his return. "WHAT safer am I now?" thought the doctor, as he pursued his way home in the dark, and reflected on all that had just transpired, and on the probable consequences of it. "To-morrow there will be a jury, it cannot be avoided; and I shall be called to witness, and Fanny, who saw it all, will be called also. She suspects something, and may tell all until she raises suspicions in the minds of others. Would that she too were out of the way, and then-then, I should be finally secure!" But as he thus thought on another death, the dread of the last came strongly upon him; and his skin seemed to creep upon his bones. He fancied there was a body lying in the road, and several times he checked his horse to avoid trampling upon it, or turned him suddenly aside in order to pass it by. He could see the shadowy lineaments of the man he had murdered flickering about in the doubtful air, with the very folds of the bed-clothes which his own hand had gathered round it, pictured in misty but accurate lines, like an artist's first sketch emerging from a ground of dark and indistinct space. He grew anxious to get home. He wondered how it was that never in his life before had any sight so haunted him, and yet he had seen many worse agonies than that,— many. Yes; he had seen old sinners die,-stubborn and unrepentant to the last; he had seen them die and make no sign of hope of Heaven's grace. And he had seen young maids die of very terror at the thought and name of death. Yet these were nothing. They were happiness itself to what he had witnessed that night. When he arrived at home, his wife remarked that he looked pale and ill. "No, my dear," he replied, "I am very well indeed,-wonderfully well. I never felt better in my life. I can assure you, you are mistaken." He sat down to his supper; but as he tried to carve, his knife slipped, and he did not try it again. The face of the lawyer seemed to be over the table, dancing about it in the broad beams of the candle-light. "You tremble, Harry!" cried his wife; " How did you leave Skinwell?" "He is dead." "Dead!" your hand shakes. "Yes, he is gone. A concussion of the brain has taken him off. It was a terrible fall, indeed." "But how sudden!" exclaimed she. "People will die suddenly sometimes," replied the doctor; "and especially when pitched headlong out of a gig on a stony road. VOL. VI. 2 x Now I think of it, let me tell you, my dear, that to-morrow, perhaps, or on some early day, I shall want you to show a young woman down in the village here, all over the house. I wish her to see the patients. Do not ask any questions now; I have particular reasons for it. I only have to request of you very particularly, when she does come, to make no enquiries of her of any kind, nor to answer any questions she may put to you. It is of great importance to yourself as well as to me; and more so indeed than you can be aware of just now, so that it is unnecessary to insist further upon it." The wife promised strict compliance with his injunctions, as it was no very unusual thing for her thus to be requested to take a blind part in the performance of some mystery or other in the establishment, of which no one knew the bottom save Dr. Rowel himself. By this combination of secrecy with his wife, and of apparent openness and candour towards Fanny, he trusted to convince the latter young woman that the communication which the dying man had made respecting her father, was false and utterly without foundation. In adopting this bold course, it is evident that the doctor laid himself open to the possibility at least of a discovery; yet it was clearly the safest plan which, under the circumstances, he could adopt. The opinions which his wife entertained respecting the sanity of the unfortunate James Woodruff rendered it highly necessary, not only that the name and relationship of the visitor to whom he had promised an inspection of his house should be unknown to her, but also that no suspicion should be excited by any attempt on his part to prevent James Woodruff's being seen by Fanny along with all the other patients; since the very fact of one of them being purposely withheld would of itself give room for doubt; while, from an interview between them he had nothing to fear, since in his opinion it was a moral impossibility that either father or daughter should recognise the other. CHAPTER VI. A jury of blockheads sits on the body of Skinwell. Colin advises Fanny Woodruff upon a subject of some importance. A CORONER'S jury was summoned to hold an inquest at the tavern at Bramleigh, on the body of Mr. Skinwell. The men composing this Jury were such ignorant louts, that Doctor Rowel, on being called before them, soon succeeded in so far mystifying their perceptions, that they unanimously determined it to be quite useless to call any other witnesses than one or two of those who saw the accident. The coroner himself was an indolent and superficial person, and, under pretence of having other inquests to hold a few miles off, seemed anxious to hurry the present inquiry to a conclusion. Fanny remained outside during the deliberation, and, though it was once or twice suggested that her evidence might prove important, the Coroner peremptorily refused to listen to it, and especially as Doctor Rowel took the liberty of hinting that any statement which she might make could not prove of the least value after his own lucid and professional exposition of the state of the deceased on his being brought home. Accordingly, a verdict of "Accidental Death" was recorded; and Doctor Rowel returned to Nabbfield highly gratified in secret with the result of the inquiry. But, as the success of guilt affords no pleasant matter for reflection, I will proceed to relate something concerning a better and more vir tuous character. The story of Lawyer Skinwell's death soon spread abroad, and reached the farm at Whinmoor in its progress. When Colin became acquainted with the facts, he necessarily concluded that Fanny would again be homeless, and that his advice and assistance might prove useful to her. He accordingly seized the first opportunity that presented itself for taking a walk to Bramleigh, which occurred about a week after the dreadful event just related. During that time Fanny had been wishing day and night to see him, but had been too much occupied amidst the circumstances which this unexpected change had brought about, to be enabled to do more than wish for his coming. Everything had, of course, been left in some confusion. Nor were there any known relations of her late master to whom application could be made to take his affairs under their management. Skinwell had come to the village, unknown, when a young man, and was generally understood to say that indeed, to the best of his knowledge and belief, he was the last of his family. Under these circumstances both Fanny and the poor clerk would have felt somewhat embarrassed in what manner to proceed, had not Mr. Longstaff, the steward, and the landlord of the Cock and Bottle, taken an early opportunity, after the lawyer's death, to call at the house, formally announce to the poor clerk himself that they were legal witnesses to a will which the deceased had made some time ago in his favour; and which, after providing for all debts and expenses, left to him the residue and the business together. The document thus spoken of was soon found amongst his private papers; and, as nobody came forward to dispute and litigate over the poor man's corpse, as is usually the case when anybody has a small matter to leave behind him, the affairs of the household were soon placed in a way for being carried on as usual; and, especially as Fanny consented to remain for the present with the lawyer's successor on the same terms as she had formerly agreed upon with him. These arrangements had been made when Colin arrived; and therefore the difficulties in which he expected to find Fanny were entirely obviated. But there was another and a far more dreadful subject to engage his attention, which he could not possibly have anticipated, namely, the communication made by the dying man respecting her father, and the horrible scene which she had witnessed at the time that communication was made. Partly from a conscientious fear of doing any one an injustice, and partly from doubt whether, after all, the doctor really was or was not guilty, she had not hitherto mentioned the subject to any one, though it lay on her mind like a burden which would allow no rest until it was shaken off. the lawyer had spoken truth, was it not unjust to his memory to make no use of what he had spoken? And if she really had a father living, and that father was confined in a madhouse, what could she think of herself were she not to make an effort for his deliverance? On his arrival, Colin thought Fanny looked ill and anxious; and If |