had plunged into a sudden sea of troubles, without knowing even what the wild elements were that lashed the placid waters into fury and made the sky dark all around. VERONA AS IT IS. THE association of Verona with the name of through some of the least delectable parts of the city; it is evidently a well-beaten road, for at every fifty yards or so we are accosted by an individual who wants to conduct us to the tomb. The invitations we decline; and at length find ourselves in front of a miserablelooking house, of which the plaster is battered and discoloured and the tiles torn away. We ring; and after an interval, the filthy head of a in life are cast in unsavoury places, appears cook or scullery-maid, or some one whose lines Under a sort of tunnel, we pass, and are in what is now a convent garden, and what was, we are to believe, 'a churchyard; in it a tomb belonging to the Capulets.' Again the ideal is shattered. After making all allowance for the wear and tear of four hundred years, we have, with reason, we think, brought ourselves to the experof Shakspeare here than in the streets of the tation of being more intimately in the company crowded city. But try as we may, the surroundings are uncongenial. Peace around, & calm blue sky above, but nothing more. Imagine the Bermondsey market-gardens-themselves the sole remnants of one of the richest religious demesnes in England-shut within four walls, and you have the churchyard' of Romeo and under the shattered remnants of what might Juliet. Imagine a stone cattle-trough, built have been once a dainty Gothic building, and you have the tomb belonging to the Capulets There are many visiting-cards in the cattletrough; and it is a slight consolation to learn, by a perusal of the names on them, that Englishmen are not the only victims of this worthless sham. We turn from Juliet's Tomb' gladly, and retrace our steps city-wards, in order to visit the 'open place' which is the scene of the commencement of the Two Gentlemen of Verona. This is probably the 'Piazza delle Erbe,' which has been identified with the Forum of the ancient Roman city, and is a picturesque spot enough, especially on market-day, when the oblong is crowded from end to end with quaintly dressed vendors of luscious fruit, of grain, meat, and odds and ends of all sorts, each one under his or her huge white umbrella. The houses around, built upon arcades, and with frescoed The armorial bearings-the cap-are still over walls, still wear an old-world look; and we can the archway; but excepting them, there is not without much difficulty surround ourselves with the remotest trace to remind us that it was here Valentines and Proteuses, Tybalts and Capulets, that the most beautiful love-scene in the world's Lucettas and Julias, in spite of the discordant drama was enacted. The carved balconies, the harangues of energetic hucksters, and the pretracery, the ornamentation, all the outward sym-valent odour of garlic and tobacco. A solitary bols of a wealthy gentleman's town residence, have been torn away by local 'improvers' or relic-hunters. Where was Capulet's orchard is now a filthy stable-yard, much used by countrymen who bring the produce of their lands to the city market. There is nothing romantic about us as we stand in the crowded, gloomy street, but the glimpse of never-changing blue sky above us. The natives, doubtless wondering at what can occasion our curiosity, gaze with us at the sculptured cap, and read the inscription, as if these were new features in the surroundings of their daily life. Rather sad at heart, perhaps half-angry with Mr Irving for entrapping us into so enchanting an ideal, we make for Juliet's tomb. The road to it lies column at one end reminds us of old Roman days; and an elevated erection in the centre, garnished still with chains and bracelets,' carries us to later days, when the market-place was the veritable centre of every medieval city. But the glory of modern Verona is its amphitheatre. Man has worked harder, or at least more efficaciously, than Time in despoiling and disfiguring it; still it stands majestic, colossal, stalwart, pretty much as it stood eighteen hundred years ago. Here we may linger away many pleasant hours, either wandering about in the brilliant sunshine beneath the cloudless blue sky, amongst the tiers of white marble seats; ascending of course to the topmost tier, whence a wide panorama is seen sort. stretched around us of the quaint, red-tiled city in Italian, French, and English, which as a with its domes and campaniles, its irregular laughter-provoking composition may take rank jumble of towers and walls, far away beyond far above comic literature of a more pretentious which glimmers the distant line of the snowy Alps; or we may descend through one of the The cathedral is interesting, although for many admirably arranged vomitoria to the regions magnificence it does not compare with the 'behind the scenes,' into a damp, dark city of church of San Zeno. The entrance in partimonster arches, huge columns, and colossal walls, cular is striking, as it consists of a projecting amongst which may still be seen the cages balcony, supported by two curiously twisted wherein the gladiators rested or equipped them- pillars, which in turn rest on the backs of two selves, or whence the wild animals were let winged monsters, bearing the ancient, mysterious, loose upon the Christians awaiting their doom religious, wheel-symbol upon their flanks. On on the sunlit sand of the arena outside the gates. each side of the door stand the exceedingly Many of these cages are used as receptacles for quaint figures of Roland and Oliver. The church such fragments and remnants of the architectural of Saint Anastasia, under the special protection decoration of the corridors as have been found of the Scala family-it being usual for churches too bulky to be transferred to the local museum. in the great Italian cities to be under the Others, from the deep accumulation of mud patronage of prominent families, just as many within them, have perhaps never been entered of those in St Petersburg are under the patronby a human being since the days of imperial age of certain regiments-is remarkable for the Rome. two grotesque holy-water basin-bearers known as the Gobbi-figures of mouthing beggars the size of life, in variously coloured marble. The arena itself owes much of its perfect and brand-new appearance to the energy and patriotism of successive rulers of Verona, and But, apart from the usual traveller-sought is still frequently used upon popular festivals 'lines' of Verona, there is much that is intefor theatrical or gymnastic displays; but the resting, striking, and typical in the city itself, corridors around it have, we are told, never which retains its ancient characteristics, perhaps, been altered or repaired; and the work in to a greater extent than do most North Italian them testifies, perhaps as plainly as any other cities in this age of renovation and restoration. in Italy, to the thoroughness, grandeur, and There are one or two modern streets of fair solidity of ancient Roman work. Until com- dimensions; but the charm of the place, to the paratively lately, the amphitheatre was hemmed sentimentalist and the antiquary, lies away from in closely on all sides by mean, tumble-down them, amidst the dark, tortuous, arcaded byways, dwellings, which completely hid from view its of which no two houses resemble each other; majestic proportions; but these erections have whereinto the sun rarely penetrates, wherein been swept away, and the grand open space reign unbroken stillness and darkness. Here the created laid out as a public garden, and chris-old-world illusion is heightened by the appearance tened the Square of Victor Emmanuel. In the main street, called the Corso, are two very interesting Roman remains, consisting of a doublearched gateway by Vitruvius, still imposing, although robbed of much of its old embellishment, and disfigured on one side by a tawdry shrine to the Virgin; and a second, highly decorated archway, once spanning the street, now five feet below its level, and literally imbedded in the wall of a house. What the Colonna and Orsini were to Rome, the Medici to Florence, the Grimaldi and Doria to Genoa, the Visconti to Milan, the family Della Scala, or as they are more generally known, the Scaligers, were to Verona. Hence, it is not remarkable that in every nook and corner of the old city we come across their once terrible erest, the ladder. The old Scaliger Palace, or, more properly speaking, the chief of their palaces, still exists, although shorn of much of its original splendour. But more interesting than the family palace is the family burial-ground; here, within a wonderfully wrought iron railing of fourteenth-century work, are the tombs of the most distinguished, and therefore the most wicked and unscrupulous members of the family. There is that of Can Grande the First, which he built for himself at a fabulous cost; of the first Scaliger, a quaint monument in the form of a ladder, surmounted by a grotesque equestrian figure; of two other personages-massive granite sarcophagi sculptured with the most ludicrous caricatures of men and animals; and there is, last but not least, a notice to visitors, printed of the heavily cloaked, big-hatted figures which glide noiselessly in and out of dark archways and quaintly sculptured doors; by the entire absence of anything approaching to repair or reconstruction; and above all, by the sad, decayed look which seems to be impressed everywhere. Here may be seen the palaces of the old Verona nobility, veritable Castles Carabas in their hugeness, sadness, and grandeur, still rich with broad, carved staircases, marble halls, frescoed walls, and gaunt, magnificent apartments; still with their pleasaunces' stretching away behind, once brilliant with gay flowers and flashing fountains, now overgrown with tangled weeds, battered and deserted. There are bridges crossing the rapid Adige which were ancient when Britain was a vast forest and morass, one of which, after having stemmed the current for ten centuries, had been swept away by an unusual rise of the river a few days before our arrival. These, and the picturesque water-wheels which dot the course of the river, and the curious jumble of ancient buildings climbing up the hillsides, may alone detain the artist for many a long summer day; whilst he who would seek pure air, rest, and quiet, may wander away through the embattled Byzantine gates of the city walls, along roads running straight as when they were mapped by the old Romans, and still lined by their milestones, into a country of fresh green pasture, fields of golden grain, and hills purple with the wealth of sweet grapes. There is one serious drawback in Verona-the lack of a good hotel. But if the visitor does e not object to extortion and third-rate accommodation for a few days, he will be amply repaid for his temporary discomfort by the pleasure and instruction he will have derived from the exploration of that city which its natives still fondly call 'Verona la Degna.' MR L'ESTRANGE. A TALE OF AN ATLANTIC LINER. 'My native land, good-night!' I murmured Byron's line almost unconsciously, as the dark mass, that had been sinking into the green-gray waters, seemed suddenly to founder in them and to be replaced by a formless cloud. England had passed into shadow-land! Should I ever know it again as a real land? Was it and all that I loved passing into mere reminiscence? Was I, like millions before me, going into perpetual exile? darker. The green died out of the sea, the gray grew It, too, died out; and the vast space over which my eye ranged became black, save where the waves broke into snowy rifts. A feeling of terrible loneliness came over me, and a strange fear of impending troubles. Everybody had descended from the deck to the saloon, at the sound of the dinner-bell; and I remained solitary, under the lee of the huge funnels that poured out wild ribbons of smoke. I was in no mood for eating, still less did I desire society. For a long time I had been in weak health; and recent family matters had seriously lessened my strength. My father had died suddenly, leaving his affairs so confused that bankruptcy became inevitable. I was recalled from my legal studies in London, being the eldest son. But neither my knowledge of law nor my devotion to the family welfare could prevent the ruin which came upon us. In a few months, our changed social level was reached. A cottage replaced our pleasant country villa, the plainest food our former luxuries. My mother and sisters accepted this painful reverse of fortune with astonishing bravery. At least before me and my younger brother Theodore they appeared cheerful and resigned, and prophesied that we should again rise to the sphere from which we had fallen. Loving and united, capable and ambitious, we could not remain poor in a world where such traits led to wealth and social success. My career as a barrister was at an end, at least for a time; I must earn something for the good and gentle and heroic women who regarded me as the head of the family now. I had tried several paths that seemed suited to such talents and acquirements as I possessed; but I could not get even bread for my single self. My health failed rapidly; and at times I feared my own death would be added to the calamities of the family. My brother Theodore had been in my father's office. He was thrown upon the world as helpless as a child. Although twenty years old, he was ignorant of everything that produces income in the lower middle-class grade to which we had fallen. He had played at business, as at everything else. A universal favourite, handsome as Apollo, courageous to folly, and with more health and high spirits than a dozen like me, Theodore, who ought to have jumped into a good position at once, could not get even the humblest clerkship. His belief in his 'luck' seemed to grow in proportion to his failures; smiling irresistibly in our anxious faces, he would say: Cheer up, cheer up, good people; my ship will come in; and when she does, her cargo will consist of pure gold; and all our fortunes will be made in one grand coup.' At last matters became desperate. Curtailed to mere necessary food and housing, still our expenditure went on consuming the scanty wreckMy mother smiled rarely; age of our means. my sisters went out on furtive errands, and generally came back looking wan and jaded. We all grew taciturn, except Theodore. Nothing damped his glowing heart. His belief in himself never faltered for an instant; but it had ceased to inspire us. One day I counted the little sum that I had left-it was just over five pounds. My spirits sank into utter eclipse, and I remained in a state Then light of torpid anguish for some hours. broke I determined to place our situaupon me. tion before my mother's brother, Edward. A long estrangement had separated us. He disliked my father; and a dozen years before, a bitter quarrel had arisen between the two families. Though living in the same town, we did not even speak. My uncle was a hard and opinionated man, implacable in his aversion; and the mere thought of asking a favour from him made me grow white to the lips. But some inscrutable inspiration urged me to go to this man and to tell him how we were situated, and to ask him for help. I did not breathe my intention, when I left the house, to my mother and sisters; they would have protested that any humiliation would be preferable to begging alms from Uncle Edward. My inscrutable inspiration proved to be no illusion. Uncle Edward received me with austere reserve. It melted as I went on telling my painful story; and at the end of it the hard man of the world was softened, as he had probably never been before. He was also alarmed for the reputation of his sister and her children. My statement that death, the workhouse, or the hospital would be the end for me, if things were not changed, quite disturbed the proud old_man. The upshot of our interview was that I and Theodore should go to America, there to settle as farmers in the fruit-growing region of California. By such occupation I should have the best chance to recover my health, and a quick means of earning a livelihood for the family. While we boys were building up a home, Uncle Edward would make the women-folks a comfortable allowance; and when the home was ready, he would pay the cost of the voyage of my mother and sisters. An indefinite time was allowed for the repayment of the moneys advanced by my uncle. He thought that in five or six years we should be able to square the obligations against us, if Theodore and I were industrious and observant. Hence it had come to pass that my young brother and myself were passengers on Journal famous Atlantic liner, and speeding with many hundreds of fortune-seekers to the land of financial promise. Theodore had passed through the tribulations of parting, with his usual cheerfulness, and so wrought up the hopes of my sisters, that the poor girls were confidently expecting to join us in California in less than a year. Even my mother caught the infection of her gallant boy's assurances, and almost bade us good-bye with a smile. Nor could I resist the splendid audacity of the lad, who declared himself the new Columbus, going to discover a new golden world, and all, all, for his dear ones. Sitting in the chill sea-air, and depressed by the gigantic gloom rolling over the shrinking horizon, I lost the buoyancy that had sustained me since we had left Liverpool. The first symptoms of malaise were upon me, and I began to fear that I should have to pass through that painful ordeal which few escape on a first ocean voyage. The whiffs of kitchen odours that passed across my face from time to time added to the repugnance I felt to go below. Ahoy! Charley! All hands to the soupplates,' cried Theodore's merry voice behind me. Come, old fellow; you cannot remain here in the dismals, while fairyland is just under your feet. I've just been talking to the doctor about you; he's a splendid fellow, and will make you as sound as a bell before we reach New York. He says you must eat and not think, when you are at sea. I quite agree with him. Come along; and you'll be obliged to agree too. I'll bet you a new hat, to be settled in New York, that you never saw such a spread as there is in the saloon. Why, man, it beats any restaurant or hotel that I have been in. And such a swell company! Come, my dear Charley, I cannot dine, if you do not sit beside me.' Theodore had not exaggerated, for once, in his description of the saloon. I was dazzled and bewildered by the glitter of glass and silver, and by the brilliant apparel and jewels of the ladies sitting under the effulgence of the electric light. Theodore had become quite familiar with some of those sitting round our table, of which the ship's doctor was the president. We were hailed with smiles and nods and kind words. I was constrained to look pleased, and to take the Soup recommended by the doctor, who assured me that sea-sickness arose partly from dread of it and partly from fasting. You are quite right in your opinion, doctor,' said a loud and emphatic voice opposite; 'seasickness arises simply from thinking of it.' I looked at the speaker. He was a large, powerfully built man of forty or forty-five years, most fashionably dressed, and with an air of authority that quite impressed me. Do you speak from experience?' I asked, rather deferentially. going to heir my uncle's estate in England. But I was only a sickly boy in those days.' Here the waiter came with a new dish, and my interlocutor suddenly ceased, and helped himself freely. I could not resist an envious sigh, as I watched his big strong hands loading the bilious-looking dainty on his plate. What animal force! what magnificent digestion! and I so womanly weak! I pushed my half-filled plate away, and addressing him, asked: 'How did you conquer sea-sickness?' 'By will, sir,' he replied, after drinking a full glass of champagne by will. I got up one morning feeling that I was going to feed the fishes, instead of enjoying my uncle's estate; and I looked at the water rolling past the ship, wondering how big a hole I should make in it, when they pitched me overboard. All of a minute, something seemed to say to me: "You're a fool, young man; go and feed yourself." I said: "I will feed myself." Yes, sir, my mind was made up; my will was going like an engine. In less than five minutes, quite a quantity of food had got inside of me.' The reminiscence seemed to recall him to present facts; for suddenly he began to eat again, and was oblivious of my presence. I sat thinking of the power of the will over human affairs, confessing that I had little of it, and wishing that I could induce a mysterious monitor to call me a fool, if that would make me similar to this resolute epicure before me. In the meantime my brother Theodore was eating, drinking, talking, as if he were a maritime veteran; so busy was he that he quite forgot me, save when the new dishes came round; then he would urge me to take some more food, and finding me unwilling, would help himself copiously, saying, with a laugh, that he must do duty for both. Very soon the poor dyspeptic finds himself 'left' on board ship. His glum face and brooding fancies scare away the gay, and alarm the too sympathetic with fears on their own account. Who that has felt the solitude of the banqueting table can forget it?-the clash of knives and forks, the sharp rattling of plates, the clinking and chiming of glasses, the sudden laugh, the gurgling appreciation of a bon mot, the odours of meats, drinks, fruits, flowers, compounded and recompounded, until the olfactory sense is paralysed and beyond discrimination; the confidential buzz of waiters, the sighs of repletion, the grunts of impatience, the compliments of gallantry, and the light laughter of ladies' voices. I bore with this unsympathetic gaiety as long as I could; and then, in spite of Theodore's reproachful remonstrances, of the doctor's perfunctory behests to make myself comfortable,' and of the man of will I do.' He replied with emphasis. 'You to sit it out,' I left the saloon and its diners would scarcely believe it,' he continued with a and staggered up on deck. As I went to the curious smile, 'but my first voyages were martyr- companion-door, I collided with a gentleman, doms. Why, sir, I have been sick crossing the who begged my pardon in a kindly manner. Hudson in a row-boat! The first six days II apologised also, and looking into his face, spent on the Atlantic nearly killed me. If I could have found a back-door out of the ship, I would have run to my mother's home in Connecticut, I can tell you, although I was recognised one that I had seen at a table near to ours. It was that of a youngish man, with an elderly, thoughtful expression, rather odd, if not peculiar. At sea, ceremony is often suspended, and a sort of nautical sociability arises that one never finds ashore. Our collision brought myself and fellow-passenger into con versational touch. 'You are like me, I fear,' began the stranger, 'not able to stand the heat and noise of the saloon.' 'I am indeed driven from it,' I returned. 'I cannot eat and drink as most of our guests seem to do. What astonishes me most, however, is that delicate ladies dare indulge in so many kinds of rich food.' "They'll all be ill to-morrow, and some of them will not get better before we sight Fire Island.' My companion laughed a quiet, low, introspective sort of laugh, as he uttered these predictions. 'Where is Fire Island?' I asked. 'Haven't you bin to America before?' The voice and accent of the gentleman seemed to change abruptly, becoming vulgar and eager. 'No; I am crossing the Atlantic for the first time.' 'Splendid country, America. You'll make your fortune quick over there.' 'I hope I may,' cried I, with a cheerful tone. 'Don't put it that way,' said the other advisingly. Say you will make your fortune, and you'll make your pile.' "Why, you are of the same school as a gentleman I spoke with at dinner.' "What school d'ye mean?' demanded the stranger, with another change of demeanour and in an almost agitated voice, while he scrutinised me narrowly in the faint light proceeding from the saloon window near us. I was surprised, and remained a moment silent, during which the eyes of the questioner explored me keenly. I mean, simply, that the gentleman told me that will-power is a cure for sea-sickness.' 'Do you believe it?' "I am going to try it.' 'And you're in the right of it, sir. Will's everything in this world. I say, if you go to America with your mind made up to win, your fortune's made, dead-certain. But if you don't will it, then you had better take a ticket home again. That gentleman in the saloon is an American, you bet. What's his name?' I cannot tell you,' I replied, getting tired of the conversation, and feeling a growing dislike to the man. 'What sort of a man is he?' demanded he with irritating insistency. He is a tall, fine-looking, imposing gentleman.' "With black moustaches and chin-beard?' 'Yes.' 'I believe he's a New York banker,' said my companion with a hushed respect. I heard the stewards talking about him. He's a millionaire. Did he tell you to use your will-power to cure sea-sickness?' 'Yes.' 'Then follow it, sir. When a millionaire gives advice gratis, a man's a fool not to take it.-But, I say, mister, it's getting cold; suppose we go into the smoke-room. A glass of whisky will do you good; keeps the chills off the stomach, and so keeps off sea-sickness. Do you smoke?' 'No; I do not,' I answered with a shudder. 'Well, then, let me advise you to begin right here. Smoking cured me of sea-sickness, when I was quite a little boy. Come along.' 'No, thank you; I dare not go into the midst of tobacco fumes; and I am almost a teetotaler.' Something like a muttered oath seemed to pass into my ear; and then followed the words: "Well, just as you like; but I must have a drink and a cigar.' I had scarcely time to think of the man's queer ways, before Theodore came near me, arm in arm with the gentleman who had advised me to will so strongly. If he were a banker, as had been hinted, he was very companionable to a poor fellow like Theodore. Indeed, I was rather displeased at my brother's familiarity with a person so far beyond him in monetary posi tion. They did not see me, in the shadow of the steering-house; and Theodore was saying as they passed: 'Yes, my father built up a big business, and might have made an immense fortune; but he was too timid to strike high.' "That's just where the English fail,' said the other, coming to a stand and slapping Theodore on the shoulder. "The Americans will soon have the trade of the world, because they are not afraid of attempting big things. Well, my young friend, you must not follow in your father's footsteps, if you go into business in my country. What are your plans?' Theodore hesitated, as if ashamed to confess that he was going into the humble occupation of a fruit-farmer. 'We are going to California, he said at length and in an evasive tone. Then, 'California!' exclaimed the American. young man, you must be ready for anything and everything. We are pretty wide awake in New York; but we are asleep compared with those fellows on the Pacific slope. Everybody specalates there. Do you speculate?' 'Well, that is just what I would like to do,' cried my brother enthusiastically; but I have had no chance, so far. I want to become rich by a few masterly operations, not by plodding and saving. I want my mother and sisters to live like elegant ladies; and my brother to be a wealthy amateur barrister, for the poor has not strength to follow his profession as a means of winning a livelihood. He will be lost in a Californian orchard.' fellow 'I like your style, young man,' said the American, with what I thought a tone of forced admiration. You will prosper amongst us. Plodding, as you English call snoring at business, has no chance in our country. We are wide awake, afraid of nothing, ready to make a causeway with the Rocky Mountains across the Atlantic, and run a railway over it at a hundred miles an hour. I tell you when our will-power gets started, we stop at nothing.-But we will talk more comfortably in the smoke-room, and I want a cigar. Will you join me?' 'With all my heart,' cried Theodore. 'You seem to know everything, and I am sure will be of great advantage to me.' |
