LORD BYRON'S PALACE.

In Venice Tasso's echoes are no more,
And silent rows the songless gondolier;
Her palaces are crumbling to the shore,
And music meets not always now the ear:
Those days are gone-but beauty still is here.
States fall-arts fade-but nature doth not die.
Nor yet forget how Venice once was dear,
The pleasant place of all festivity,
The revel of the earth; the masque of Italy.

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

sinking into ruins, was but too faithfully in accordance with the dark and mournful mind which the poet bore within him. Nor were other motives, of a nature wholly different, wanting to draw him to Venice. He still imagined that he could find gratification in that which he called pleasure; and that the false lights of dissipation, and the broad glare of passion, could waken life and light in the cold solitude of his wasted and desolate heart. But he was mistaken. His residence at Venice was far from contributing to his happiness. It brought out the worst parts of his character. The society of the place stimulated his vanity and egotism, while its pleasures roused and kept awake this spirit of dissipation. He expressed to Captain Medwin, in strong language, the painful remembrances to which his Venetian residence gave rise. "I asked him about Venice. 'Venice!' said he, 'I detest every recollection of the place, the people, and my pursuits. I there mixed again in society, trod again the old round of conversaziones, balls, and concerts; was every night at the opera, a constant frequenter of the Ridotto during the carnival, and, in short, entered into all the dissipation of that luxurious place. Every thing in a Venetian life, its gondolas, its effeminating indolence, its siroccos, tend to enervate the mind and body. My rides were a resource and stimulus, but the deep sands of Lido broke my horses down, and I got tired of that monotonous sea-shore. To be sure I passed the Villegiatura on the Brenta. I wrote little at Venice, and was forced into the search of pleasure-an employment I was soon jaded with the pursuit of.'

Of the dissipations of Lord Byron's Venetian life some

anecdotes are preserved by Captain Medwin. It was here his lordship's misfortune to form an acquaintance with "the most troublesome shrew and termagant he ever met with." The lady insisted on taking up her residence at his lordship's palace, a proposal to which he gave little encouragement. Upon one occasion, while his lordship was at dinner, she forced her way into the room, and snatching a knife from the table, threatened to stab herself, if he did not consent to her remaining. Finding her menace disregarded, she ran into the balcony and threw herself into the canal, whence she was rescued by a gondola uninjured. The Venetians, of course, imagined that Lord Byron had thrown her into the canal. During his residence at Venice his lordship had the imprudence to serenade an unmarried lady. "I had been one night under her window serenading, and the next morning, who should be announced, at the same time, but a priest and a police officer, come, as I thought, either to shoot or marry me again, I did not care which. I was disgusted and tired with the life I led at Venice, and was glad to turn my back on it."

The pursuits of Lord Byron in Venice were very different from those so eloquently described by Mr. Shelley, as forming his own pleasures, while resident in that city.

If I had been an unconnected man,

I from this moment should have formed the plan
Never to leave fair Venice; for to me

It was delight to ride by the lone sea;

And then the town is silent; one may write

Or read in gondolas by day or night,

Having the little brazen lamp alight,

Unseen, uninterrupted: books are there,
Pictures, and casts from all those statues fair
Which were twin-born with poetry; and all
We seek in towns, with little to recal
Regrets for the green country; I might sit
In Maddalo's great palace.

During his visit to Venice, Lord Byron performed one of those aquatic feats in which he appears to have so greatly prided himself. "When I was at Venice," he said to Mr. Medwin, "there was an Italian who knew no more of swimming than a camel, but he had heard of my prowess in the Dardanelles, and challenged me. Not wishing that any foreigner, at least, should beat me at my own arms, I consented to engage in the contest. Alexander Scott proposed to be of the party, and we started from Lido. Our land-lubber was very soon in the rear, and Scott saw him make for a gondola. He rested himself, first against one and then against another, and gave in before we got half way to St. Mark's Place. We saw no more of him, but continued our course through the grand canal, landing at my palace stairs. The water of the lagunes is dull, and not very clear or agreeable to bathe in."

The Countess Albrizzi, in her character of Lord Byron, has mentioned another incident of the same kind. "He was seen, on leaving a palace situated on the grand canal, instead of entering into his gondola, to throw himself, with his clothes on, into the water, and swim to his house. On the following day, in order to avoid the risk he had on the former evening run, of being hurt by the numerous oars of the gondoliers, who, in their swift barks, were conveying home their masters, as one impa