The Bravo of Venice; a romance

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It was evening. Multitudes of light clouds, partially illumined by themoonbeams, overspread the horizon, and through them floated the full moon intranquil majesty, while her splendour was reflected by every wave of theAdriatic Sea. All was hushed around; gently was the water rippled by thenight wind; gently did the night wind sigh through the Colonnades ofVenice.
It was midnight; and still sat astranger, solitary and sad, on the border of the great canal. Now with aglance he measured the battlements and proud towers of the city; and now hefixed his melancholy eyes upon the waters with a vacant stare. At length hespoke -
"Wretch that I am, whither shallI go? Here sit I in Venice, and what would it avail to wander further? Whatwill become of me? All now slumber, save myself! the Doge rests on his couchof down; the beggar's head presses his straw pillow; but for ME there is nobed except the cold, damp earth! There is no gondolier so wretched but heknows where to find work by day and shelter by night—while I— while I—Oh!dreadful is the destiny of which I am made the sport!"
He began to examine for the twentiethtime the pockets of his tattered garments.
"No! not one paolo, byheavens!—and I hunger almost to death."
He unsheathed his sword; he waved itin the moonshine, and sighed, as he marked the glittering of the steel.

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