The Whig standard. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1843-1844, 1844-05-22

/ "Where are the ardent hopes of youth
| @ When life look d bright and fair @
/ And young Romance was rcb'ed like Truth
Echo answers where 4e
| Mrs. Cornwall Baron Wilson.
How apt we all are to view things through the
medium of our own peculiar tastes and pursuits!
To the Artist the idea of Venice would conjure
| up but one great recollection, making it holy
ground for evertnore-it was Ttian's burial place.
While the architect would set about comparing
the chaste and classic style of Paladio with the
lighter graces of Sansoveno, or the grand concep-,
ton of San Michele, graver and darker task
awaits the would-be historian of "the city of the
hundred isles - While the simple tale-teller has
but to bend down charmed ear to the haunting
chronicles of the gifted and the beautiful, long
since passed away from earth, and repeat them
to other lands as bes'llhe may.
| 1t was evening" ust the evening for those sum-
mer festivals which the Venetians enjoy SO much
and who would not! where one can steal apart
| from the heavy atmosphere of crowded rooms, and
wander away into what seems almost realization
of fairy land, while the beings who fit across
path, or break in upon our silent musings with
their sweet and gladstone laughter, serve to con-
| firm rather than dissipate the illusion. The pa
azzo of the Sgnor Bernardo overlooked the Ad-
Ratio, and upon the night of which we write was
tbronged with all the beauty and arstocracy Of
Venice its lofty halls, its cool marble balconies,
and spacious grounds, absolutely gtttering with
| gemmed robes and bright fair faces, which passed
and vanished from the gaze only to be succeeded
| by others yet more bewitching; until one grew
bewldered by SO much loveness, and ready to
echo in very truth the disputed assertion of re-
| cent traveller, that the Venetian women are
| superb"
| But there was one at that festival at whose ap-
proach maidens' hearts fluttered strangely, and
| happy she who could procure a smile, or even
,rlap p,rh,c IN uh fha 1iy-
ing idol should be departed. If he spoke 10 those
| around him on the gravest Subjects such as his
tory or even agriculture, Ga favorte studJ of hs)
| they hushed their sweet tones to listen, it
| being enough for them that it was his Ooice, or
stood lite apart, gazing as if they would imprint
every feature upon their memories for ever, while
the neglected cavaliers cursed the pale stranger
| in their hearts.
1t was Bartholomew Arngo, the poet, the his
torian, the present star Of Venetian society
There was mystery about his early origin,
which had hitherto defied the penetration of the
most curious, and was excessively fascinating.
Some said he was prince, every one agreed to
| flowing him to be genius, and it was most GER
tain he was far from happy-all dangerous and
| irresistible qualifications with his fair worshippers
To be gifted and unhappy therein lay the spell,
| which neither rank nor beauty was needed to
work out in young romance loving, and grlish
hearts, although that whisper of royalty was
! doubtless not without its attraction. A poet
the very name is magic! For who does not love
poet and yearn-of,en, alas how vainly Ito
be permitted nearer and more fami lar gli,nses Of
| that spirit which is but glorious mystery 10 al
others forgetting that, on closer i spection of
their idol. they are certain to find many blem-
| ish which may escape the observation of multi
| tudes who worship afar of-or, with dim tore.
| boding of this sad trath, deeming it blessed
privilege to make it the care of her whole future
| life, that they be ever shielded thus from the
world--or else, in her deep fondness and trust