The Ebensburg Alleghanian. [volume] (Ebensburg, Pa.) 1865-1871, 1867-10-31
The Bridge Of Signs.

The famous Bridge of Sighs is mar
row, ornamental enclosed gallery, much
higher than other bridges, connecting an
upper story Of the palace with the prison
on the side of the narrow canal. Through
one passage the prisoner was passed over to
his 6nal trial, and il passed back again, it
was to his doom. At one end of this
passage, he sat upon chair, rope being
fastened about his neck, which strangled
him by means of turn of the chair, after
which, his body was conveniently dropped
through an aperture at the other end of
the passage, down into the still waters
below, aud the time and manner of his
departure from this life were not publish
ed in the morning papers.
Our first day in Venice was finished by
going over the city in q gondola. Our
gondolier was the prince of his craft, a
handsome, curly-haired, broad-shouldered
fellow, the skillful sweep of whose oars
sent our gondola gliding with an even
sWiftness quite equal to ones fancy. Of
all modes of getting about, this is the
most delicious no jerking or rocking,
but one continuous movement, measured
by the regular beat of the Soft-plashing
oar. At every narrow turn, the oarsman
sings out his signal to warn any one from
collision, and using a single oar, sweeps
on as before.
But the palaces. What better is a
marble palace than granite one, if it is
black as iron, which is true of many Of
those in Venice! Begrimmed by time,
and by the action of the salt sea air, it is
almost impossible to conceive how radi-
ant they ever have been, except where an
occasional one seems to have been fur
bished up, or a new, cleaning white stone
reset in an almost dead black wall. Yet,
apart from all their graceful architecture,
they are beautiful in their grimness aud
majestic in their desertiou. The eye
never tires of the beautiful balconies,
graceful columns and arches, statues and
ornamental carving, and above all the half
unreal and spirit-like, lifting up from the
waters edge of these ancient walls, in
grace and beauty worthy to be POLITICALLY
embalmed of Byron, and in historical ip-
terest, the home of Shakespeare's most
wonderful characters.
But our gondolier plies on, resting his
oar now and then to sing out monotonous-
ly the names of the noted palaces we pass,
many of which are familiar. Many of
these walls set straight down beneath the
sea, with only a few steps at the doors
where the foot meets the goudola; others
have colonnades throughout their whole
length, the resting pavemcnts Gecendlng
to the water, and where several such stand
in succession, the promenade looks not ln-
convenient as we'll as charming. Before
these are aften double set of gaily striped
posts, set in water, for the use Of gondolas.
Here and there, rich and gay colored
awnings, over windows and balconies, still
spread, or looped up for the night, add
picturesquencss to the scene. The sha-
dows fall, ana what is bad for romance,
there is no moonlight, and Venice is, ap-
pareutly, too poor for any other. Here
and there lamp in front of palace door,
throws solitary CLEAN across the canal,
or, from an occasional bridge, few signals
mark the way. 1t is deliciously cool, aud
the summer stars look quietly down, as
they usually do, but the walls make the
shadows deeper, and we pass on through
darkness and silence, closing our first day
in Venice at the steps of one brilliantly
lighted and beautiful palace, once the
home Of Doge, and now the home of the
wandering stranger.--Cor. Gin. CONNER
cidl.