Urbana union. [volume] (Urbana, Ohio) 1862-1872, 1871-05-31
Romance.
Written for the UrJana UnioH
Paradise Lost.

PART /.
was born in Venice, and my earliest
menOriesare linked with that beauti-
ful city Of the Adriatic. As I speak the
uame-the musical aame-T seem to
stand at my easement there, and look
upon The network of canals, glowing
like Jdpis Iazui in the unclOuded light,
and lined 10y princely palaces that min-
gle the Gothic and the MorescO in their
styles Of architecture. Hearse-like gOn-
. dolas are gliding by, and thed dip Of their
dripping oars, tile ballads Of the boat
men, the whimpIe Of the waters be-
tween the walls, arc the only sounds
that break the oppressive stiffness, save
when the hour chimes from some tall,
square campanile.
My mother was the daughter of an
Italian Duke; and upon her death,
which occurred in my seventeenth
year, and which was the first great sOr-
row that dropped its darkness into my
life, my father, who was an English
Marquis, relinquished his italian estab-
Iishment and returned to his seaside
estate i'm Cornwall, the Cedars, with his
sister-NIrs. Cavendish, and myself.
My aunt had made her home with US
since the death of her husband, General
Cavendisb, in Canada, where he was
stationed in the service of his country
at the time. His widow was a lOvable
woman, pale, delicate, and dressed ha-
bitually in mourning. Her accomplish
ments and requirements were many,
and of the most important, and she had
undertaken the supervision Of my stu
dies, having no faith whatever in the
superficial education of schools and sem
inaTies.
One afternoon had goneto the beach
in search of shells with which TO illus
trate lesson in conchOlOgy that had
- been allotted me upon that morning
AsI walked up the avenue, on my way
back to the Cedars, saw my aunt
standing in the hall entrance, cOnvers-
ing with gentleman who had arrived
inmy absence, and, as I stepped upon
the verandah, she advanced and made
me aequsinted with the stranger. His
name, Aubrey st. John, was familiar to
me from having heard my father speak
Of him frequently, and from his being
an amateur artist, two Of whose paint.
ings had attracted the attention of the
public to an unusual extent, and elected
nv admiration afterwards when i saw
them at the house of one of our West
End acquaintance. One was picture
Of the North, and represented royal
Scandinavian castle, with solid battle
ments and lofty turrets mirrored in q
moat, with demons and demi-demonf
carved deep In the massive masOnary,
and laughing through their lichen
boards. A chain Of Jagged, snOw-cap'
ped hills shut out the scOwling horizon
save where the dull, blank, Artic wa.
tiers, broken only by a single, Viking
like sail, were beating forever and for
ever upon frozen coast. The Othel
was picture of the South, and hel
swarthy skies bend abOve no Ioveliel
landscape. The scene was limited by
the green, fiOwer-tangled hills that en-
circled it with their unchanging beauty
At their base was blue-black, limpii
lake, surrounded by amber sands, anC
proud, semPerviEent pOmegranates tina
waved in the yellow air. silver-wingeC
swans were sailing on the waveless wa
ters, between thesun-like African lille
and the cerulean-lidded lotus blossoms
BriIliant-plumaged birds Of Paradis