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the trees — the cool damp breeze that played on the hectic cheek of the artist — "farewell!” he exclaimed, “farewell Maddelena, I shall meet thee again in the land of spirits!” Was it a dream that his head once more rested on her lap that her soft cheek was pressed to his, that he again heard the accents of her voice ? and that sound of “Father, dear father, we have found you !” Could it indeed be Giovanni that spoke ?
Unable to bear the tedious suspense of his delay, she had wandered forth to meet him with her children. She had found him ! One last, one long embrace, and the meeting was over ; the spirit had filed to its kindred land. Coreggio died at the age of thirtynine, in the year 1513.
GIORGIONE AND TIZIANO.
In that city which sits enthroned upon the Adriatic, and which is so justly called its queen, with her spires and domes, her marble palaces and gorgeous buildings rising from the water, there might be daily seen among innumerable long dark gondolas, gliding with spirit-like motion through her hundred canals, one small boat, containing two cavaliers. It was in the year 1497. Venice was in her glory. No foreign power had desolated her churches, her commerce was as free as the winds and waves the spoils of Constantinople and of many victories, adorn-, ed her halls and public buildings — her nobles with stately step traversed her squares, or in their dark gondolas glided with haughty luxury among the innumerable isles. In the far distance, the hoary Alps raised their snow
crowned heads, and looked proudly down on the peerless sovereign of the Adriatic, while the green and fertile plains of LombardoVenetia lay stretched between.
Every morning, a boat, containing the two cavaliers before alluded to, shot from under the noble arch of the Rialto, and glided upon the water with a quiet motion soothing to the beholder.
The gondoliers rested on their oars, to listen to the music that proceeded from the boat. One of the young men drew from a flute rich full tones of harmony, while the voice of the other prolonged the cadence till sound melted into air.
Suddenly he seized a lute, and sung the following lay impromptu, and now and then accompanying his voice with the instrument :
The waves in murmurs softly flow,
* These lines have been before published.
I warn thee loiterer beware!
The morning was bright,
The air perfuming.
"And sad,” she said, “I will not be; My path is marked
And when thy duty there is o'er,
Again he spread the snowy sail;
The minstrel ceased, and dropped his head.
Though fifty years have passed,” he said,
" Who are those cavaliers ?" said the Count Grimani, when the song had ceased, and his gondola had passed them. "I have seen them every day, for many weeks; sometimes their boat is moored, and twice I have met them, arm in arm, on the Rialto.”
“I know them, my lord,” said one of the