518 The Adventurers Story. [MAY, 



then bursting forth with some new canzonets, though seldom without a 

 taste of " Ninette Caretta." All this while Spalatro's deputy, sate in 

 moody abstraction, nothing dashed. He spoke not, he sang not, but 

 singular suppressed sounds, like bubbles at the mouth of a fountain, were 

 half distinguished by his new companion in arms, as playing upon his 

 lips, and only imprisoned by force of pocket-handkerchief. It was very 

 cold, and poor Roberts felt as though the enterprise lost somewhat for 

 want of better society. He could not learn in what direction they were 

 steering, nor at what distance was the desired spot, nor the nature of the 

 affair j in short he was becoming melancholic. The lights of Venice, 

 still reflected on the water, half seduced him from his love of romance, 

 and a little ennui tempted him to dose. But the minister of Spalatro 

 forbad the latter effort, by tapping the defective enthusiast on the skull, 

 as though he wished to know who might be at home. And with this 

 rebuke for his sluggishness, he mumbled some gibberish, as it seemed to 

 the gondoliers, who thereupon struck up the following words : 



" El gusto del boccolo 

 Ga Nina vezzosa 

 Ma quel della rosa 

 Ga Betta per me, 

 El naso sul boccolo." 



" Hang the brocoli ! When the devil shall we get to the end of this 

 very long voyage ?" here piteously exclaimed Roberts, tired of the song, 

 tired of his occupation, tired of his thoughts. 



" Eh ! Sir ?" replied the other, " our voyage, for the present, is ter- 

 minated." And hereupon giving directions to the boatmen, the gondola 

 was run along a little neck of land, so low on the water as to have pre- 

 viously escaped notice. He got out, presenting his hand to Roberts, 

 who followed him without delay. They advanced a few steps, when the 

 other, in a quick decided tone, thus addressed him : " I must here leave 

 you. Wait patiently till the arrival of the captain or my own return. 

 Be vigilant." He turned away, and almost instantly the splash of oars was 

 audible, and the voices of the gondoliers were soon assuring the desolate 

 hero, that 



" El naso sul boccolo 

 Nol gode mai tanto, 

 Me quando 1' e spanto 

 El bon ghe send." 



" Fol-de-riddle-li-do," grumbled out my friend; when he found 

 himself alone. Determined, however, not to be outdone by a brace of 

 lubberly Venetians. " Strange place/' thought he, " strange people 

 devilish strange place ! Is it the continent, or an island ?" How could 

 he determine ? It was dark as pitch, nothing to guide or comfort him. 

 The last notes of the merry boatmen died away in the distance, and he 

 began to consider himself ill-treated. His first idea was to survey the 

 territory. But the ground was so swampy and uneven as to offer a 

 very insecure footing, and a rash step brought him down with a pro- 

 digious cadence. He was half soused in water, and after extrication his 

 better judgment condemned the idea of geographising without a lantern. 

 He tried astronomy : but the heavenly bodies were gone, like decent 

 bodies, to their slumbers, and as he gazed around about for a stray roue 

 of a luminary, his cheek was saluted by a heavy drop of rain, the pre- 

 cursor of a severe shower. Was there no shelter no alternative ? Must 

 he stand there like a scare-crow, to be laughed at by the elements ? A 

 second migratory movement was as unsuccessful as the first. He grew 



