quarter of the Via Pentolini. They preserved, however, the head of the wretched Canacci, which they bore to the duchess, to satisfy that vindictive lady that this fatal tragedy was exactly accomplished, and that her sanguinary desires had been confided to faithful executors. It was a custom with the duchess to send early in the morning on festal days, by one of her ladies, a silver bason to the duke, covered with a napkin, and containing the linen he would use for the day. Now, on the morning of the 1st of January, she sent him the bason as usual, but its contents were of a far different nature. The duke, having received the bason, and dismissed the messenger with a courteous message to his wife, presently rose; and having with a careless hand and unsuspecting heart withdrawn the napkin, his eyes encountered the ghastly present which a fiend in female form had prepared for him. For some moments, with the napkin uplifted in his hand, he stood as if rooted to the spot, his icy glance riveted to the grisly object before him. Those glassy extinguished eyes had, but a few hours ago, returned his impassioned gaze with playful tenderness; those lately blooming dimpled cheeks were shaded by the wan cadaverous hue of death; and the lips, whose beauty was ever animated by the most playful smiles, now exhibited all the distortion of her last hideous struggle; her bright luxuriant tresses had already assumed a dusky hue, and the horrid hands of the executioners had defiled them with gory stains. As if some irresistible spell chained him to the floor, he stood motionless, his keen and pointed glances anchoring themselves in this most dismal object, till, awakening somewhat from the horror which seemed to stiffen his limbs and freeze his senses, shuddering to the centre, he let fall the napkin, and looked no more on that which, contemplated longer, would have made him mad. Duke Salviati was restrained, by a review of his own errors, from punishing this atrocious deed; but his wife became to him an object of horror and antipathy-he com manded her to avoid his sight, and from that hour a total separation took place between them. In process of time, the suspicions of justice were slowly awakened by the dark hints which were constantly muttered by the people, concerning the disappearance of Catherina : the mangled corses were at length brought to view; and on their evidence the whole family of Canacci were imprisoned. They were, however, all acquitted of the crime, with the excoption of the guilty Bartolomeo. This wretch, having confessed the deed, was condemned to death; and, on the 27th of November, 1639, he was beheaded at the door of the gaol, and his body left exposed during the day to the indignation of the people. The duchess had already escaped beyond the reach of the earthly dispensers of retribution, and had been called to account for her deeds before that awful tribunal from which all justice emanates, and before that all-seeing and impartial Judge, to whom vengeance belongs. THE LAST SUNBURST OF GLORY. A SONG. BY R. SHELTON MACKENZIE, LL.D. AIR-" The Last Rose of Summer." The last sunburst of glory Is fleeting away, Not a cloud is before her Her beauty to blight; But she glows in soft lustre One star by her side From her throne in the heavens,- Oh, shine on, fair planet! THE SABBATH'S EVENING HOUR. BY H. C. DEAKIN. The moon is up-the moon is up One gentle star doth worship her, Calm, cloudless, and serene around Her mighty heart is filled with prayer, Their grateful homage pour, The Voice of Streams! how sweet their song This Sabbath's Evening Hour. Hark! how the forest murmurs steal From out the forest boughs; Hark! how the bird of evening pours List! how the fawning zephyrs breathe That lowly bends its bashfulness This Sabbath's Evening Hour. I've watched the ruby sun retire, I've watched his boundless flood of fire I've felt the sun-set breezes play Around his splendid bower, But they were nought compared with this Sweet moon-light Sabbath Hour. Oh! many a winged thought will rise And spring like bright birds to the skies Pare thoughts, pure purposes have claim To high celestial dower; Oh! they should burn with purest flame This Sabbath's Evening Hour. All Nature with exultant praise The hills, the forests and the streams The seraph stars are shining bright, They are the eyes of heaven; O lift to them thy lowly sight This holy-hallowed even. Praise Him, who fills their silver urns With light to cheer thy bower, And raise the hymn of thankfulness Praise Him, who is beyond all praise, And makes the day-spring from on high Praise Him, who o'er the earth's attire O build between the earth and sky And in the silence of thy soul, Pray with the depth of prayer- And teach thy sinful heart to know THE DAY OF JUDGMENT. BY WILLIAM GASPEY. That day is broke, which never more shall close! It is the peal, the peal of Nature's doom, -Young. Hark! through the world, the judgment trumpet's roar, Guilt in its pomp is trembling with dismay, |