And what was the employment of Amiantha on this day, previous to her nuptials?-the exact division of all her little property into several portions, which she labelled with the names of those relatives, friends, and domestics, unto whom she wished them to be distributed after her decease; every thing presented to her by Alborezzi she marked, "To be returned;" a packet she also desired should be given him, ticketted, "From Amiantha, with best wishes ;" and to a copy of the Holy Scriptures, the gift of her beloved Favone, she attached this scroll, " To be buried with me." Having insisted upon receiving the holy sacrament of the Eucharist, she fell into a profound slumber towards evening, slept undisturbedly for many hours, and awoke, refreshed apparently and considerably better than on the day preceding.

It was the bridal morning of Amiantha; but while she suffered her mother and maidens to array her without opposition, in her rich and beautiful nuptial attire-to braid her hair and deck it with the odorous and snowy orange-flowerto hang her arms, neck, and ears with rare jewels and to pour upon her fine linen, costly and delicious perfumes, the light which beamed from her intelligent eye, was not of this world's love and joy, and the smiles which glanced athwart her beautiful lips, indicated something more than mere earthly delight and triumph. Amiantha had particularly requested that the marriage might be as private as possible, but the friends and relations of each party, who claimed the honour of an invitation to accompany the couple to church, formed a most numerous escort, and the gaiety and gallantry of romantic Florence were fully and advantageously displayed upon this occasion.

Amiantha at length stood before the altar, and beside her the Conte Alborezzi, arrayed in costliest fashion, and looking what he really was, one of the handsomest, most elegant, and most fascinating men of his day,-one, in short, whom it was deemed impossible for any lady not to love, and many indeed were the hearts he had broken! The officiating priest was about to commence the marriage service, when the bride, gazing steadfastly at him, said in a gentle though firm and determined voice :-"Hold, reverend father! this must not-cannot be; and if you proceed, you do so at your peril. This man, this Giuseppe Conte Alborezzi, I denounce

before God and men, as a traitor, a murderer, a tamperer with forbidden arts, and, let him look me in the face, and if he dare, gainsay me, and the witness I shall call to prove it"" She lies!" thundered the Conte, with an expression of countenance surpassing pencil to define, and his cheeks assumed the fluctuating hues of red, black, purple, and white." No! no! she's mad-she must be mad!" exclaimed several members of the Strozzi and Alborezzi family. "Nay, Signor," mildly interposed the priest; "if the lady be indeed mad, why is she here? Why would you attempt to unite the sane with the insane! Will God, think you, sanction such a marriage?-will his Holiness, the Pope ?and can a simple priest like me, consent to so iniquitous a measure? But, if she be not mad, then are her words those of sober sense and reason, and, in either case, the matter must be inquired into, as great culpability and heavy respon⚫ sibility, rests with the respective member's of this couple's families.""Father," mildly replied Amiantha, “ I thank you; a dying woman indeed I am, but not a maniac; and upon the faith of one who must within an hour appear in the awful world of spirits, before her Maker, I swear to you, that I have said nothing but the truth-nothing but what I am prepared, upon incontestible evidence, to prove. Hear me then, and credit what I affirm; nor let yon trembling, cow. ardly caitiff deny my words at his peril :-Giuseppe, Conte Alborezzi,-hear it, and shudder whilst you hear, was the traitorous assassin of Arrigo, late Marquis of Favone!-aye, well may ye look aghast, well may ye deem untrue the tale I tell, and think me crazed, in your own heart-depths, but yea, and verily is the story I tell, and to me it was re vealed by no mortal lips. Long ere my lost Arrigo intro duced his murderer into my family, Giuseppe had become enamoured of me; to conceal his passion cost him supernatural efforts, but happier had it been for him had he used the power he possessed over his own strong mind, in subduing it, rather than in suppressing its external symptoms. Need I say, that this false friend watched his opportunity, and being an adept in the illegal art of compounding, by means of che mical processes, the most subtle poisons-venoms whose effluvia affects the brain, or whose touch infuses instant destruction into the system, and yet, which leave no external

marks of their malignity on the lifeless body-an adept, I repeat, in the preparation and administration of such infernal drugs-the fiend enclosed in a packet, purporting to contain a bridal offering for his dear friend the Marquis Favone; a minute but all-sufficient portion of one of these deadly compositions: the packet arrived, and was delivered to my unfortunate betrothed, but not opened by him until he had retired for the night: the result-" Here the hapless sufferer's voice and strength equally failed her, she sank into her brother's arms, and whilst loud murmurs, expressive of their various emotions, arose from the bridal party, some laid hands on the Conte, whose guilt was legibly depicted on his countenance, and betrayed by his manner, whilst others loudly requested to know upon what authority Amiantha Strozzi accused him, and demanded the presence of her promised witness. "He is already present," said the reving girl, sadly and solemnly," but are you all prepared to see him?" Every one present looked strangely at his neighbour, and a confused murmur arose, which, whether of assent or dissent, it was imposible to determine. Then," said Amiantha solemnly, Count Alborezzi, are you?"— "False paramour of a nameless lover, yes!" cried the Count, in accents of mingled wrath and fear,-" let him confront me-let me at least behold-as I presume I shall-my lying rival!"-"Yes, miscreant! your rival, my secret visitor, my long-betrothed lover, and my immortal husband, shalt thou indeed, to thine everlasting confusion, now behold!" Amiantha raised herself from her brother's supporting arms, her friends fell back in astonishment and awe, marvelling what was to ensue, and in a voice, modulated by deep tenderness, and the excess of sorrow, she thus in low but distinct accents, invoked the departed:

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"ARRIGO! my beloved! my betrothed! my faithful beyond the grave!-thou, whose presence has been to me of late like the dawn of the glory of heaven,-now manifest thyself this once, as thou art allowed to do, to other eyes than mine, in order to confound thy murderer in his fancied hour of triumph !-Reveal thyself, mine Arrigo! Thanks be to God, I am ready!" Amiantha prostrated herself before the altar, and now appeared standing beside her, in all the grace and beauty of ethereal and andying youth, the sem

blance of the deceased Favone! "It is he!-'Tis his very self!" exclaimed many voices,-and, as the angelic apparition cast a glance of mingled pity and reproach upon his traitorous murderer, Alborezzi fell, devoid of sense and motion, to the ground.

Urge him no further," sighed the spirit,-" already has he suffered much; but, upon repentance, may be forgiven of Heaven, even as he is of his injured friend!"-Favole then stretched forth his shadowy arms to Amiantha, as if to raise her from the pavement, and his form gradually becoming in'distinct and misty, soon resolved itself into air; but, when the motionless Amiantha was looked to, as she knelt,behold soul and body had parted! Under such circumstances, who but thought her demise a merciful deliverance from sorrow and evil?-who, but deemed it a blessed translation to the happy world where her lost Favone dwelt, and from which those who enter it shall depart no more! Ere long, the dead girl was reverently deposited, according to her expressed wishes, beside his mouldering remains, which with her own, awaited a joyful resurrection. Alborezzi was allowed to go free, because his conviction of the crime of murder, resting upon the evidence of witnesses not amenable to the call of an earthly court, his trial would have been informal, and his acquittal sure. Struck with horror, terror, and remorse, he retired, however, under a feigned naine, into a convent, and there endeavoured, according to the advice contained in that copy of the sacred Scriptures, which formed Amiantha's dying bequest to him, (according to that advice unto which a mark particularly pointed upon first opening the volume), to "bring forth fruits worthy of repentance;' and it is to be hoped he did so, and was, ere he died, according to the kind Favone's intimation,-forgiven.

TO THE PRIMROSE.

Again I woo the freshening gale,

That roves o'er yonder wood-crown'd hills;

Again its balmy breath inhale,

Which life's faint springs with vigor fills.

The modest flower again I seek,

Whose early buds the banks begem :
Fair, yet retir'd; caress'd, yet meek;
The pride of young Spring's diadem.
Sweet primrose! in thee still reside
A winning charm, a magic power,
That call back life's delicious tide,
When pleasure wing'd each fleeting hour.
Yes, often from the sportive throng
Of noisy elves, by mischief led,
I've rov'd thy lonely banks among,
To pluck thee from thy lowly bed.
And when thy earliest bloom I spied,
And bore it from th' entangled brake,
Th' achievement every joy outvied
Contending wights in victory take.

But where is he, who, wont to hail
Thy pale fresh buds, his choicest wealth;
And woo th' invigorating gale,

And search with me the wood-nymph-Health?

'Twas but when last the primrose bloom
Adorn'd these banks, that here he stray'd;
The worm-pierc'd bud foretold his doom,
The blighted leat his end display'd.
Sweet flower! thy unobtrusive charms
Are emblems of his ripening worth,
Which early, and midst Fate's alarms,
Shone in the friendly circle forth.

But false the promise youth bestow'd,
Fruitless the doating parent's care,
For cankers could that heart corrode,
And sap the vital current there.

'Tis done!-'tis pass'd!-but vain are words,
And vainer still the burning tear :
Reflect-what lesson this affords

Of man's brief stay and business here !