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guilt could be secreted. O wretched youth! I warn you to confess. Sincerity can be your only claim to mercy.

Jul. My heart will burst; but I have spoken truth. Mon. Then I must exercise my duty. Death is my

sentence.

Jul. Hold! pronounce it not as yet!

Mon. If you have any further evidence, produce it. Jul. [With despairing look.] I call on Ludovico!

[Ludovico hastily steps forward. Montaldi starts back with evident trepidation.]

Ludovico. I am here!

Mon. And what can he unfold,-only to repeat what we already know? I will not hear him, the evidence is perfect.

Alb. [Rising hastily.] Hold! Montaldi, Ludovico must be heard; to the ear of justice, the slightest syllable of proof is precious.

Mon. [Confused.] I stand rebuked. Well, Ludovico, depose your evidence!

Lud. Mine was the fortunate arm appointed by Heaven to rescue the duke. I fought with the assassin, and drove him beyond the trees, into the open lawn. I there distinctly marked his figure, and, from the difference in the height alone, I solemnly aver Julian cannot be the person.

Mon. This is no proof, the eye might easily be deceived. I cannot withhold my sentence longer.

Lud. I have further matter to advance. Just before the ruffian fled, he received a wound across his right hand; the moonlight directed my blow, and showed me that the cut was deep and dangerous. Julian's fingers bear no such mark.

Mon. [Manifesting great excitement, and involuntarily drawing his glove close over his hand.]-A wound!mere fable.

Lud. Nay, more; the same blow struck from off one

of the assassin's fingers, a jewel; it glittered as it fell; 1 snatched it from the ground,-thrust it within my bosom, and have ever since preserved it next my heart; I now produce it, 'tis here-a ring-an amethyst set with brilliants!

Alb. [Rising hastily.]-What say you? an amethyst set with brilliants! even such I gave Montaldi. Let me view it.

[As Ludovico advances to present the ring to the duke, Montaldi rushes with frantic impetuosity between, and attempts to seize it.] Mon. Slave! resign the ring!

Lud. I will yield my life sooner!

Mon. Wretch! I will rend thy frame to atoms. [They struggle with violence. Montaldi snatches at the ring,-Ludovico catches his hand and tears off the glove, the wound appears.]

Lud. O Heavens! murder is unmasked, the bloody mark is here! Montaldi is the assassin. [All rush forward in astonishment.]

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Alb. Eternal Providence! Montaldi a murderer? Mon. Ay! accuse and curse! idiots! dupes! I heed you not. I can but die! Triumph not, Alberti,-I trample on thee still! [Draws a poniard and attempts to destroy himself. The weapon is wrested from his hand by the guards.]

Alb. Fiend! thy power to sin is past.

Mon. [Delirious with passion.] Ha! ha! ha! my brain scorches, and my veins run with fire!-disgraced, dishonored -Oh, madness! I can not bear it!-save me-oh! [Falls insensible into the arms of attendants.] Alb. Wretched man! bear him to his chamber,-his punishment be hereafter. [Montaldi is carried off] Jul. Oh! my joy is too full for words!

Ambrose. My noble boy!

Vincent. Rosalie shall reward him.

Alb. Yes; they are children of virtue! their happi

Let this day, through

ness shall be my future care. each returning year, become a festival on my domain. Heaven, with peculiar favor, has marked it for its own, and taught us, by the simple moral of this hour, that, howsoever in darkness guilt may vail its malefactions from the eye of man, an omniscient Judge will penetrate each hidden sin, and still, with never-failing justice, confound the vicious, and protect the good!

ENGINEERS MAKING LOVE.-R. J. BURDETTE. Suggestive of the way in which the engineers and firemen on the New York and New England Railroad salute their wives or sweethearts.

It's noon when Thirty-five is due,

An' she comes on time like a flash of light,
An' you hear her whistle, "Too-tee-too!"
Long 'fore the pilot swings in sight.

Bill Maddon's drivin' her in to-day,
An' he's callin' his sweetheart far away,-
Gertrude Hurd lives down by the mill;
You might see her blushin'; she knows its Bill,
"Tu-die! Toot-ee! Tu-die! Tu!"

Six-five A. M. there's a local comes,
Makes up at Bristol, runnin' east;
An' the way her whistle sings an' hums
Is a livin' caution to man an' beast.

Every one knows who Jack White calls,-
Little Lou Woodbury, down by the Falls;
Summer or winter, always the same,
She bears her lover callin' her name-
"Lou-ie! Lou-ie! Lou-iee!"

But at one-fifty-one, old Sixty-four-
Boston express, runs east, clear through-
Drowns her rattle and rumble and roar
With the softest whistle that ever blew.

An' away on the furthest edge of the town
Sweet Sue Winthrop's eyes of brown
Shine like the starlight, bright and clear,
When she hears the whistle of Abel Gear,
"You-ou, Su-u-u-u-e!"

Along at midnight a freight comes in,

Leaves Berlin sometime,—I don't know when;
But it rumbles along with a fearful din

Till it reaches the Y-switch there, and then

The clearest notes of the softest bell
That out of a brazen goblet fell
Wake Nellie Minton out of her dreams;
To her like a wedding-bell it seems-
"Nell, Nell, Nell! Nell, Nell, Nell!"

Tom Wilson rides on the right hand side,
Givin' her steam at every stride;

An' he touches the whistle, low an' clear,
For Lulu Gray, on the hill, to hear-
"Lu-lu! Loo loo!"

So it goes on all day an' all night

Till the old folks have voted the thing a bore;
Old maids and bachelors says it ain't right
For folks to do courtin' with such a roar.

But the engineers their kisses will blow
From a whistle valve to the girls they know,

An' the stokers the name of their sweethearts tell,
With the Belle! Nell! Dell! of the swaying bell.

KATHIE MORRIS.

Ah! fine it was that April time, when gentle winds were blowing,

To hunt for pale arbutus blooms that hide beneath the

leaves,

To hear the merry rain come down, and see the clover

growing,

And watch the airy swallows as they darted round the

eaves.

You wonder why I dream to-night of clover that was growing

So many years ago, my wife, when we were in our prime; For hark! the wind is in the flue, and Johnny says 'tis

snowing,

And through the storm the clanging bells ring in the Christmas time.

I cannot tell, but something sweet about my heart is clinging,

A vision and a memory; 'tis little that I mind The weary wintry weather, for I hear the robins singing, And the petals of the apple-blooms are ruffled in the wind. It was a sunny morn in May, and in the fragrant meadow I lay and dreamed of one fair face, as fair and fresh as spring;

Would Kathie Morris love me? Then in sunshine and in shadow

I built up lofty castles on a golden wedding ring.

Oh, sweet it was to dream of her, the soldier's only daughter,
The pretty, pious Puritan that flirted so with Will;
The music of her winsome mouth was like the laughing

water

That broke in silvery syllables by Farmer Phillip's mill. And Will had gone away to sea; he did not leave her grieving;

Her bonny heart was not for him, so reckless and servain; And Will turned out a buccaneer, and hanged was he for

thieving

And scuttling helpless ships that sailed across the Spanish

main.

And I had come to grief for her, the scornful village beauty,

For oh, she had a witty tongue, could cut you like a knife; She scanned me with her handsome eyes, and I, in bounden

duty,

Did love her-loved her more for that-and wearied of my life.

And yet 'twas sweet to dream of her, to think her wavy

tresses

Might rest, some happy, happy day, like sunshine on my

cheek;

The idle winds that fanned my brow I dreamed were her

caresses,

And in the robin's twitterings I heard my sweetheart

speak.

And as I lay and dreamed of her, her fair, sweet face adorning With lover's fancies, treasuring the slightest words she

said,

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