'tis well," said Francesco. "In this thing I am resolved; therefore 'twere best for thee to spare thyself all trouble of opposition, and spend thy time, instead, upon affairs of church. I am sorry if I in

state, finances, and the relations of Tuscany with the neighboring powers-in short, upon every subject but that which lay uppermost in the cardinal's heart-his brother's betrothal with Bianca Bonaventuri, which had been publicly announced in Flor-terrupted you in such to-day," and his eye careence on the day succeeding his visit to the Villa Strozzi.

As the two brothers sat together in the library of the cardinal's palace, no greater contrast could possibly have been presented than that between them. The cardinal was of majestic and noble presence, and still in the prime of life, though deep lines, induced by study and cares, marked his lofty brow. His long and flowing beard, slightly sprinkled with gray, added dignity to his aspect, while his ample robes of black velvet betokened his ecclesiastical rank.

lessly fell on the written sheet, which the cardinal seemed eager to draw away from his gaze. But it had lingered there long enough to call a sudden flush to Francesco's cheek, and added firmness to his lip and eye, and he flung a keen, piercing gaze upon Ferdinando.

Then he moved from the table, and approached the door of the library, lingering only a moment near the cardinal's side, to lay his hand upon his shoulder, and utter impressively: "Beware how thou attemptest to cross my path, good cardinal!” then he turned and left the library and the palace.

Crossing the courtyard to the street, a peculiar smile wreathed the Grand Duke's lips, and he muttered exultingly :

The Grand Duke was clad in the attire of the Florentine noble-trunk hose of fine gray cloth, a blouse of richly embroidered material, and a white satin vest; a doublet of purple velvet hung over his shapely shoulders, fastened by cord and tassels of gold and crimson cord, while his dark, glossy hair was surmounted by a small velvet cap, whose sweep-ble ing white plume was fastened by a single enormous diamond, of immense vale. Ruffs of finest Valenciennes lace, shaded his handsome and delicate hands, in one of which he carried the small swordcane so much used by the gentlemen of that day.

For a full hour the brothers conversed together in the old library, dusky with the "dim religious light" that stole through the deeply-shaded window, and was toned to subdued coloring by the heavy folds of arras on the marble walls. In this time neither had referred to the subject that lay next their hearts. But as the Grand Duke rose to depart, Ferdinando said, with apparent carelessness: "What is this news that went circling through Florence yesterday, brother mine? They say thou art about to give a new duchess to Tuscany. But surely, Francesco, thou hast the good of the kingdom too much at heart, to bestow a foreign mistress upon thy people. Only a Florentine should share the throne of the duchy."

"That paper was the letter of Cardinal de Medici to the Pope, asking his forbiddance of my approaching marriage. I saw the title wherewith this amiabrother of mine honors my fair bride-' La detestabile Bianca'-written plain as ink could trace it upon the parchment. Ha, good Ferdinando, I can thwart you yet-and church and Pope into the bargain! That old crone who beset me so strangely the other night was right; they would part me from my Bianca carissima, and the only method to foil them is by a speedy secret marriage. And this must occur ere a twelve hours be flown, and then, addio to priestly ban or churchly displeasure!" and the Grand Duke strode to his carriage, and bade his servitors drive rapidly towards the Villa Strozzi.

The day passed; the beautiful Florentine night shut softly down; and 'neath its folds, in the vinewreathed, flower-scented villa in the suburbs of Florence, by the soft gleam of silver lamps hanging from the corniced walls, was consummated the love drama of Francesco de Medici's life-his union with the lovely, exiled, patrician daughter of San Marc's-the widow of the late Intendante at the Grand Duke's court, Pietro Bonaventuri, for whom,

Francesco eyed his brother keenly, as he an- in her early girlhood, Bianca Capello had left the swered:

"Thou madest no such scruples, brother mine, when, a few years since, I led Joan of Austria to that same seat from whence thou wouldst now hinder the bride I have chosen. And yet, thou knew then that my heart went not with that match; but still thou hadst thy way in it, and politic motives linked together the neighboring realms thy ambitious heart coveted. But know now, once for all, that cardinals and priests no longer rule the domestic affairs of Francesco de Medici, and this marriage will not be averted or annulled."

Francesco stood by the library table as he spoke, and he carelessly laid his hand upon a parchment lying upon it. His cardinal brother writhed with anger in his seat, but he dared not utter it aloud; besides, he reckoned that his craft was a fair match for the Grand Duke's open avowal. Yet his eye nervously glanced to the scroll on which Francesco's hand rested-the parchment upon which he had been writing as his brother entered.

"Thou sayest nothing in reply, Ferdinando, and

home of her fathers in old Venice, the city of her birth.

That marriage has passed into history; not only as a rare instance of unions in which crowned heads are permitted to follow the dictates of their own hearts, but as presage to an event which brought rage and mortification to the heart of the Cardinal de Medici-the open espousals of the Grand Duke and his beautiful bride shortly afterwards.

In this second and public marriage ceremony, the honors and splendors of her former rank were restored to the wife of Francesco; and the same day that saw Bianca assume her new position, saw her also proclaimed an especial daughter of the Venetian Republic by ambassadors from Venice to Florence. Her cup of happiness was now full, and the heart which had known sorrow, now reposed in the full, broad light of happiness.

When the bride had retired to her private apartment after that day of her public espousals, the door was pushed ajar, and an aged figure, clad in a scant crimson cloak, stood before her.

"Giovanni Bembo! And now the fate you foretold is mine, you have come for the gift I promised thee," said the duchess, remembering their interview on the Ponte Vecchio. "What shall it be?— gold-a palace in the city-or what shall I bestow on thee, good mother? for I would fain do thee a kindness."

"Neither," replied the old crone.

AUNT MEHITABLE'S VISIT.

BY CAROLINE F. PRESTON.

OOD gracious, if there isn't Aunt Mehitable!" exclaimed Miss Elizabeth Coverly, looking out of the drawing-room window at an old-fashioned woman who was descending from a cab, with a bandbox in each hand.

"Is it possible?" ejaculated her sister Sarah in equal dismay. "She couldn't have come at a

worse time."

"True enough. What if the count should see her?"

"Life is short for old Giovanni, and she has little need now for its wealth or honors. Years ago, the blessed Virgin took home to Heaven my young, fair daughter, with eyes, cheeks and lips like thine. Since then, my old heart has been lonely; but it grew warm again when I saw thee in the streets of Florence— and once, long before that meeting on the Ponte Vecchio, thou spakest in a gentle tone, and calledst me Good mother' in a pitying voice. Thou only, of all the throng who named me mad'-thou only bestowed a kindness on poor, heart-broken old Gi-pend ovanni; and now, I only ask to kiss thy white hands in reward!" and, stooping, the aged woman pressed her withered lips to the jewelled hand, then passed out, leaving the Grand Duchess of Tuscany alone.

LEAVING HOME.

We're leaving the old home, dear one;
To-morrow morn in vain
You'll look to see the rising sun

Shine through the well-known pane.
I've mused all day how I might find
(Weak fancy though it be)
Some kindly spell the past to bind
On your child-memory.

That myrtle with clear dew-drops wet
So prized it was by both-

I linked, in thought, the day 'twas set,
Our future with its growth.
The tree since then hath flourishe fi
But we, we scarcely know
The tender love and watchful
Which blessed us long ago.

LIE

We'll not take hence our garden sweets
Well as we love their bloom;

We dread too much the city streets,

To shroud them in their gloom.
But when the early violets spring
Beneath the old oak tree,

Find fancy oft in dreams will bring
Their scent to you and me.

Good-bye, then, once for all, sweet spot!
Where'er our lives we spend,

We know we never are forgot

By one, our Heavenly Friend.

Yet shall the old home o'er us throw
Its radiance to the last,

Inlaying, as with pure gems' glow,
The present with the past.

NE

The old religion dies out-or rather the old error, the old dispensation, the old superstition, but not the old religion. This is forever new an1 forever fresh. For this there is no deeline, no decay, for it is the life of God in the soul.

"We must try to keep her out of the way." "If we only could! But you know what an inquisitive mind Aunt Mehitable has. She wants to know everything and everybody, and you may deupon it, she won't be kept in the background." "At any rate we must try what we can do. It won't do for the count to know that we have such

vulgar relations."

No, indeed, what would he think of us? Now, he considers us fashionable and comme-il-faut, and allied to the highest aristocracy. It would be frightful to have him suspect that there was any relationship between us and Aunt Mehitable."

While the conversation was going on, Aunt Mehitable, after an energetic dispute with the cab driver, whom she defrauded of a part of his fare, declaring that it was scandalously high, had got into the hall. Her two nieces went out to meet her with forced smiles which covered very little real cordiality, as may be judged from the conversation which had already taken place.

"How do you do, Betsy ?" said Aunt Mehitable to her eldest niece.

"My name is not Betsy," said Miss Elizabeth, rather sharply. "Why will you call me so, aunt?"

What's the difference between Elizabeth and Betsy, I'd like to know? In my young days they was always the same."

Well, they're not now, at any rate."

"And how do you do, Sally?" asked the aunt,

turning to the younger niece.

"Sally! Horrors, aunt, what makes you call me by such a frightful name?"

"Hoity, toity! Sally's as good as Sarah." "Well, as my name is not Sally, I don't want to be called so."

"Well, well, here's pride!" ejaculated the old lady. "I don't think much of gals who ain't willin' to be called by good Christian names."

"They're not Christian names, aunt. They are heathen."

"I'm ashamed on ye both. But can't ye give me a cheer, either on ye? I'm a'most tuckered out. It's kind of hard to travel at my time of life. I suppose you're wonderin' what brings me here so sudden like ?"

"Why, yes, aunt; you generally write to tell us you're coming."

"Well, you see your cousin Jerusha's agoin' to be married soon, and I want to give her six silver spoons to set her out. I want to get her some good ones while I'm about it, so I came up to the city. Kind o' took ye by surprise, didn't I?"

'You're good gals to be so keerful about your old aunt," said the old lady, suspecting nothing. "I guess I'll go."

About half an hour after Aunt Mehitable withdrew to her room, the bell rang, and Count Stromboli was announced.

The girls received him with radiant smiles, congratulating themselves that they had got their aunt

So the old lady found her way up into the sit-off just in the nick of time. ting-room.

"So glad to see you, Count Stromboli," they

"Do you call this a settin'-room?" she asked. said. "Were you at the opera last evening?" "It's nicer than the squire's parlor."

"O, certainly, of course; I adore the opera!" "And, then, being in your native language, you have the advantage of us in more perfectly com"Well, so there is. I wouldn't live in the city on prehending it. We are so tied to the libretto that no account," said Aunt Mehitable.

"Land's sake! five hundred dollars! Why, you can a'most buy a house for that up to Huckleberryville! Well, well! a fool and his money is soon parted, so they say. But I didn't think your father was such a fool as to pay five hundred dol-count, "and I am proud to add, his intimate friend.' lars for such a picter as that."

"Well, I vow," she said, "I thought I knew you! You're the man that came down to Huckleberryville, and opened a barber's shop, and boarded to Miss Pratt's, and ran off without paying your board. You're a fine count, I vum !"

"O, aunt!" ejaculated the young ladies in a breath. "How can you tell such awful stories?" "Look at him, if you don't believe it," said Aunt Mehitable.

Thus adjured, they looked, and perceived that the count had changed color, and looked very much confused.

"No! And yet I dare to love you-to tell you that I love you still more. I venture to beg you not to reject my homage-"

"He begins to explain himself," said she to herself, "and I shall know"-and she 'continued "my homage. If this expression of my love does not offend you, place this bouquet of violets in your bosom. Oh! then I shall be the happiest of men!" "Well," said she," no signature, no name given; but let us see-here is a postscript:"

"P. S.-If you are curious to know who writes to you, look up to the fourth tier; my legs will

"Excuse me, ladies," he said; "I feel a little hang over!" faint. I never was so insulted in my life."

He seized his hat, and bolted out of the room, and never reappeared, thus confirming Aunt Mehitable's charge. The young ladies both lived to be married respectably, though neither became a countess; and in after life, they felt grateful to Aunt Mehitable for her visit, though at first, their feelings were quite the reverse.

Romance and Reality.

One of the most beautiful actresses of the Boulevards received daily for about a month a little penny bouquet of violets. She found the bouquet in the box or with the doorkeeper every evening as the play was about to begin, and this simple offering of an unknown love affected her in spite of herself.

While acting she looked carefully around-at the boxes, the parquet, and even behind the scenesbut to no purpose; she saw nothing by which to recognize the man of bouquets. And thereupon she gave her imagination free reign, and the imagination of an actress is very similar to that of other folks.

Was he a foreign prince who wished to captivate her heart before placing at her feet his crown and treasure? Or was he an artist too bashful to declare his passion?

She interrogated the boxkeeper, the tirewomanin short, everybody employed in the theatre, but nobody knew anything about it. Still the bouquets

came.

"Do they tell us that constancy is a chimera ?" murmured she.

The other evening, as she entered the theatre, she received a fresh bouquet of violets, and this time the flowers were accompanied by a letter. "At last!" said she, and opening it by the light of a reflector, she read as follows:

"Mademoiselle:-I have loved you for a long time, for is not beholding and loving you the same thing? Every day I come to admire you, to applaud you, to delight myself with the brightness of your eyes and the charm of your voice-"

"He must be in the house," thought the actress, and she peeped through a hole in the curtain. The audience had just commenced to assemble. She resumed her reading:

"Of your voice. You are indeed beautiful and charming, and happy are they who may approach you. What would I not give to be near you always? Would the treasures of all the world be worth one of your smiles? No!"

"Ah, that is nice!" she sighed; and turning the page, she continued:

The note dropped from the hand of the actress, and her arms nearly dropped from her shoulders.

Franklin's Wife.

To promote her husband's interest, she attended in his little shop, where she bought rags, sewed pamphlets, folded newspapers, and sold the few articles in which he dealt, such as ink, papers, lampblack, blanks, and other stationery. At the same time she was an excellent housekeeper, and besides being economical herself, taught her somewhat careless, disorderly husband to be economcial also. Sometimes, Franklin was clothed from head to foot in garments which his wife had both woven and made, and for a long time she performed all the work of the house without the assistance of a servant.

Nevertheless, she knew how to be liberal at proper times. Franklin tells us that for some years after his marriage, his breakfast was bread and milk, which they ate out of a twopenny earthen vessel, with a pewter spoon; but one morning, on going down to breakfast, he found upon the table a beautiful china bowl, from which his bread and milk was steaming, with a silver spoon by its side, which had cost a sum equal in our currency to ten dollars. When he expressed his astonishment at this unwonted splendor, Mrs. Franklin only remarked that she thought her husband deserved a silver spoon and china bowl as much as any of his neighbors.

Franklin prospered in his business until he became the most famous editor and most flourishing printer in America, which gave him the pleasure of relieving his wife from the cares of business, and enabled him to provide for her a spacious and well furnished abode. She adorned a high station as well as she had borne a lowly one.

The Yellow Fever.

The earliest historical notice of yellow fever is in Ligon's" History of Barbadoes," where it is said to have broken out early in September, 1647, and before the end of the month "the living were scarcely able to bury the dead." During the next 150 years the discase was several times epidemic in the West Indies, but did not become severe until 1793, when it destroyed no fewer than 6000 men at Port Royal in a few months. In 1804 it was brought to the south of Spain, and visited Cadiz, Malaga and Carthagena, its greatest force falling upon Gibralter, where, in four months, 24 officers, 864 soldiers and 5028 others died, and only 28 in 14,000 of populaion escaped an attack.