escorted the Emperor when he went to be crowned King of Italy, I contrived to learn the whole story.-I was told the jealous husband, Count, had found attached to his wife's bed an English watch, the property of a young man in the little town where they resided. On that very day he carried her off to the ruined chateau, in the midst of the woods of Sessia. He uttered not a syllable, but in answer to all her entreaties he coldly and silently shewed her the English watch, which he always kept about his person. He thus passed nearly three years with her. At length she died of a broken heart, in the flower of her age. The husband made an attempt to stab the owner of the watch→→→ missed him fled to Genoa-threw himself on board a vessel, and has never since been heard of."

ON JAPANESE PRAYER.

On the high roads in Japan, every mountain, every hill, every cliff, is consecrated to some divinity; at all these places, travellers are compelled to repeat prayers, and frequently several times over. But the customary fulfilment of this duty detaining the pious traveller too long on the road, the Japanese have contrived a curious piece of machinery to obviate this inconvenience. Upon such elevations as are consecrated to these divinities, they set up posts to distinguish the distances between them. In these posts a long vertical hole is cut, at a certain height above the ground, where a circular iron plate turns round, somewhat like a sheave in a block. Upon this plate, the prayer is engraven, which is dedicated to the divinity of the place. To turn it round, is deemed equivalent to the reciting of the prayer, which is supposed to be repeated as many times as the plate is made to revolve. Furnished with this conveniency, the traveller is able, without stopping, merely by twirling the plate with his fingers, to send up even more prayers to the divinity than the ecclesiastical law com pels him to offer.

ON CHRISTIAN PRAYER AND PRAISE.

Prayer, says a writer of some eminence, is the going forth of the mind, in the desire after some good not in its possession. Praise is the overflowing of gratitude in the soul, from the sensation of present enjoyment, and the hope of its continuance. It is a duty arising from the creature to the Creator, for blessings enjoyed. Prayer is likewise a duty proper to be exercised for the continuance of present, or the addition of future good. The end of its institution is to keep the mind in a state of humble dependence on the source of its mercies, and to teach it stedfastly to look up to God for an uninterrupted communication of his favours.

SINGULAR NARRATIVE.

About the end of the 15th Century, Thomas Buonaventuri, young Florentine of a creditable family, but without fortune, went to live with a merchant of the same country, who had settled at Venice.

The merchant's house was opposite to the back-door of one that belonged to a noble Venetian, named Bartholomeo Capello. In the family lived a young lady of great beauty, whose name was Bianca. She was watched with great care according to the custom of the country: yet Buonaventuri frequently saw her at the window; and, though he had no hopes of a nearer interview, yet by a natural, and almost necessary, impulse, he did all that could be done, in such circumstances, to express the passion with which she had inspired him.

He was young and amiable; and she very soon ceased to be indifferent so that, after a long negotiation, (the particulars of which are not related,) the lovers found means to accomplish their wishes, and were privately married.

Bianca, went every night, after the family were retired to rest, to Buonaventuri's chamber, in the merchant's house, by means of the little back-door, which she left a-jar, and by which also she returned before day, withont being seen by any body. After this had continued for some time, custom made her less cautious; and, one night she stayed with her husband till the morning was farther advanced than usual. A baker's boy, who was going by with bread, perceived the back-door, by which Bianca had come out, to be open, and, supposing this had happened by accident, shut it. The lady arrived a few minutes afterward, and found it fast. In the consternation which this accident produced, she returned to the house she had just quitted, and was let in by her husband, to whom she related what had happened. As the safety of both was now in danger, they retired to the house of another Florentine, where they remained concealed till they found an opportunity of escaping to Florence. In this city they lived, for some time, in great privacy, fearing the Republic of Venice should, at the solicitations of Capello, have had them pursued.

Francis Maria, the great Duke of Tuscany at that time, was a native of france, son of Cosmo I. and father of Mary de Medicis. He had married Jane of Austria daughter of the Emperor Ferdinand, and widow of the King of Hungary. She was a Princess of great virtues; but, being at that time past her youth, the Duke neglected her for other women. One of the officers of his court was the confident of his pleasures, who had a wife no less zealous to make herself useful.

The arrival of the fair Venetian was soon known in Florence. The report of her adventure and her beauty excited the Duke's curiosity, and he resolved to spare no pains to gratify it. He used to walk every day before the house where she lived; and upon seeing her at the window, became violently enamoured. His confidant was immediately employed, and he engaged his wife to assist in the project, who began her manoeuvres by sending a message that she had something of consequence to communicate to her, and for that purpose invited her to dinner. Buonaventuri was some time in suspense whether he should suffer his wife to receive the invitation; but the lady's rank, and his want of some powerful protection, overcame his doubts.

Bianca was received with great kindness and the most flattering attention; she was prevailed on to relate the story of her distresses, and was heard with an appearance of the most tender concern. She was asked if she had no desire to make her court to the grand-Duke; who, on his part, was impatient to become acquainted with her, having already found an opportunity to see and admire her. Bianca had neither fortitude nor virtue to resist the temptation; and, the Duke coming in at the instant, the liberality of his offers, and his promising to advance her husband, gained him a complete victory.

The husband did not think it prudent to break a connexion which might be so advantageous to him; and matters were soon settled to the satisfaction of both parties. The Duke gave them a magnificent house near the bridge over the river Ārno, called Ponte della Trinita, (which house is now Il Palazzo Ricardi) and was to be admitted at all hours, without any interruption from the husband.

Buonaventuri solaced himself for the loss of Bianca by forming new connexions and associating with the nobility; but becoming, by the change of his fortune, insolent and presumptuous, and having insisted, one day, on an interview with his wife, when it was not agreeable to her, he was, the same night, by her order, assassinated.

The only obstacle to the complete enjoyment of her wishes being thus removed, she lost all reserve, and appeared in public with a magnificent equipage, setting honour and shame at defiance. Jane, the Grand-Duchess, was extremely mortified at the conduct of the Duke, and provoked at the pride of her rival; she suppressed her. grief, till, at length, it put an end to her life.

The Grand Duchess's death opened new views to the ambition of Bianca, who had acquired such an ascendancy over the Duke, that he was wholly subservient to her will; and she now exerted all her art to induce him to marry her. The Cardinal Ferdinand de Medici, who was next heir to the Dukedom, if his brother died without issue, opposed the marriage in vain, and Bianca, in a short time, became Grand-Duches of Tuscany.

After some time, she wished for a child, that it might inherit the Grand-Duke's dominions. She had masses said and astrologers consulted, but, these and many other expedients proving ineffectual, she resolved to feign pregnancy, and introduce a spurious child, of which she would at least have the honour. To assist her in the execution of this projeet, she applied to a Cordelier, of the monastery of Ogni Sancti; who readily undertaking the affair, she feigned nausea, and the usual symtoms of pregnancy, took to her bed, and received the compliments of the court. Her pretended reckoning being out, she suddenly alarmed her people in the night, complained of labour pains, and enquired impatiently for her confessor. The cardinal, who suspected her artifice, had watched so diligently that he knew all her motions; and, as soon as he was informed that her confessor was sent for, repaired to her anti-chamber, where he walked backwards and forwards repeating his Breviary. The Duches, hearing he was there, sent him a message, intreating he would retire, because she could not bear he should hear the cries that might be forced from her by her pains. The Cardinal answered "let her Highness think only of her own business, as I do of mine."

As soon as the confessor arrived, the Cardinal ran to him, crying out "Welcome, my dear father; the Grand Duchess is in labour, and has great need of your assistance:" at the same time, catching him in his arms and embracing him, he perceived a jolly boy, just born, which the good father had in his sleeves. He took the child from him, and cried out, loud enough to be heard by the Duchess, "God be praised, the Princess is happily delivered of a son:" at the same time, shewing him to all who were present.

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The Grand Duchess, enraged to distraction at this insult, determined to be revenged on the Cardinal, and soon got an opportunity. The Duchess and he were on a country party at Poggio Caiano, one of the Duke's villa's the Cardinal was very fond of blanc mange, and the Duchess had strong poison mixed with a dish of it, and placed near him at table; but he, notwithstanding the most pressing solicitations of the Duchess, would not taste it. "Well, (said the Duke) if the Cardinal will not eat of it, I will:" and he took a large quantity of it on his plate, and ate it. The Duchess, from her extreme agitation, lost her speech, and in despair, snatched the remainder of the poisoned dish, ate it, and both she and the Duke died together, on the 21st of October, 1587.

The Cardinal succeeded to the Dukedom, by the name of Ferdinand I. and reigned thirty years.

STORY-TELLING.

Much has been written to explain and to teach the art of storytelling; but no science is more difficult to attain, nor can it be taught by any settled rules. If the teller can but contrive to keep the attention of his audience awake, to the end of his tale, he has certainly gained a great point, let the method he has taken be what it will? and if he can add to their attention some emotions of pleasure, or of surprise, he may justly be deemed a good storyteller. Seneca, who certainly may be cited as eminent in this art, will afford a beautiful example of this species of triumph over