ABOUT the end of the fifteenth century, Thomas Buoventuri, a young Florentine of good family, but poor, took up his residence with a merchant of Venice, his countryman. Opposite the house where he lodged, was the back gate of the dwelling of a Venetian of quality, named Bartolemeo Capello. In this house lived a young lady of extraordinary beauty, of the name of Bianca. She was, indeed, closely watched; however, Buonaventuri soon discovered her, as she came frequently to the window. Of a nearer access to her, he did not dare to form any hopes: yet he did all he could to entertain her, and evince his inclination. He was young and amiable: it was not long before he ceased to be indifferent to her; and, in short after repeated negociations, the two lovers at length found means to accomplish their wishes. Bianca never failed, every evening at a late hour, when all the family were in bed, to slip into Buonaventuri's chamber, in the merchant's house, by means of a little back door, which she took care to leave ajar for that purpose; and without any soul being aware of it, returned every morning before break of day.

After they had carried on this diversion for a pretty long while, as it commonly happens, she grew bolder by habit; and having once staid longer than usual with her lover, it happened by chance that a baker's boy, who wanted to fetch yeast from an adjoining house, perceived that the little back door stood open. Not dreaming that this could be owing to any thing but neglect, he shut it.

Presently after came the young lady; and found the door fast. In great consternation, she hurries back to the house from whence she was come out; knocked gently at the door, was let in by her lover, to whom she related the ugly accident. Gratitude as well as love impelled him to take a sudden resoJution; every thing was to be sacrificed to their safety. He quitted the house on the spot; hired an apartment for himself and Bianca in the house of an

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other Florentine, and kept themselves concealed with all possible care, till a favourable opportunity offered for eloping to Florence.

In Florence he had a small house, on the Via Larga, near St. Marco, directly facing a nunnery. Here they likewise kept themselves in the closest retirement, for a considerable time, for fear of a pursuit from Venice.

The then duke of Tuscany was Francis Maria, the son of Cosmo I., and father of Mary di Medicis. He had to his wife Johanna of Austria, daughter of the emperor Ferdinand, and dowager queen of Hungary; a very worthy princess, but now somewhat advanced in years. Hence it happened, as is no uncommon case, that the grand duke would sometimes prefer another lady to her. One of his courtiers, who had a spouse, as well skilled in officiousness as himself, used commonly to play the confidant in these intrigues of the prince,

Bianca might keep herself concealed as much as she would: there was soon a rumour in Florence of the beautiful Venetian lady that was newly arrived; and the report of her adventure as well as of her beauty, to which her studied reserve not a little contributed; all this made the grand duke long ardently to see her. Every day he purposely passed before her chamber; and, as it was her only favourite pastime to stand at the window, it was not long before his curiosity was satisfied. She was half-veiled; but the grand duke had seen enough to be desperately in love with her.

The confidant, who soon perceived the unconquerable passion of his master, now began to set his wits at work, in conjunction with the duke, in order to contrive the means of satisfying it. His like-minded lady was duly admitted to the consultation. The late hard fortune of Bianca, and her gloomy prospects in future, gave the worthy dame the fairest opportunity for letting Bianca privately know, that matters of importance could be communicated to her; and she accordingly invited Bianca to her house. Buonaventuri had a long struggle with himself, whether he ought to consent that Bianca should accept the invitation or not. Yet, the high rank of the court-lady, and then his own penurious circumstances helped him at length to surmount all difficulties. Bianca went, and was received with the most flattering politeness, that bordered upon real tenderness. She was desired to relate her story; it was listened to with heartfelt emotion, at least in appearance, the most affectionate offers were made to her; she was loaded with civilities; presents were tendered, almost forced upon her.

Highly satisfied with this first visit, the grand duke flattered himself that he might be present at the second. Shortly after, the court-lady invited Bianca once more; she was again accosted with the greatest respect and tenderness; and after repeated expressions of pity, and numberless encomiums on her beauty, she was asked whether she was not desirous of being presented to the grand duke? He, for his part, had intimated his wishes to be able to make her acquaintance, as he had already found an opportunity of seeing and admiring her. Bianca had either not fortitude or not virtue enough for this fresh instance of good-will. At first, indeed, she made some attempts to elude it; but she made them with a look-as her artful seductress quickly perceived that she only wished to be farther intreated. At this moment, according to their preconcerted plan, the grand duke entered the room, as if by chance. Bianca found herself extremely taken with his person, with his animated praises, and with his liberal offers. The visits were repeated; they imperceptibly grew familiar together: a few presents, which she did not dare to refuse, as coming from the bounty of her sovereign, helped to further the

grand duke's designs; and her husband thought it, on the whole, not adviseable to interrupt a connection, that, at any rate, was advantageous, and might perhaps be innocent. The grand duke was not a man to stop short in so fair a course: promotions of the husband must necessarily assist him in gaining the favour of Bianca; and, to be brief, he at length attained the end of his wishes, so completely to the satisfaction of the several parties, that he and Bianca and Buonaventuri, were at last as perfectly fitted together as three sides of an equilateral triangle. The husband very quickly adapted himself admirably to his new situation; he hired for himself and his handsome wife a better house; and daily made new acquaintance with the courtiers and people of figure. But this sudden good fortune was too much for the merchant's clerk to be able to bare; he grew, as is usual, haughty and arrogant; began to shew his insolence to the principal nobility, and even to the grand duke himself; and thus raised himself so many enemies, that he was one night attacked in the street, (it was in Italy,) and murdered.

Who now were more glad than the grand duke and Bianca? They completely laid aside the last remains of decorum and reserve; and shewed themselves publicly in splendour and magnificence.

Johanna, the ligitimate wife of the grand duke, though she strove, as much as possible, outwardly to conceal her just indignation at the conduct of her spouse, and her jealousy towards her rival, yet they rankled only the more furiously within; she pined at heart, fell sick, and died.

The death of the duchess opened fresh prospects to the aspiring Bianca. The heart of the grand duke was wholly at her command; he must do what she pleased; and now she exerted all her art to induce him to wed in form. In vain did the grand duke's brother, Cardinal Ferdinand de Medicis, who, in default of a male descendant, was next successor to the throne, employ all the means in his power to prevent it; she was so happy as to accomplish her aim; and Bianca was, in a short time after, grand duchess of Tuscany.

She now naturally wished to bless her spouse with a prince who hereafter should succeed to the throne. She caused prayers to be put up for her in all the churches; had masses read; ordered star-gazers and prophets to be fetched from every quarter; all to no purpose! she therefore at length took up the resolution, in order that she might have her desire, to feign pregnant, and then substitute a foreign child. Intending thus at least to have the honour of a mother. A bare-footed friar of the monastery of Ogni Santi was easily persuaded by bribes to take the execution of the project upon him. The grand duchess now began to be indisposed; she was taken with unaccountable longings; she complained of tooth-aches, head-aches, qualms, indigestions, She took to her chamber, and at length to her bed; she acquainted the court with her situation, and no one was more rejoiced at the news than the grand duke himself.

&c.

When, according to her reckoning, the time of her delivery must be come, she suddenly made a great alarm at midnight; roused her attendants; complained of the first pangs, and ordered, with great impatience, her confessor to be called.

The cardinal, who was not unacquainted with the cunning of his sister-inlaw, had for a long time past caused her to be so closely watched, that he was perfectly acquainted with the plot. He no sooner got intelligence that the confessor was sent for, than he hastened to the ante-chamber of the grand duchess; where he walked up and down, and kept reading his breviary. The grand duchess on hearing that he was there, ordered him to be told, that she

begged him for God's sake to be gone, as she could not endure the thought of a man being so near her in her present circumstances. The cardinal answered drily, let her highness attend to her own business, and I will mind mine, and continued to read his breviary. Now came the confessor, according to appointment. As soon as he appeared, the cardinal flew to meet him with open arms:-"Welcome, welcome, my dear ghostly father! The grand duchess has labour pains, and is greatly in want of your assistance. With these words, he hugged him fast in his arms, and was thereby immediately struck with the sight of a lovely new-born child, which the good father had concealed in his bosom. He took it away from him, and calling out so loud, that even the grand duchess could hear him in the adjoining chamber, "God be thanked! the grand duchess is happily delivered of a chopping prince," and directly presented the little one to the bye-standers.

The grand duchess, incensed to fury at this malicious trick, resolved to be revenged of the cardinal in the cruelest way, cost what it would; and she soon found means to make the grand duke himself whose devotion to her remained always entire, to furnish her with an opportunity for effecting her purpose.

One day they all three made a party of pleasure to Poggio a Caino, and dined together. It happened that the cardinal was particularly fond of almondsoup, the grand duchess therefore caused an almond-soup to be poisoned, and set upon the table. The cardinal had his spies upon all her actions, who executed so well their commission, that he knew of the plot before the almond-soup came up. He seated himself as usual at table; but would not take any of the almond soup, though the grand duchess pressed it upon him with all the politeness imaginable. "Well," said the grand duke, "though the cardinal will have none of it, yet I shall take some;" and immediately took a portion of it on his plate. (Here the situation of the grand duchess will be more easily imagined than described.) Unable to prevent him from eating it, without making an entire discovery of her horrid purpose, she saw that she was undone; therefore, in order to escape the vengeance she had to expect from her brother-in-law, she ate up all the remainder of the almondsoup. The consequence was, that she and her husband died, both on one day, namely the 21st of October, 1587. The cardinal succeeded to the grand ducal dignity, under the name of Ferdinand I. and reigned till the year 1608.

SINGULAR MODES OF BURIAL.

"In returning from Cheemoo," says Captain Tuckey, "we passed a hut in which the corpse of a woman was lying dressed, as when alive; inside the hut, four women were howling; and outside two men standing close to the hut, with their faces leaning against it, kept them company in a kind of cadence, producing a concert not unlike the Irish funeral yell. These marks of sorrow, we understand, were repeated for an hour, for four successive days after the death of the person.

"Two graves were preparing for gentlemen,' their length being nine feet, and their breadth five. At this time they were nine feet deep, but we were told they would be dug to the depth of the highest palm-tree, preserving the length and breadth as at present; the soil we observed, was a superficial layer of black earth, eighteen inches deep, and all the rest a compact yellow clay. One of the old graves had a large elephant's tooth at each end; and another,

which we understood to be a child's, had a small tooth lying on it; all had broken jars, mugs, glass-bottles, and other vessels, stuck on them; some shewed that there had been young trees planted on them, but all were dead except one plant of the cactus quadrangularis and seemed to be indiscriminately dug to all points of the compass, and no attention appeared to have been paid since their first being filled in.

"Simmons requested a piece of cloth to envelope his aunt, who had been dead seven years, and was to be buried in two months, being now arrived at a size to make a genteel funeral. The manner of preserving a corpse for so long a time, is by enveloping them in cloth of the country, or in European cottons, the smell of putrefaction being only kept in by the quantity of wrappers, which are successively multiplied as they can be procured by the relations of the deceased, or according to the rank of the person; in the case of a rich and very great man, the bulk acquired being only limited by the power of conveyance to the grave; so that the first hut in which the body is deposited, becoming too small, a second, a third, and even a sixth, increasing in dimensions, is placed over it."

MURDER OF LORD LORNE.

John Stewart, Lord Lorne, when far advanced in life, was a widower, and had three daughters, but no lawful son. By a woman above the common rank, named Maclaurin, he had an illegitimate son, whose name was Dugald. He was a young man of great promise, and had particularly distinguished himself on a recent occasion.

The sons of the chief of Macdougall, by the sister of Lord Lorne, were very desirous of marrying their cousins, the co-heiresses of Lorne, and were assiduous in their attention to their uncle, who resided in the castle of Dunstaffnage, once inhabited by the kings of Caledonia, and still one of the royal palaces of Scotland. They had passed the night at Dunstaffnage, and departed early the next morning. But they had not gone far on their way, when they observed a number of boats approaching from the east, crowded with people, with pipes playing, and bearing flags. They found that these boats contained Dugald and his mother: and they soon discovered that old Lord Lorne had resolved to marry the mother of Dugald, and that they were now coming to celebrate the marriage. According to the Scotch law, this marriage would have made Dugald legitimate, and capable of inheriting the ample territories of Lorne. This event would have utterly disappointed the matrimonial schemes of the two nephews, and they instantly formed a dreadful resolution to prevent it. They returned, and asked admittance into the castle; but the door-keeper, remarking a fierce expression in their countenances, first consulted his master, who was displeased at his hesitating to admit his nephews. The door-keeper reluctantly received them; they forced themselves into Lord Lorne's apartment, and instantly put him to death to prevent the intended marriage. The brothers were however disappointed in their expectations, the heiresses escaped from Dunstaffnage by night, and carried away the charters of the estate. They took refuge with the Earl of Argyle, who soon married the eldest daughter; the second was married to Campbell of Glenurchy, ancestor of the Earl of Breadalbane; and the third to Campbell of Ottar.

This murder was committed towards the end of the fifteenth century. The