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As though she said, "Beware!"—her vest of gold
Broidered with flowers, and clasped from head to foot,
An emerald stone in every golden clasp,
And on her brow, fairer than alabaster,
A coronet of pearls. But then her face,
So lovely, yet so arch, so full of mirth,
The overflowings of an innocent heart—
It haunts me still, though many a year has fled,
Like some wild melody! Alone it hangs
Over a mouldering heirloom, its companion,
An oaken chest half eaten by the worm.


She was an only child; from infancy
The joy, the pride, of an indulgent sire.
Her mother dying of the gift she gave,
That precious gift, what else remained to him?
The young Ginevra was his all in life,
Still as she grew, for ever in his sight.
She was all gentleness, all gayety,

Her pranks the favorite theme of every tongue;
But now the day was come, the day, the hour,
And in the lustre of her youth she

Her hand, with her heart in it, to Francesco.


Great was the joy; but at the bridal feast,
When all sat down, the bride was wanting there,

Nor was she to be found! Her father cried,

""Tis but to make a trial of our love!"

And filled his glass to all, but his hand shook,
And soon from guest to guest the panic spread;
'Twas but an instant she had left Francesco,
Laughing and looking back, and flying still;
Her ivory tooth imprinted on his finger.
But now, alas! she was not to be found,
Nor from that hour could anything be guessed,
But that she was not!


Weary of his life,

Francesco flew to Venice, and forthwith
Flung it away in battle with the Turk;
Orsini lived, and long mightst thou have seen
An old man wandering as in quest of something,
Something he could not find-he knew not what;
When he was gone, the house remained a while
Silent and tenantless, then went to strangers.


Full fifty years were past and all forgot,
When on an idle day, a day of search
'Mid the old lumber in the gallery,

That mouldering chest was noticed; and 'twas said,
By one as young, as thoughtless as Ginevra,
"Why not remove it from its lurking-place?"
'Twas done as soon as said, but on the way
It burst-it fell, and, lo! a skeleton!
And here and there a pearl, an emerald stone,
A golden clasp, clasping a shred of gold!
All else had perished, save a nuptial ring,
And a small seal, her mother's legacy,
Engraven with a name, the name of both—
"GINEVRA." There, then, had she found a grave!
Within that chest had she concealed herself,
Fluttering with joy, the happiest of the happy;
When a spring-lock, that lay in ambush there,
Fastened her down for ever!


SELECT ETYMOLOGIES.-Alabaster: L.; fr. the Gr. alabas tròn. . . . Conceal: L. conce'lo; fr. con and ce'lo, cela'tum, to hide. . . . Coronet : L. coro'na, a crown.... Detain: L. detin'eo, I hold off; de, off, ten'eo, ten'lum, to hold.. Indulgent: L. indul'gens; ír. indul'geo, I am kind; in and dul'cis, sweet.... Legacy: v. ALLEGE. . . . Nuptial: L. nuptia'lis; fr. nu'bo, nup'tum, to marry. . . . Panic: Gr. pan’ikõn, influenced by the god Pan, who is said to have assisted the Athenians at Marathon by inspiring the enemy with a causeless fear. . . . Quest: L. quæ'ro, quæ'situm, to seek: v. EXQUISITE. Skeleton: fr. Gr. skělětõs, dried up; skěllō, I dry. Statue: L. stat'ua; fr. sto, stat'um, to stand. Tenant: fr. L. ten'eo, J told. . . . Terrace: It. terraza; fr. L. ter'ra, earth.




1. THE smallest thing becomes respectable when regarded as the commencement of what has advanced or is advancing into magnificence. The first rude settlement of Romulus would have been an insignificant circumstance, and might justly have sunk into oblivion, if Rome had not at length commanded the world. The little rill near the source of one of the great American rivers is an interesting object to the traveler, who is apprised as he steps across it, or walks a few miles along its banks, that this is the stream which runs so far and which gradually swells into so immense a flood.

2. So, while I anticipate the endless progress of life and wonder through what unknown scenes it is to take its course, its past years lose that character of vanity which would seem to belong to a train of fleeting, perishing moments, and I see them assuming the dignity of a commencing eternity. In them I have begun to be that conscious existence which I am to be through infinite duration, and I feel a strange emotion of curiosity about this little life in which I am setting out on such a progress; I cannot be content without an accurate sketch of the windings thus far of a stream which is to bear me on for ever.

3. I try to imagine how it will be to recollect, at a far-distant point, what I was when here, and wish, if it were possible, to retain as I advance the whole course of my existence within the scope of clear reflection-to fix in my mind so very strong an idea of what I have been in this original period of my time that I shall most completely possess this idea in ages too re.mote for calculation. JOHN FOSTER.

SELECT ETYMOLOGIES.-Accurate: L. accura'tus; fr. accu'ro, accura'tum, to give care to; ac=ad, to, and cu'ra, care. . . . Anticipate: L. anti'cipo, anticipa'tum, to take before; an'te, before, cap'io, I take.... Calculation: L. calcula'tio; fr. cal'culus, a small stone, referring to the times when pebbles were used in counting. . . Circumstance: L. circumstan'lia; fr. cir'cum, about, stans, stan'tis, standing; fr. sto, stat'um, to stand: v. STATION.... Eternity: L. æternitas; fr. æternus, a contraction of æviter'nus; fr. œ'vum, never-ending time, with the temporal ending ter'nus.... Idea :

L. and Gr.; fr. the Gr. i'dein (ídeîv), to see. . . . Interesting: L. in'terest, it is between, it concerns; fr. in'ter, between, est, it is; fr. sum, I am, es'se, to be. Magnificence: L. mag'nus, great, fa'ci-o, I make. . . . Oblivion: L. obliv'io; fr. oblivis'ci, to forget. . . . Progress: L. progres'sus; pro-, before, grad'ior, gres'sus, to step: v. CONGRESS.... Recollect: re and collect; wh. last is from the L. col'ligo, collec'tum, to gather; fr. con and leg'o, I bring together. . . . Remote: v. MOVE. . . . Scope: Gr. skòp'os, a watcher; fr. skop'ein, to view; h., horo-scope, an observation of the heavens at the hour of one's birth; fr. hō'ra, an hour; micro-scope (mik'rðs, small), telescope, fr. tēlě, far.



1. THE queen arrived in the hall of death. Pale but unflinching she contemplated the dismal preparations. There lay the block and the axe. There stood the executioner and his assistant. All were clothed in mourning. On the floor was scattered the sawdust which was to soak her blood, and in a dark corner lay the bier. It was nine o'clock when the queen appeared in the funereal hall. Fletcher, dean of Peterborough, and certain privileged persons, to the number of more than two hundred, were assembled. The hall was hung with black cloth; the scaffold, which was elevated about two feet and a half above the ground, was covered with black frieze of Lancaster; the arm-chair in which Mary was to sit, the footstool on which she was to kneel, the block on which her head was to be laid, were covered with black velvet.

2. The queen was clothed in mourning like the hall and as the ensign of punishment. Her black velvet robe, with its high collar and hanging sleeves, was bordered with ermine. Her mantle, lined with marten sable, was of satin, with pearl buttons and a long train. A chain of sweet-smelling beads, to which was attached a scapulary, and beneath that a golden cross, fell upon her bosom. Two rosaries were suspended to her girdle, and a long veil of white lace, which in some measure softened this costume of a widow and of a condemned criminal, was thrown around her.

3. Arrived on the scaffold, Mary seated herself in the chair provided for her, with her face toward the spectators. The

dean of Peterborough, in ecclesiastical costume, sat on the right of the queen, with a black velvet footstool before him. The earls of Kent and Shrewsbury were seated, like him, on the right, but upon larger chairs. On the other side of the queen stood the sheriff, Andrews, with white wand. In front of Mary were seen the executioner and his assistant, distinguishable by their vestments of black velvet with red crape round the left arm. Behind the queen's chair, ranged by the

wall, wept her attendants and maidens.

4. In the body of the hall, the nobles and citizens from the neighboring counties were guarded by musketeers. Beyond the balustrade was the bar of the tribunal. The sentence was read; the queen protested against it in the name of royalty and of innocence, but accepted death for the sake of the faith. She then knelt before the block and the executioner proceeded to remove her veil. She repelled him by a gesture, and turning toward the earls with a blush on her forehead, “I am not accustomed," she said, "to be undressed before so numerous a company, and by the hands of such grooms of the chamber."

5. She then called Jane Kennedy and Elizabeth Curle, who took off her mantle, her veil, her chains, cross and scapulary. On their touching her robe, the queen told them to unloose the corsage and fold down the ermine collar, so as to leave her neck bare for the axe. Her maidens weepingly yielded her these last services. Melvil and the three other attendants wept and lamented, and Mary placed her finger on her lips to signify that they should be silent. She then arranged the handkerchief embroidered with thistles of gold with which her eyes had been covered by Jane Kennedy.

6. Thrice she kissed the crucifix, each time repeating, "Lord, into thy hands I commend my spirit." She knelt anew and leant her head on that block which was already scored with deep marks, and in this solemn attitude she again recited some verses from the Psalms. The executioner interrupted her at the third verse by a blow of the axe, but its trembling stroke only grazed her neck; she groaned slightly, and the second blow separated the head from the body. LAMARTINE.

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