Blesses the day that is to make her his, While she shines forth through all her ornament,

A strange and moving contrast to their grief, And through the city, wander where thou wouldst,

fears.

At length the rite is ending. All fall downAll, of all ranks-and, stretching out his hands,

Apostle-like, the holy man proceeds

To give the blessing. Not a stir, a breath, When, hark! a din of voices from without, And shrieks and groans and outcries as in battle,

And, lo! the door is burst, the curtain rent,
And armèd ruffians, robbers from the deep,
Savage, uncouth, led on by Barbaro

And his six brothers in their coats of steel,
Are standing on the threshold. Statue-like,
A while they gaze on the fallen multitude,
Each with his sabre up, in act to strike,
Then, as at once recovering from the spell,
Rush forward to the altar, and as soon
Are gone again, amid no clash of arms,
Bearing away the maidens and the treasures.

Where are they now? Ploughing the dis

tant waves,

Their sails outspread and given to the wind, They on their decks triumphant. On they speed,

Steering for Istria their accursed barks:

Well are they known, the galliot and the galley;

Freighted, alas! with all that life endears, The richest argosies were poor to them.

where

As roused from slumber by that stirring trump

One with a shield, one with a casque and

spear,

One with an axe severing in two the chain.
Of some old pinnace. Not a raft, a plank,
But on that day was drifting. In an hour
Half Venice was afloat. But long before,
Frantic with grief and scorning all control,
The youths were gone in a light brigantine
Lying at anchor near the arsenal,
Each having sworn, and by the holy rood,
To slay or to be slain.

And from the tower

The watchman gives the signal. In the east
A ship is seen, and making for the port,
Her flag St. Mark's. And now she turns
the point,

Over the waters like a sea-bird flying.
Ha! 'tis the same-'tis theirs; from stern

to prow

Green with victorious wreaths, she comes to bring

All that was lost. Coasting, with narrow search,

Friuli, like a tiger in his spring

They had surprised the corsairs where they lay

Sharing the spoil in blind security

And casting lots, had slain them, one and all—

shore

wide

The matrons running wild, their festal dress

Into the sea, their proper element,

tears

was a phantom of delight When first she gleamed upon my sightA lovely apparition sent

To be a moment's ornament;

Her eyes are stars of twilight fair;
Like twilight's, too, her dusky hair;

EEP sleep had fallen on the destined victim, and on all beneath his roof. A healthful old man to whom sleep was sweet, the first sound slumbers of the night held him in their soft but strong embrace. The assassin enters, through the window already prepared, into an unoccupied apartment. With noiseless foot he paces the lonely hall, half lighted by the moon; he winds up the ascent of the stairs and reaches the door of the chamber. Of this he moves the lock by soft and continued pressure till it turns on its hinges without noise, and he enters and beholds his victim before him. The room is uncommonly open to the admission of light. The face of the innocent sleeper is turned from the murderer, and the beams of the moon, resting on the gray locks of his aged temple, show him where to strike. The fatal blow is given, and the victim passes, without a struggle or a motion, from the repose of sleep to the repose of death. It is the assassin's purpose to make sure work, and he plies the dagger, though it is obvious that life has been destroyed by the blow of the bludgeon. He even raises the aged arm, that he may not fail in his aim at the heart, and replaces it again over the wounds of the poniard. To

finish the picture, he explores the wrist for the pulse. He feels for it and ascertains that it beats no longer. It is accomplished. The deed is done. He retreats, retraces his steps to the window, passes out through it as he came in, and escapes. He has done the murder. No eye has seen him, no ear has heard him. The secret is his own, and it is safe!

Ah, gentlemen, that was a dreadful mistake! Such a secret can be safe nowhere. The whole creation of God has neither nook nor corner where the guilty can bestow it and say it is safe. Not to speak of that Eye which pierces through all disguises and beholds everything beholds everything as in the splendor of noon, such secrets of guilt are never safe from detection, even by men. True it is, generally speaking, that "murder will out." True it is that Providence hath so ordained. and doth so govern things that those who break the great law of Heaven by shedding man's blood seldom succeed in avoiding discovery. Especially in a case exciting so much attention as this, discovery must come, and will come, sooner or later. A thousand eyes turn at once to explore every man, every thing, every circumstance, connected with the time and place; a thousand ears catch every whisper; a thousand excited minds intensely dwell on the scene, shedding all their light and ready to kindle the slightest circumstance into a blaze of dis