avow her crime, or suffer her husband to poison himself. She
cast a quick retrospective glance along her past life; she saw
that she had exhausted all the pleasures of the world, and
attained to all its glories; her decision was rapid--as rapid
as on that day when she had fled from Venice with Pietro. She
also cut off a piece from the tart, and extending her hand to
her husband, she smiled, and, with her other hand, eat of the
poisoned dish.

"On the morrow, Francesco and Bianca were dead. A physician
opened their bodies by order of Ferdinand, and declared that
they had fallen victims to a malignant fever. Three days after,
the Cardinal threw down his red hat, and ascended the ducal
throne."--P. 63.

But presto! Mr Dumas is traveller as well as annalist He must leave the
Middle Ages to themselves; the present moment has its exigences; he must
look to himself and his baggage. He had great difficulty in doing this
on his landing at the Port of Livorno; and now, on his departure, he is
beset with _vetturini_. Let us recur to some of these miseries of
travel, which may at least claim a wide sympathy, for most of us are
familiar with them. It is not necessary even to leave our own island to
find how great an embarrassment too much help may prove, but we
certainly have nothing in our own experience quite equal to the lively
picture of M. Dumas:--

"I have visited many ports--I have traversed many towns--I have
contended with the porters of Avignon--with the _facchini_ of
Malta, and with the innkeepers of Messina, but I never entered
so villanous a place as Livorno.