gentlemen, hal officiously communicated his name, and it had reached her at the same time as the account of his danger.

Poor Horace started and shuddered-" Merciful heaven!" he muttered, " spare me this trial!" and as he spoke his eyes became glazed, and his troubled spirit was at rest.

SONG.

BY THE LADY E. S. WORTLEY.

(FROM THE CIRCASSIAN.)

WHAT means this misery-happiness?
In torrents wild my blood is flowing;
My heart now mountains seem to press,
Now seems it but too freely glowing.

Whence come these transports? Still the same,
From one dear Object only springing;
Yet changing evermore their name,

So rapidly their flight they're winging!

Hope, doubt, faith, joy, fear, phrenzy, pain,

Seem one by one this heart to awaken;

With such emotions in their train,

Can reason long remain unshaken?

Still one by one, in absence drear,

These make my wild heart glow or wither;

In absence? Aye! when thou art near,

Txine, V

The coa mesen By Y

Think de ve

Above her ties to

Think! as you for your w

And slumber max 2

Oh! think you hear a techer.

Join in the praya za vete em

Weep for me, dear one: we

At morning's dawn, ice wor
Weep for me! when we xfa1A
At eve, of half you ged en
And when you teach her fra t

Fond words, that can a DS

And when she names my

Weep for me then- I get my

Pray for me, dear one! we
Sweeps seaward, dow-

Pray for me! when de

Pray for me! when he g

Though dark and drear

No storm can chill,

While thoughts of that
Like angels, through

The Danube, near Lintz,

LAKE OF COMO.

BY LEITCH RITCHIE.

It is pretty generally allowed that the Lake of Como is the most beautiful in Italy: but, it is in reality something more than beautiful. It is divided into three distinct portions, each with scenery peculiar to itself; and thus in wandering along its banks, the traveller perpetually receives new impressions. The mountains which border the lake are in general upwards of two thousand feet high; and as they are extremely precipitous-in some places, indeed, overhanging the water, it might be expected that the preponderating character of the view would be sublimity. This, however, is not the case. In Italy, the giants of nature lose half their terrors by being divested of those deep shadows, and that mysterious gloom which they possess in other countries; for here the sides and summits of the mountains are entirely naked, and of a light stone colour, as if the vegetation had been burnt away by the sun.

But at the water's edge, and for some distance above it, the lake is girdled by a rich tuft of foliage. The pine, the ilex, and the chesnut fringe the shore, and climb the precipices; and in midst of all, the gay cypress (the favourite ornament of a Roman villa!) presents itself in striking contrast. Here, is a village; there, a country seat; yonder, a ruin. In a hundred places the delighted scholar discovers the Plinian villa, for there are a hundred places as beautiful.

These magnificent banks, so well calculated for con