hover on my expiring lips will be "Italy-my country!"

There are spots on this earth which seem as though they were meant to give us a foretaste of the eternal bowers of bliss, or a glimpse of what the Eden of our first parents might have been spots where it seems as if sin dare not intrude his blighting form or sorrow spread her withering influence; where peace dwells seemingly on every roof, and tree, and bower; where the very birds sing thanksgivings from amongst rinths and shady nooks;

more more rapturous their leafy labywhere rippling

streams send forth a more soothing sound and awaken more soft and dreamy thoughts in the deep heart. We ask ourselves, as we stand and gaze entranced on such scenes of beauty and tranquillity, "Can the shriek of despair ever have rent the profound silence of these dark woods? can the hot tears of anguish and remorse have mingled with this peaceful stream? can the young, trusting, and loving maiden heart have swelled, and struggled, and

broken, amidst all this loveliness? can the lament for the early dead have arisen in wailing grief on these perfumed gales; and the forms of mourning, and the dreary train of funereal pomp have glided along these soft verdures where innumerable beauteous and brilliant flowers bloom so cheeringly?" Alas! yes ;sin, and remorse, and despair, and cold death, are no strangers in these sweet shades; and many a dim eye has gazed around with loathing on all this beauty, and felt how cruel was the mockery, how unutterable the contrast between sparkling, joyous nature, and the cheerless desart of a seared heart! And the desolate one has wished for some arid and rocky plain where all was dreary and boundless as his grief.

The scene I am about to paint, was one on which heaven had showered its fairest favours. It was in Italy; and high rugged mountains, whose tops were hewn into a thousand fantastical shapes, as they stood out in relief from the blue sky, encircled it, as if to shield and protect it from the rude storms which sometimes swept

along the plains around. A small defile led into this valley, and when the weary traveller, tired of the monotony of the vast flats he had traversed, gained this pass and stood on the threshold of the valley, and beheld the profusion of its beauty, his heart would swell and beat, and his breath come thick and short, and his emotion paralyse his limbs, as he contemplated its glowing richness: but then the tear would dim his gaze, as some sight of death or sorrow passed before him, and told him that the curse of mortality was even there, and the false serpent had poisoned even this second Eden. The mountains which on the outside were bare and rocky were clothed within with every variety of foliage: the graceful vine hung it's rich clusters on many a forest tree; the olive grew in thick plantations, and the flower of the myrtle clustered in virgin beauty on its stem. There, outstretched in the beautiful undulations of hill and dale, glowing with luxuriant richness and profuse vegetation, was a vast valley. pure and bright river ran through its centre,

A

in whose fresh waters many a graceful tree laved its delicate branches, and many a natural bower, formed of fragrant creepers and shrubs offered a retreat on it's verdant banks, where the gentle rippling of the stream might lull to sleep even the aching heart. This lovely river, after traversing the valley, was lost to sight by a sharp turn round a mountain's rocky base; there was a considerable fall in its bed at this spot, and the din of the torrent sounded eternally amid the changes of the rolling seasons. Far removed from any other habitation, and in the centre of a vast forest, there stood a cottage, whose gentle beauty was in keeping with the scene around. The garden, which bore traces of recent high cultivation, and where many a rare flower still bloomed unheeded, looked (at the period when our story commences) as though some spirit of desolation had breathed on it. Grass and weeds began to encroach on the paths, and the verdure of the lawn was long and lank.

It was night, and a bright harvest moon

shone in the heavens, and, penetrating the dense masses of foliage, threw a fitful and strange light on the open space around the cottage. Parasite plants of great beauty and sweetness crept round the windows and hung in festoons from the porch, and the interior of the dwelling was illumined by the moonbeams alone, as they flickered on its stone floors, through the leaves outside, which were agitated by the night breeze. Not a sound disturbed the stillness of the forest, save one screech-owl, which had perched itself on a large evergreen overshadowing the cottage, and which, every now and then, uttered its melancholy and piercing cry. Presently a casement opened, and an old crone, apparently scared from her rest by this bird of ill omen, leaned out and clapped her hands to frighten away the unpleasing neighbour. The bird raised its heavy wings, and flew, with a leaden flight, to an adjoining tree, where he re-commenced, as in mockery, his discordant shriek