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CHAPTER XI.

There is a home for weary souls,
By sin and sorrow driven ;
When tost on life's tempestuous shoals,
Where storms arise, and ocean rolls,
And all is drear-but heaven !

There faith lifts up the tearful eye,
The heart with anguish riven;
And views the tempest passing by,
The evening shadows quickly fly,
And all serene in heaven!

MONTGOMERY.

SIR EDWARD AND LADY ST. JOHN made but a short stay at Milan, and then proceeded to Como.

In contemplating the wild and grand scenery which now greeted her eye, Teresa felt that it was more in accordance with the stern barren, these in abundance, but how rarely to be seen is the smile fresh from the joyous heart.

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Teresa was left much alone by her careless husband, and solitude was what she most coveted under her peculiar feelings. Their residence was situate on the banks of the beautiful lake, and at some little distance from the town, and Teresa passed hours in exploring the environs of her villa, or acquainting berself with the legacies bequeathed to posterity by the immortal bards of this gifted country. Sir Edward St. John had formed many acquaintances, and recognized others in Como, and his whole time was divided between gambling with his countrymen and obeying the caprices of a pretty, coquettish Frenchwoman, to whom he had transferred his worthless regard. The young Comtesse de Bertin was married to a little fat, bustling, forward man; but she was the most refined coquette it is possible to conceive; the power

of her eyes was marvellous, and by candlelight she really looked beautiful. She was a thorough Frenchwoman, without the slightest tinge of

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