a very Sultana-like brow;
In battles and sieges he fought
With many a Saracen Nero,
Till back to his mistress he brought
The fame and the heart of a hero:
But when he presumed to demand
The hero's reward in all story,
His mistress, in accents most bland--
Desired him to gather more glory
Poor Camille!

So back went the young cavalier,
(Where dwells such obedience now?)
And he wove amid pennant and spear,
A wreath for that fair cruel brow;
How crimson the roses he sent,
But not with the summer sun's glow;
'Twas the crimson of battle--and lent
By a brave heart forever laid low!
Now if such a lover I knew,
And if I might be his adviser,
I would bid him be tender and true,
But certainly bid him be wiser.
Poor Camille!

* * * * *

FROM PETRARCH.

Weeping for all my long lost years, I go,
And for that love which to this world confined
A spirit whose strong flight, for heaven designed,
No mean example might one man bestow.
Thou, who didst view my wonderings and my woe,
Great King of heaven! unseen, immortal mind!
Succor this weary being, frail and blind;
And may thy grace o'er all my failings flow!
Then, though my life through warring tempests passed;
My death may tranquilly and slowly come;
And my calm soul may flee in peace at last:
While o'er that space which shuts me from the tomb,
And on my death-bed, be thy blessing cast--
From Thee, in trembling hope, I wait my doom.

* * * * *

[From Bentley's Miscellany]

THE FEMALE WRECKER; AND THE HOUSE OF MYSTERY.

A BRACE OF GHOST STORIES.

BY THE AUTHOR OF "THE EXPERIENCES OF A GAOL CHAPLAIN."

It was a glorious summer's evening in July. The sun, robed in a thousand
hues of gorgeous brilliancy, was setting behind the noble hill which
towers over the little hamlet of Shaldon; light pleasure-skiffs, with
tiny sail, were dotted over the bay;[A] the ebb tide was gently laving
the hissing strand; and at intervals, wafted by the breeze, came from
some merry party afloat, a ringing, joyous laugh, or some slight snatch
of song. It was an evening which breathed serenity and repose.

[Footnote A: Teignmouth, Devon.]

Seated on one of the benches which skirt that pleasant promenade[B] were
two feeble-looking men, with whom the summer of life had apparently