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TO

THE LADY CAROLINE LEGGE,

THIS TALE

IS INSCRIBED,

WITH SENTIMENTS OF ESTEEM AND REGARD,

BY

A. M. G.

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Fast life's sands are going,
Sparkling as they run,
And for ever showing

That ere set of sun,
Much he hath to do, and much to be undone.

Love on earth that grieveth,
Tears of pain and shame,
God in Heaven receiveth,

Covering it from blame,
With the enfolding mantle of the Almighty Name.

THE BAPTISTERY.

NE of the mild and lovely days of a Neapolitan

winter was drawing to its close. In the highest chamber of a lodging-house on the Chiaja lay a young man stretched

on his bed, opposite to a window which commanded a full view of the bay. The invalid was very restless; it was the hour at which he became so; daily at sunset did the fever return, which was fast consuming his vitality; a fact perceptible to the few who watched the hectic glow on his cheek, and the fire in his eye. He surveyed the gorgeous scene before him,

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