The Sire de Ternant fell beneath him. Everyone thought him killed; but he quickly arose, raised his horse, and remounted, neither seeming much the worse. He then stretched his hand to draw his sword, but in the contest his girdle had partially given way, and the sword hung on the wrong side. Unable to get hold of it, he took the bridle in his right hand, and, opposing the gauntlet of his other hand to the sword of the Signor Galeotto, endeavoured to seize the blade. At length, however, his girdle broke entirely, and the sword fell upon the sand. According to the rules of the lists, he was allowed to pick it up, and the combat was renewed upon more equal terms. After many blows the Sire de Ternant pressed his adversary very closely, and endeavoured to insert the point of his sword into the joints of the armour at the wrist-at the bend of the arm-under the shoulder-at the jointure of the cuirass and helmet: sometimes his sword seemed to enter, but it was all in vain; the armour was so splendidly tempered and jointed that it preserved the Italian safe from all wounds.

After a long combat the judge gave the signal to cease. It had been a long time since such a fine combat had been

seen.

The two champions embraced each other by command of the Duke, who made the Signor Galeotto dine at his table, and bestowed on both of them magnificent gifts.

ELIOS all day long his allotted labour pursues ;
No rest to his passionate heart and his panting
horses given,

From the moment when roseate-finger'd Eos kindles

the dews

And spurns the salt sea-floors, ascending the silvery heaven, Until from the hand of Eos Hesperos, trembling, receives

His fragrant lamp, and faint in the twilight hangs it up. Then the over-wearied son of Hyperion lightly leaves

His dusty chariot, and softly slips into his golden cup: And to holy Æthiopia, under the ocean-stream,

Back from the sunken retreats of the sweet Hesperides, Leaving his unloved labour, leaving his unyoked team,

He sails to his much-loved wife; and stretches his limbs

at ease

In a laurell❜d lawn divine, on a bed of beaten gold,

Where he pleasantly sleeps, forgetting his travel by lands

and seas,

Till again the clear-eyed Eos comes with a finger cold,
And again, from his white wife sever'd, Hyperionides
Leaps into his flaring chariot, angrily gathers the reins,
Headlong flings his course thro' Uranos, much in wrath,
And over the seas and mountains, over the rivers and plains,
Chafed at heart, tumultuous, pushes his burning path.

OWEN MEREDITH.

Tout ou Rien

Σοὶ δ ̓ ἔγωγε καὶ νοσοῦντι συννοσουσ' ανέξομαι
Καὶ κακῶν τῶν σῶν ̓ανοισω· καὶ γάρ ουδεν ἐπί μοι
Πικρόν ἃ παρὰ σοῦ φορήσω.

EURIP. Fragmenta.

HOUGH sorrow's darkest clouds descending,
Steep all thy future paths in care,

Oh, let me on thy steps attending,
Every ill and anguish share.

The frowns of fate, the threats of danger

Were more than welcome, dared for thee;
This heart to fear and grief a stranger,
Blest in thy sight must ever be.

In vain on me their proudest treasure
Fame or fortune might bestow;

My sole fond hope, my only pleasure
To steal one moment from thy woe.

HELEN LOWE,

The Dying Girl's Song.

FOR MUSIC.

Memor et Fioglis

OLL no sullen bell for me,
None, when I am dying;
Let my spirit's requiem be
But the zephyr's sighing,
And the wood bird's melody,
When the day is dying.

Rear no solemn marble, where

Low my head reposes,

Let sweet flowerets blossom there,

Lilies pure and roses,

And beside it children fair

Sport and gather posies.

I have loved, and life was dear,
All its pulses thorough;

He is dead, and life is drear,

Why, then, should ye sorrow?

Strew no cypress on my bier,

We shall meet to-morrow.

THEODORE MARTIN

~ Dr. Area' is that

feme: and the Blessed :

-Asia tv a do Why are ya lying there.

-Detor, this is cruel. wai give away half my

Nly wants half

But there must be an end en ach to give you a brai →But when a man can

“And who wants y Has the Almighty made smiths and hammers? Not such a very weak | tion from fretting, I sus with pillows, and bring you do? Anything but '

"He has not close! Madame Matsys

-I should not wor
What have we got here
Ah! when that p
morning, I did hope—”
“Never mind what y
sheet of paper and a pen
and that queer little bit

"I have never in my
"What does that sig

A faint smile passe a new sort of physic you