ocate in 1832. Prior to his
commencing the study of law, he much devoted himself to literary
pursuits. In 1828 he published, in "Constable's Miscellany," a "Life of
Mary, Queen of Scots," in two volumes, of which work several editions
have since appeared. About the same time he established the _Edinburgh
Literary Journal_, which he conducted for several years with much
acceptance to the public. His other publications are, "My Old
Portfolio," a volume of miscellaneous prose and verse, and "Summer and
Winter Hours," a volume of lyric poems and songs. Both these works are
out of print. Mr Bell has contributed to the principal periodicals, and
associated with the leading literary men of his time. Since 1839 he has
resided in Glasgow, holding the appointment of a Sheriff-substitute of
Lanarkshire.

MY LIFE IS ONE LONG THOUGHT OF THEE.

Say wilt thou, Leila, when alone,
Remember days of bliss gone by?
Wilt thou, beside thy native Rhone,
E'er for our distant streamlets sigh?
Beneath thy own glad sun and sky,
Ah! Leila, wilt thou think of me?
She blush'd, and murmur'd in reply,
"My life is one long thought of thee."

Sweet girl! I would not have it so;
My destiny must not be thine,
For wildly as the wild waves flow,
Will pass this fleeting life of mine.
"And let thy fate be weal or woe,
My thoughts," she smiling said, "are free;
And well the watchful angels know
My life is one long thought of thee."

Then, Leila, may thy thoughts and prayers
Be with me in my hour of need,
When round me throng the cold world's cares,
And all my heart's fresh sorrows bleed!
"Why, dearest, nurse so dark a creed?
For full of joy thy years shall be;
And mine shall share the blissful meed,
For life is one long thought of thee."

WHY IS MY SPIRIT SAD?

Why is my spirit sad?
Because 'tis parting, each succeeding year,
With something that it used to hold more dear
Than aught that now remains;
Because the past, like a receding sail,
Flits into dimness, and the lonely gale
O'er vacant waters reigns!

Why is my spirit sad?
Because no more within my soul there dwell
Thoughts fresh as flowers that fill the mountain dell
With innocent delight;
Because I am aweary of the strife
That with hot fever taints the springs of life,
M