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agency of the Anglo-Saxon race" in the domin- | study the physiology of turnips, hay-ricks, cabbages, ions of Queen Victoria and in the United States of hops, &c., and of all kinds of cattle, sheep, and America. Then, adverting to the unhappy symp-swine. We propose to avoid the lions of the countoms of disunion which have appeared between the two great families of this race, he says:

"A war between England and America, for any cause, would be a war with God, his Gospel, the spirit and precepts of his religion; with all living and future generations of men on the whole earth. The discharge of the first paixhan gun in such a contest would not only sink a ship, but it would sink the whole heathen world to the deepest depths of that moral night in which they groped a century ago! A war between England and America!-it would be the greatest curse that has visited this world since the fall of man!"

There has been an extensive exchange of what are called "Friendly International Addresses," (more than thirty,) signed by a great number of persons on each side of the Atlantic, expressive of their earnest desire to preserve pacific relations and hearty affection between the two countries. One of these addresses was from more than sixteen hundred women at Exeter to their sisters in Philadelphia. Elihu Burritt says, in reference to them, in a recent letter to a friend :

try, and confine our walks to the low lands of common life; and to have our conversation and communion chiefly with the laboring classes. Perhaps we might get together a knot of them some moonshiny night and talk to them a little on temperance, peace, and universal brotherhood. During such a pedestrian tour, we think we might see and hear some things which a person could not do while whizzing through the country on the railroad at the rate of thirty miles an hour."

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Our learned mechanic will have some difficulty in adhering to his project. He may not wish to see "lions;" but he will be a lion himself, and men, women, and children will crowd to see him. There are sixteen hundred eager visitors at Exeter to begin with; not to mention the other twentynine addresses;" and if he be as extraordinary a linguist as is stated, the learned and the fashionable of England will not fail to do him honor; and he will not be allowed to conceal himself entirely behind cottage doors. But apart from his literary claims, and the paucity of very deeply learned men who visit us from America, (not that we mean that "I rejoice with exceeding joy, at the tokens for his country is arida as a lconum nutrix,) his celebgood which have greeted our eyes. I am confi-rity as a philanthropist will cause his acquaintance dent that our two countries, immediately on the to be extensively sought for; and, in seriousness, adjustment of this unhappy question of Oregon, the intercourse between England and the United will enter upon a new era of social and commercial States, of persons of his station of life, and of such intercourse; which will be facilitated by the inter-friendly and peace-loving dispositions, may be a esting correspondence that has been opened through useful counterpoise to the influence-if they have the Friendly International Addresses.' What a moral power the friends of peace throughout the world might wield by intercommunications of this kind! I shall esteem it the most pleasant occurrence of my life to have been interested in this blessed movement. I feel as near to every one of you as if you were my brethren according to the flesh. My thoughts steal out after you by the wayside and by the fireside. I read over and over your kind letters, and wonder that there should be questions of warlike controversy in the world, when such lively susceptibilities to friendship are common to human hearts everywhere;-when it is so easy to make a friend even across a wintry ocean. I hope to see you face to face in the course of the coming summer, as I am preparing to visit Old England about the middle of June. I have thought that I might do a little for the cause of peace in your country, in the way of writing for the press."

Mr. Burritt describes in his own characteristic style his projected tour in England.

any-of our Trollopes and Dickenses, who prefer idle jesting and mischief to truth and love. Our learned Theban says in a letter last month to one of his cis-Atlantic friends: "Heaven bless old England forever! Her maternal leaning towards her American daughter bespeaks the parent." Well and kindly said, Elihu.-If any of our rural readers should hear of a western stranger, with a brawny arm, wielding a hickory staff, visiting the cottages in their parish, and talking words of peace to the admiring rustics, let them accost him in Greek, or one of the Shemitic tongues, if they can master it, and bid him a friendly welcome.

THE ORIENTALISM OF NAPOLEON.-It has been often said, that he was oriental in all his habits. His plan of supremacy bore all the stamp of orientalism-the solitary pomp, the inflexible will, the unshared power, and the inexorable revenge. The throne of the empire was as isolated as the seraglio. It was surrounded by all the strength of terror and craft, more formidable than battlements "About the first June, we propose, under cer- and bastions. Its interior was as mysterious as its tain conditions, to take steamer or packet for Eng-exterior was magnificent; no man was suffered to land. On our arrival, we propose to take a private hickory staff and travel on, like Bunyan's pilgrim, through the country, at the rate of about ten miles a day.

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approach it but as soldier or slave; its will was heard only by the roaring of cannon; the overthrow of a minister, the proclamation of a war, or the announcement of a dynasty crushed and a kingdom overrun, were the only notices to Europe of the doings within that central place of power. the true principles of supremacy. All power must But, with all the genius of Napoleon, he overlooked be pyramidal to be secure. The base must not only be broad, but the gradations of the pile must be regular to the summit. With Napoleon the pyramid was inverted-it touched the earth but in one point; and the very magnitude of the mass resting upon his single fortune exposed it to overthrow at the first change of circumstances.-Blackwood's Magazine.

LITTELL'S LIVING AGE.-No. 122.-12 SEPTEMBER, 1846.

From the Britannia.

Life in the Wilderness; or, Wanderings in South Africa. By HENRY H. METHUEN. Bentley. NOTHING can be more original and animated than this narrative of travel in the wilds of South Africa. It opens to us a new region and a new state of existence. It is one of those works issued now and then which every one will be eager to read, and which every one will be delighted with.

and three of us, well armed, sallied forth in the direction of the outcry, to reconnoitre. We marked a crow hovering, and by its guidance soon discovered one of the best oxen lying dead. We approached with caution, and a quick-sighted Hottentot pointed to the large print of a lion's foot in the sand just by us. The lion had attacked the ox in the rear, and fastened his tremendous claws in the poor wretch's side, one having pierced through to the intestines; he had then bitten him in the flank, and, to show the prodigious power of the monster's jaws, the thigh joint was dislocated, the hide broken, and one of the largest sinews snapped in

The author, with three companions, left Graham's Town in April, 1844, to explore the wilds that lay to the north of the British possessions at the Cape. The party consisted of the four gentle-two, and protruding from the wound: having thus men, and ten or twelve Hottentot attendants. crippled his victim, he had, apparently, seized him They had three wagons well stored with all neces- by the throat and throttled him. sary baggage and provisions, about fifty oxen, thirty horses, and some dogs.

It inspires one with a strange kind of emotion to hear of this little party boldly venturing into the wilderness, exploring an unknown region, trusting themselves in the heart of savage and unreclaimed deserts, abounding with all descriptions of ferocious life, for the mere love of adventure and novelty. For a supply of food they trusted chiefly to their guns and the swiftness of their horses, for water to the streams and fountains that crossed their track, and for forage to the grass and herbage that were generally met with in abundance. Their travel lasted for eight months, yet during the whole of that time they seem to have suffered nothing from scarcity. They were generally well supplied with one kind of game or another.

By the Orange and the Maraqua rivers they met with the best sport and with the most magnificent scenery. In the waters they met with crocodiles and hippopotami; on the banks, in thick jungles, with elephants, lions, rhinoceroses, leopards, and panthers, and in the more open country with herds of buffalos, deer, and giraffes. Their sporting excursions were attended with all the excitement of danger, but none of the party were seriously injured, though they often lost their cattle from the ferocious attacks of wild beasts. From April to December they lived in the freedom of savage life, and returned at last to the Cape in the enjoyment of excellent health, and highly delighted with their travel in the wilderness.

Our extracts from this entertaining volume must necessarily be scattered. The author kept a journal, and has here reproduced it almost verbatim. All his details have the rough force of the life he led, and are marked by the high spirit in which he wrote. On the 30th of June, while encamped near the Vaal river, he made his

FIRST ACQUAINTANCE WITH A LION.

"Before daybreak I was roused from my slumber in the tent by Bain saying, 'Something has got hold of an ox,' and, listening, heard the poor creature bellow and moan piteously, but in a kind of stifled tone. The horses had all been fastened to the wagon wheels, but the oxen, having had a hard day's work, had been allowed to lie loose during the night. In the course of half an hour the grey light was, we judged, sufficient for our purpose,

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VOL. X. 31

"We could discern that the cattle had all been sleeping together when first surprised, and the lion, following on the trail of some Griqua horsemen, whom he had met on the preceding evening, had come across the oxen, and sprung on the nearest. We traced his spoor all along the road to the scene of slaughter, and on the retreat after it. He had not eaten a morsel, which was some satisfaction to our feelings. The first scuffle had evidently been violent, for the ground was much indented by it. This having been the outside ox, and the wind blowing from the rest, they had not smelt their dreaded foe, and had only run a little way off, else they would not have stopped for many miles. Execrations and cries for revenge were universal; so, forming a large party, we started in pursuit of the lion, attended by some good dogs. With the greatest difficulty we followed his track over sand and stones, by the assistance of Hottentot eyes; but even these would in one or two cases have failed, if a sagacious dog, perceiving our object, had not run on the scent, stopping constantly to see if we advanced, as if conscious of the fierce creature we were pursuing.

"The search became at intervals very exciting, when the spoor led into a glen of long dead grass or rushes; but, whether purposely or not, the lion always left us to windward, so that his nose would inform him of our approach; and after a fatiguing, unsuccessful chase, the sun growing very hot and our stomachs craving for breakfast, we resought the wagons.

"The habits of the king of beasts are not of that noble order which naturalists formerly ascribed to him. In the daytime he will almost invariably fly from man, unless attacked, when his courage is that of mingled rage and despair. I have seen the lion, suddenly roused from his lair, run off as timidly as a buck. It is said that even at night they do not like to seize a man from a party, especially if the persons exercise their voices; and that the carcass of an antelope, or other game, may be preserved untouched by hanging some stirrups on a branch near, so that the irons may clash together when blown by the wind: a white handkerchief on the end of a ramrod is another receipt for effecting the same object. The lion is a stealthy, cunning brute never attacking unless he has the advantage, and, relying on his vast strength, feels sure of the victory. The natives tell incredible stories of his

From the Churchman.

sagacity, which would almost make him a reasoning animal. There are well-authenticated cases MR. EDITOR,-It is not out of place, nor out of on record of lions carrying away men at night from the fireside, but these are quite the exception. of the daily service. By some, one view may be season to remind ourselves of the ends and object They are gregarious, as many as twenty having taken by others a different one may be appre ciated. To all, every view of it will be of use, and therefore as one I send you the following, in the measure of an old English hymn.

been seen in a troop.

"Balked of our revenge, we started for the next water, but first of all we carefully cut up, and stowed away, all the flesh of the dead ox, leaving only the entrails, which vultures and crows would speedily devour, and dragging the hide behind the last wagon, that the assassin might follow and be entrapped. We came to a pool, called Papkuil's fontein, surrounded by low clumps of bush and long grass, well fitted to be the head-quarters of felis leo. Two guns loaded with slugs were secured to stakes near the water, their muzzles protruding through some bushes, cut and placed so as to conceal them a string was then attached to the triggers, and fastened to a large piece of meat, in such a manner that any creature laying hold of it would discharge the guns in his face. Care was taken that there should be no path but in front of the battery, and twilight had begun to fade when all our preparations were completed. Much trouble was experienced in tying up the oxen and horses; one young ox broke away, and was of necessity abandoned to his fate. Good fires were

made, a slight hedge of thorn boughs was formed round our camp at the least secure point, and, supper over, we all retired to bed.

"At about 2, A. M., Hendrick, ever wakeful, shouted out, 'There stands the lion! shoot!' and, before we could jump from our beds, the discharge. of a gun was heard. The horses and cattle had been very uneasy for some time previously, snorting and struggling to get free: one horse actually broke his halter, and ran away, and was brought back by Frolic. It is miraculous how both escaped from the lion, which then must have been prowljing round us. On emerging we saw the oxen, like so many pointers, with their noses in one direction snuffing the air; and found that an old white ox, which had not been fastened up on account of its age and docility, but merely driven amongst the rest, had strayed about thirty yards from our camp, to nibble some grass, and had been assailed by the enemy. Piet said that he saw the brute on the ox and fired, whereupon he relinquished his prey and 'fled, and the poor terrified ox hurried back to the wagon and his comrades; where he began stretching out first one leg, then another, as if engaged in a surgical examination of his limbs. The air all the while was piercingly cold, and a basin of water in the tent had a coat of ice on it an inch thick. The fires were anew supplied with fuel, and a watch set; the profoundest silence, broken only by the deep breathing of the oxen, reigned again; and, being thoroughly chilled, we nestled once more under our warm blankets. On inspecting the trap in the morning we found, to our grievous disappointment, that a bad cap had prevented the principal gun from exploding; and that the small one had gone off, but missed its aim-the meat bore the mark of a claw, but was none of it eaten. The ox which had deserted was found uninjured, but the white one showed several severe scratches on his neck, which swelled extremely. We resolved to wait another day, and prepare the lion."

for

The lion, however, escaped them; but in the night they shot a large hyæna.

A REASON FOR THE DAILY SERVICE.

MAN has few days to live,

And life shall be,
Not here on earth; but in
Eternity.

Here we may love and praise;
And ever dwell

With God; or follow sin :

Seek heaven or hell.

But there no choice may be!
For with that day,
Which ends our life, will pass
For aye away

Our trial; and old and young
-From sea and land-
Before the "great White Throne"
Shall trembling stand.

When "every knee shall bow"

And "tongue confess" -They who revile their God,

And they who bless.

Since then before my Judge

This flesh shall kneel; When flames shall wasting pour, -My works reveal.

I'll now anticipate

That fearful day;
And at my Saviour's feet
In dust will pray;

Confess my countless sins,

My loss deplore;
And daily bow the knee,
Till time is o'er.

That so when mountains shake
And pass away,

Thou may'st my soul preserve
In that dread day.

I cannot see Thee now!
My mortal sight

Is far too weak to bear
Thy awful light.

But faith shall view Thee here;
And as alone-
Will try to think of Thee

As on Thy throne.
Grant me, O Lord, a place
-At Thy blest feet,
Among that "two or three"
Who with Thee meet.

For soon the day will come
When I shall be

Rapt with Thy vision in
Eternity.

From Fraser's Magazine.
HOLLY COTTAGE.

CHAPTER I.

the steam-engine. Quiet nooks in this great natural temple, long leafy aisles that have been my favorite haunts for years, are to be sacred no longer to high and holy thought. It may be all well, but Ir is strange how much deeper and more en- I could have wished such changes had not been during is our sympathy with sorrow than with joy. made in my day. Many voices are raised to opMany a cheerful home do I pass in my country pose the making of a railroad through the Forest. rambles, before many a cottage door do I pause to The rich man dreads it may be brought too near watch the merry children at their play; but there his drawing-room windows; the lover of hunting is one house before which I always linger with a fears interruption of his darling amusement; the melancholy interest, and, often as I pass it, I still farmer of small substance trembles for the safety feel the same sinking of the heart when I draw of his cattle; while all talk alike of the injury to near, as I did when it was first deserted years ago, the poor, and the invasion of forest rights. All and when the history of its latest inmates was in good reasons, no doubt; but I have yet another. everybody's mouth. This sadness may spring, I grieve that one more breathing-place for the lover in part, from selfish considerations. In my early of Nature, yet unprofaned by the improvements of childhood I first was led to this cottage; in after man, should be taken away. Perhaps we are years, when the hopes of youth were warm about hardly able to appreciate the influence-ay, and my heart, my favorite ramble was still in this di- the usefulness of scenes like these, appealing to us rection; and now, when childhood and youth have in the midst of a trafficking, ever-moving world, in faded like dreams, I bend my steps hither again, behalf of beauty and of peace. These are romanand count over the treasures I have lost. Alas! Itic notions, I dare say, but I am indulgent to them, may well grieve over my diminished store, and, in for they are all that remain to me of my youth. the exuberant gladness and fertility of summer, this old house seems the only thing that is changed even as I am. But it was not of myself I meant to speak.

Holly Cottage (for by this name was the now desolate habitation once known) stands in the very heart of the New Forest, and on the edge of some enclosed land that once was a stately park. Immediately behind it is a hanging wood of elm and beech, with here and there a tall pine towering above its neighbors. Through this wood and across the cottage garden trickles a little stream, clear and noisy, though now half-hidden by cresses and reeds, and the wood itself is peopled with a large colony of rooks. The cottage contains but four rooms, but its ample porch used to furnish a fifth apartment in summer time, and though the woodbine once trained over it, so glorious in its blossoming season, lies dead upon the ground, yet I love to stand in that spot still, for the view seen thence is one of exceeding beauty. Gentle unduations, clothed in grass and crowned with noble rees, are immediately opposite; while to the left stretches a vista of distant country, blue and hazy, a very dream-land for the fancy; and to the right winds away the long green valley, its termination lost in woods of oak, beech, and holly. Beautiful it is at all times!-when the spring uncurls the fern-leaves, and calls forth verdure on every tree; when the golden furze bloom makes the summer air heavy with its rich perfume, and the crimson bells of the foxglove wave slowly in the evening wind; when the breath of autumn passes over the heathery slopes and bids them blush into beauty; and even in winter, when the old oaks lift their bare branches in the frosty sunshine. Now and then-nay, almost every evening, the deer steal down to feed in the valley, raising their graceful heads if a step comes near, and bounding away over the hill, so suddenly that you might believe you had but fancied they were before your eyes a few moments ago.

Alas! a change is threatened to this lovely forest-land. Through these calm, green recesses, where the poor man's cattle feed beside the stately deer, disturbed by few travellers, a railroad is to be made. These quiet shades, where now rises no harsher sound than the waving of the boughs, the night-cry of the owl, or the hunter's merry shout, will soon be alive with the shrill whistle of

But to return to the cottage. The three noble holly-trees from which it received its name, are still standing on the green before the door; but that green, once so carefully trimmed, is now covered with coarse matted grass. The flower-beds, too, are overgrown with grass and weeds, through which, here and there, a pale and sickly rose struggles to the light, or some half-dead currantbush displays its shrunken fruit. Some of the tiles from the cottage-roof have fallen about the garden, and it is now hardly safe to enter at the open door and tread the uneven floor, for the crazy building trembles at every step. Immediately at the back of the cottage is an opening, (for the gate has fallen from its hinges,) from which a path leads, through the wood I have mentioned, into the park, now let to a farmer. The ground slopes gently upward to the spot on which stood the mansion of a family now passed away from the face of the earth. I can remember when the old house was pulled down. One of its latest proprietors, in grief for the death of his wife and daughters, left forever the home in which they had delighted; and it remained for many years entirely without inhabitant. There was a pleasure-garden before it, surrounded with an iron railing, and entered by a lofty gate between stone pillars, each surmounted by a rampant lion supporting a shield. The garden had been formally laid out, with straight walks and quaintly shaped flower-beds. Here and there was a statue or an urn, often beautified by the blossoms of some wild plant that had twined its light tendrils about it; and a vigorous wild-rose-tree had almost hidden the somewhat ungraceful Naiad who presided over the ruined fountain. There was nothing beautiful in the architecture of the large old house, but many of the apartments it contained were noble in size and perfect in their proportions. In my youth I often made my way into the hall by a broken window. It was a very fine room, with panels of old oak. Over the broad fire-place still hung a picture representing a hawking party, and a few pieces of armor were attached to the walls. Often, standing alone in that deserted house, have I started to hear the rattling of helmet and shield as the wind swayed them to and fro. The gilded mouldings of the ball-room were falling to the ground, and its painted walls already stained with damp. Latterly, the staircase was in so dilapidated a state that

I feared to ascend it; but at one time I used to when she told how the great house had been the range over the whole house, where still were scat-home of Ellen's childhood, and how sadly times tered many relics of the dead. Books, vases for were changed; while the daughter's grief when flowers, pieces of music-graceful mementos of referring to the past was quite unmixed with selthe youth and beauty which had once made that fishness. Many a time has Ellen led me from dwelling joyful-were left, as if to make its pres- room to room, describing scenes long past in siment state seem yet more sad and desolate. In one ple, energetic language, till I have found myself small chamber, commanding a lovely prospect, I weeping with her at the dying words of her favorfound a volume of poems laid open on the window ite Lady Emily, or smiling at sallies of wit that seat, stained by the rain that had fallen upon it once flowed from lips long ago mouldered into through the broken panes. Near it was a glass dust. containing the remains of some withered flowers, and a faded sketch, on which was written the name of Emily Courtland"-frail memorials that yet had outlasted the beautiful being whose hand placed them there.

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From some of the windows at the back of the house was seen the main stream, one of whose branches passed through the wood on the edge of the park, and across the garden attached to Holly Cottage. This stream formed a beautiful feature in the landscape, flowing through rich, green meadows with a strong and rapid current, and sending its sweet music to my ear many and many a time as I sat musing in the neglected mansion. Perhaps it was then and there that I learned to be a dreamer and a moralizer; but I was young and in youth, in very wilfulness, we seek out sadness as eagerly as in later years we long to cast it from

us.

But a change came over all this. One day when I went (as had become my almost daily custom) to see Ellen, I found her and her mother in a state of bustling confusion, in consequence, as the former told me, of the unexpected arrival of young Mr. Courtland. This gentleman was the grandson and heir of the proprietor of the estate, which he had never before visited, and he had now come down for a week's fishing on his grandfather's property. He had asked Mrs. Matley to let him have a room in her house during his stay, and she was doing her utmost to make him comfortable. It seemed all very natural and proper, so I e'en walked home again, catching, as I went, a glimpse of a young man in fishing costume, following the windings of the little stream through the wood.

When ten days had passed, believing the stranger must have taken his departure, I visited the cottage again, and, finding nobody at home, ] In those days there was little about Holly Cot-passed into the park, and walked on till I reached tage in harmony with the melancholy of the the bank of the river at the back of the mansion, "great house." It was then occupied by a widow, when I suddenly heard voices near me. I turned who had formerly been housekeeper to the Court- and saw Ellen with a young man, who could be land family, and her only daughter. The mother no other than Mr. Courtland, seated under the I did not like there was something mean and trees within a few yards of the spot where 1 cringing in her over-acted respect to those whose stood. They did not see me, and I watched them station in life was at all superior to her own, and in silence for a few moments. The young man whenever she spoke to me, I found myself trying was speaking, gazing earnestly all the while on to guess at the motives that prompted her. There the beautiful, blushing face of his young companwas a want of simplicity in all she said that im-ion; and Ellen, who did not answer him a word, pressed me with a belief there was also an absence listened with a quiet smile, as she idly plucked the of truth; and the expression of her keen, grey eyes and demurely puckered mouth seemed to me albeit not given to unkind suspicions-full of cunning and duplicity. Her daughter, Ellen Matley, was the very reverse of all this. Simple, ingenuous, affectionate, she won at once my confidence and good-will, and by degrees I became a constant visitor at the cottage, often taking Ellen on with me to wander in the park. I found her always a pleasing companion. The last mistress of Courtland Park had been fond of her, and Ellen had lived much with the young ladies, sharing the instructions they received, so that her education and manners were quite those of a lady. She was very beautiful, her features were regular, and the expression of her countenance varied with every emotion. Her enthusiastic admiration and love of all that was noble or beautiful interested "Is this wise, Mrs. Matley ?" I asked. "I me from the first, and it was my delight to read to know Ellen to be pure and innocent; it is not that her some touching poem, or relate some deed of I fear her acting in a manner unworthy of herself, heroism, that I might see reflected in her speaking but are you not running a fearful risk of destroyface the earnest feelings kindled in her heart. Iing your child's happiness forever, by permitting thought not of the dangers to which, through her trustful and enthusiastic temperament, she might afterwards be exposed; I enjoyed wielding the power I possessed over her mind, and did not trouble myself with fears for the future.

Different as were the characters of mother and daughter, they yet were warmly attached to each other. Sometimes I thought there was a shade of disappointed ambition in Mrs. Matley's manner,

flowers that grew around her and threw them into the stream. I thought neither might wish for the presence of a third person, and so I turned unperceived away; but in spite of the pleasantness of that scene, I felt uneasy and anxious, and at the end of a week I went again to look for Ellen, and ascertain how matters were going on. I was on the eve of departure for a visit of some weeks to a relation at a distance, and I determined, if unable to speak to Ellen on the subject, at least to say something to her mother on the folly, if not the impropriety, of her encouraging an intimacy between her daughter and Mr. Courtland. As I expected, I found Mrs. Matley alone. The young stranger was, she said, fishing in the park and Ellen, as I drew from her with difficulty, had gone to carry him his luncheon.

this constant association with one who appears in every way likely to win her affections? He is evidently struck with her beauty and sweetness, and will stay here so long as she amuses him; but when he is weary of this quiet life, he will go back to the world and forget her, leaving her to pine here, every hope withered, every kindly feeling blighted-perhaps, forever. And can you as a mother, stand by and see all this misery threat

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