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again and again. "How happy I should be,” I thought, "in this lovely spot, and perhaps the daughter-dare a man at first acknowledge, even to himself, that he is in love?—And why should I not be happy?"

I am married-need I say to whom?—and the white-washed cottage, with its mossy thatch, have the same attractions for me-nay, more, for it is endeared by the ties of love, of kindred, and of happiness. I have lived in it nine years; my children flock around me, my wife loves me, and her father is happy in seeing her happy. is flourishing in his business, and

family are dissatisfied, or in want.

Her brother

none in our

Often do I

thank God for my blessings, and look back with pleasure to the day when I passed the Falls of Ohiopyle.

A

སང

THE ENGLISHER'S STORY.

When we shall hear

The rain and wind beat dark December, how,
In this our pinching cave, shall we discourse

The freezing hours away?

CYMBELINE.

THE ENGLISHER'S STORY.

I am dead to all pleasures, my true love is gone

O willow, willow, willow!

O willow, willow, willow!

Sing O the green willow shall be my garland!

OLD SONG.

Ar the latter end of the year 1819, I accepted an invitation to pass a week at the habitation of a friend, in Scotland; and, accordingly, made all due preparations for the journey, and took my place in the vehicle, which commences its periodical excursions from the small town containing my residence. It is not needful to describe the busy preparations for the event, the fidgeting of my aunts (for I am blessed with three!), the rising at four o'clock to set off at seven, and the endless

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