thing ; they give what they most want; and Hannah was of all poor people the most generous. She loved to give; it was her pleasure, her luxury. Rosy-cheeked apples, plums with the bloom on them, nosegays of cloves and blossomed myrtle; these were offerings which Hannah delighted to bring to those whom she loved, or those who had shown her kindnesst; whilst to others, who needed other attentions than fruit and flowers, she would give her time, her assistance, her skill; for Hannah inherited her mother's dexterity in feminine employments, with something of her father's versatile power. Beside being an excellent laundress, she was accomplished in all the arts of the needle, millinery, dress-making, and plain work; a capital cutter-out, an incomparable nender, and endowed with a gift of altering, wbich made old things better than new. She had no rival at resuscitaments, as half the turned gowns on the common can witness. As a dairy woman, and a rearer of pigs and poultry, she was equally successful : none of her ducks and turkeys ever died of neglect or carelessness; or, to use the phrase of the poultry yard on such occasions, of ill-luck.' Hannah's fowls never dreamed of sliding out of the world in such an ignoble way; they all lived to be killed, to make a noise at their deaths, as chickens should do. She was also a famous scholar, kept accounts, wrote bills, read letters, and answered them: was a trusty accomptant. and a safe confidant. There was no end to Haunah's usefulness, or Hannah's kindness, and her prudence was equal to either. Except to be kind or useful she never left her home; attended no fairs, or revels, or Mayings; went no where but to church, and seldom inade a nearer approach to rustic revelry, than by standing at her own garden-gate on a Sunday evening, with her little sister in her hand, to look at the lads and lasses on the green. In short, our village beauty had fairly reached her twentieth year without a sweetheart, without the slightest suspicion of her having ever written a love letter on her own account; when, all on a sudden, appearances changed. She was missing at the accustomed gate; and one bad seen a young man go into Dame Wilson's; and another had even

+ The real • Hannah, going with a sick neighbour to the sea side ; brought, on her return, her little store of shells and sea-weed to the author, and prayed her to accept them. The offering was of course thankfully declined. Oh, do pray take them madam, pray do ; you love flowers, and these seemed like the Aowers of the sea Pray take them: I thought of you all the time I was gathering them, and it was such a pleasure ! There was no resisting her. Are pot those shells precious.

described a trim elastic figure, walking, not unaccompanied, down the shady lane. Matters were quite clear, Hannah had gotten a lover; and when poor little Susan, who, deserted by her sister, ventured to peep rather nearer at the gay groupe, was laughingly questioned on the subject, the hesitating no, and the half yes of the smiling child, were equally child, were equally conclusive. Since the new marriage. act, we who belong to country magistrates, have gained a priority over the rest of the parish in matrimonial news. We (the privileged) see on a work-day the names which the Sabbath announces to the generality. Many a blush. ing, awkward pair, bath our little lame clerk (a sorry capid!) ushered in between dark and light, to stammer and hacker, to bow and curtsey, to sign or make a mark, as it pleases Heaven. One Saturday, at the usual hour, the limping clerk made his appearance; and walking through our little hall, I saw a fine athletic young man, the very image of health and vigour, mental and bodily, holding the hand of a young woman, who, with her head half buried in a geranium in the window, was turning bashfully away, listening, and yet not seeming to listen, to his tender whispers. The shrinking grace of that bend ing figure was not to be mistaken.

* Hannah!” said I, and she went aside with me, and a rapid series of questions and answers conveyed the story of the courtship. William was' said Hannah, a journeyman hatter in B- He bad walked over one Sunday evening to see the cricketing, and then he came again.' Her mother liked him ; every body liked ber William ;and, she had promised, -she was going,—was it wrong? William hay got a room in B- ; he works for Mr. Smith, the rich hatter in the market-place; and Mr. Smith speaks of him, ob, so well! But William will not tell me where our room is; I suppose in some narrow lane or street, which he is afraid I shall not like, as our common is so pleasant. He little thinks any where'-she stopped suddenly; but her blush and her clasped hands finished the sentence,-any where with him.' And when is the happy day?' On Monday fortnight, madam,' said the bridegroom elect, advancing with the little clerk to summon Hannah to the parlor, “the earliest day possible.' He drew her arm through his, and we parted. The Monday fortnight was a glorions morning; one of those rare November days, when the sky and the air are soft and bright as in April. “What a beautiful day for Hannah,

was the first exclamation of the breakfast table; did she tell you where they should dine?' 'No, madam, I forgot to ask.' 'I can tell yon,' said the master of the house, with somewhat of a good humoured importance in his air, somewhat of the look of a man, who having kept a secret as long as it was neeessary, is not sorry to get rid of the burthen. I can tell you,-in London.' In Lon. don!' "Yes, your little favourite has been in high luck; she has married the only son of one of the best and rich: est men in B ; Mr. Smith the great batter. It is quite a romance;' continued he. William Smith walked over one Sunday evening to see a match at cricket : he saw our pretty Hannah, and forgot to look at the cricketers. After having gazed his fill, he approached to address her, and the little damsel was off like a bird. William did not like her the less for that, and thought of her the more. He came again, and again; and at last contrived to tame this wild dove, and even to get an entrance to the cottage. Hearing Hannah talk, is not tha way to fall out of love with her. So William, at last finding his case serious, laid the matter before his father, and requested his consent to the marriage. Mr. Smith was at first a little startled; but William is an only son, and an excellent son; and, after talking with me, and looking at Hannah, (I believe her sweet face was the more eloquent advocate of the two,) he relented ; and having a spice of his son's romance, finding that he had not mentioned his situation in life, he made a point of its being kept secret till the wedding day. We have managed the business of settlements, and William having discovered that his fair bride has some curiosity to see London, (a curiosity. by the bye, which I suspect she owes to you or poor Lucy,) intends taking her thitber a fortnight. He will then bring her bome to one of the best houses in B , a fine garden, fine furniture, fine clothes, fine servants, and more money than she will know wbai to do with. Really the surprise of lord E's farmer's daughter, whep, thinking sh bad married his steward, he brought her to Burleigh, and installed her as its mistress, could hardly have been greater. I hope the shock will not kill Hannah though, as is said to have been the case with that poor lady.' Oh no, Hayoah loves her husband too well. Any where with him.' And I was right. Hannah has survived the shock.

She is returned to B , and I have been to call on ber. I never saw, any thing so delicate and bride-like as she

on. thinking she looked in her white gown and her lace mob, in a room light and simple, and tasteful and elegant, with nothing fine, except some beautiful green-house plants. Her re. ception was a charming mixture of sweetness and modesty, a little more respectful than usual, and far more shamefaced; poor thing, her cheeks must bave pained her. But this was the only difference. In every thing else, she is still the same Hannah, and has lost none of her old babits of kindness and gratitude. She was making a handsome matronly cap, evidently for her mother, and spoke evenwith tears of her new father's goodness to her and Susan. She would fetch the cake and wine herself, and would gather, in spite of all remonstrance, some of her choice fowers as a parting nosegay. She did indeed just hint at the troubles with visitors and servants, how strange and sad it was; seemed distressed at ringing the bell, and visibly shrank from the sound of a double knock. But in spite of these calamities, Hannah is a happy woman.-The double rap was her husband's, a the glow on her cheek, and the smile of ber lips and eyes when he appeared, spoke more plainly than ever any where with him.''



GIPSIES! there's something in your life and looks,

That prompts and pleases the poetic mind :
O'er nature's landscape, mountain, lawn, and brooks,

Ye rose, by no social laws confined;
And when in toil the rest of human kind

Are labouring for their bread like galley slaves,
Ye rest and shelter in the sunny books,

Where at small price the fruits of earth ye have.
For oft when nigbt her murky shadow Alings,
· O'er field and fold, and eyes of husbandman,
Ye steal potatoes, sheep, and other things,

That come within your reach, to feed your clan,
And stop the mouth of swarthy imp thai squalls,
Peeping with owlet eyes from forth your tented walls,


SCOTTISH LAMENT, Ye bonnie bonnie hills, by yon green wood side! Ye wild winding streamlets that murmuring glide! How happy have ye seen me with my lovely bride! But now she's for ever laid low. Thou mavis that sing'st in the gay beams of morn, How pleased did we list to thy voice from yon thory, But now since my Morag's for ever from me torn, Thy song but adds weight to my woe. Ah, Death! cruel Death! could not youth's fairest

bloom, And beauty and virtue arrest thy hard doom? And save my soul's delight from the cold silent tomb, And avert for a while thy fell blow ? Now farewell, ye bills! and ye greenwoods adicu! Ye wild birds, no more can your carols renew My pleasure, for Morag is lost to my view, And my sorrows for ever must flow.


A FRAGMENT. THROUGH barren and deserted wastes, through sands Checkered by no soft resting spot of green; Beneath a burning heaven, the Christian host Pursued their weary march : it was that host, When led by noble Godfrey, took the vow To free Jerusalem ;-the infidels, Already on Dolyleum's field, had bowed Beneath their arms; God and their own good swords Had won the day, and on the Turkish tower The blood-red banner of the Cross was seen Waving in triumph.-Onward still they beld For Antioch; but in Lycoavia's sands Famine and thirst proved sterner foes than war, And sickness, desert-bred, had thinned the ranks More than the Turkish sword; each wearied eye Sought for some stream ; for three days burning suns, With merciless rays, had dried the pulse of life.

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