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after this mournful bereavement.

He who has known the sudden loss of a similar treasure can recollect his own; and he who now enjoys the communion of unreserved affection may imagine what his would be, should that communion be unexpectedly severed; but to him who is a total stranger to those endearing ties which

"Heart to heart, and mind to mind,

In body and in soul can bind,"

the feeble powers of language could give but a very faint idea. His hopes, his prospects, his resolutions, and his Ellen, were buried in the same sad grave.

When arrived in England, he respectfully declined the partnership that had been offered him; and, following his early attachment to the Catholic ministry, procured an admission into the College of St. Omer's. Before, however, he had taken orders, the death of his mother left him the enjoyment of the little estate on which he resided till his death. He built on the site of the old mansion a neat Gothic edifice, which the still pleasing reflection on unforgotten affection prompted him to name after its hapless object. Here, surrounded by the beauties of nature, and amused by his books and the company of the youths it was his delight to instruct, his mind at length assumed a cheerful serenity, which continued to the close of his mortal existence.

I have nothing more to add to this mournful history;

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but must now beg pardon of the reader, if in the warmth of friendship I have detained him too long at the threshold of this little work, the offspring of the leisure labours of the late amiable inhabitant of Stanley Priory.

F.

THE HORN BOOK.

FROM THE GERMAN OF K. G. PRATZEL.

LEARNED gentlemen, who drive the trade of authorship, will undoubtedly be surprised to see a common weaver busy himself in their matters. But without paying any attention to them, I shall begin, gaily and cheerfully, the history of my life. One of the first things I remember is, that I was seized, when about seven years old, with a sore disease, which 1 afterwards learned was the small-pox. It marked my visage very deeply, and left behind the seeds of a disorder, which cost me and other people much trouble to cure. My head was rendered so weak, that I fell asleep when any body attempted to talk to me of books and learning.

Reading was a sore trouble to me; and, without carrying my modesty too far, I may say, that at my twelfth year I still found it necessary to spell a few words. I will not raise suspicions of my fitness for authorship, by referring to the period when my letters first became legible. For the rest, however, I am healthy as a roach,

and enjoy a happiness that does not need to be increased, but only continued. People even assure me, that the marks of the small-pox do not distort my features, but only serve to give me a sounder appearance at some little distance. I regard this, however, as good-natured flattery, and am convinced that a smooth red face would add to my beauty.

On the last page of my Horn Book stood a red cock, which I could not look at without reverencing, notwithstanding, as a work of art, it was one of the rudest productions of wood engraving. If I brought from school a testimony of good behaviour during the day, I was sure to find, on the following morning, a small piece of money on the cock, which my mother told me was a gift from him to reward my good conduct, and encourage me to persevere. Such friendly means could not fail. I opposed with all my might when any of my mischievous school-fellows sought to entice me away; and continued to spell with such perseverance, that the veins of my head sometimes swelled. I became by this means the favourite of my teacher, Mr. Ezekiel Quartz. Some quarrelsome envious fellows named me the Walking Horn Book; but I did not mind this, for I enjoyed, among the orderly and well-behaved, the reputation of being the best boy in the village.

With the presents I obtained so honourably from the red cock, I always ran straight to the nearest shop, and bought a new, and sometimes a warm, cake of ginger

bread, which I usually shared with Lina, who generally took care to wait for me at the garden gate when she saw me returning. She was the only child of our neighbour, a poor widow, who earned her daily bread by running on errands, and was never off her feet from morning till night. While she was tramping from village to village Lina sat at the spinning wheel, and laboured as constantly as I did at my book, though without being so well rewarded. She was at that time, as she still is, the ornament of the village. Her good nature, and the dimple on her chin, pleased everybody. On my return from the pastry-cook's, such a friendly smile spread over her whole face, that I was sometimes obliged forcibly to turn away my eyes, in order not to give the cake unbroken into her hands. Godfred," said she, as we sat near one another devouring our gingerbread, "when we are bigger we will be married, and we will live as if we were in heaven-nothing but gingerbread and seed cake!" This pleased me, and I resolved to keep friends with the red cock; and thought to myself, that with time would come the means of fulfilling our wishes.

In my thirteenth year I was taken from school, and placed apprentice to a weaver, who was a relation and friend, and who promised to remember my weak state of health in appointing me my task. As I was to leave my mother's house, I thought of nothing so much as how to give Lina something in place of the gingerbread she would no longer receive. A red cock, like the one in

VOL. I.

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