misery may be comprised in few words. Poor James's story was soon told.

A young and gay Baronet had, as Lucy knew, taken the manor-house and
manor of Aberleigh: and during her absence, a part of his retinue with
a train of dogs and horses had established themselves in the mansion, in
preparation for their master's arrival Amongst these new comers, by far
the most showy and important was the head keeper, Edward Forester, a
fine looking young man, with a tall, firm, upright figure, a clear dark
complexion, bright black eyes, a smile alternately winning and scornful,
and a prodigious fluency of speech, and readiness of compliment. He fell
in love with Hannah at first sight, and declared his passion the same
afternoon; and, although discouraged by every one about her, never
failed to parade before her mother's house two or three times a-day,
mounted on his master's superb blood-horse, to waylay her in her walks,
and to come across her in her visits. Go where she might, Hannah was
sure to encounter Edward Forester; and this devotion from one whose
personal attractions extorted as much admiration from the lasses, her
companions, as she herself had been used to excite amongst the country
lads, had in it, in spite of its ostentatious openness, a flattery that
seemed irresistible.

"I do not think she loves him, Lucy," said James Meadows, sighingly;
"indeed I am sure that she does not. She is dazzled by his showiness and
his fluency, his horsemanship and his dancing; but love him she does not
It is fascination, such a fascination as leads a moth to flutter round
a candle, or a bird to drop into the rattlesnake's mouth,--and never was
flame more dangerous, or serpent more deadly. He is unworthy of her,
Lucy,--thoroughly unworthy. This man, who calls himself devoted to a
creature as innocent as she is lovely,--who pretends to feel a pure
and genuine passion for this pure and too-believing girl, passes his
evenings, his nights, in drinking, in gambling, in debauchery of the
lowest and most degrading nature. He is doubtless at this very instant
at the wretched beer-shop at the corner of the common--the haunt of
all that is wicked, and corrupter of all that is frail, 'The Foaming
Tankard'. It is there, in the noble game of Four Corners, that the man
who aspires to the love of Hannah Colson passes his hours.--Lucy, do
you remember the exquisite story of Phoebe Dawson, in Crabbe's Parish
Register?--such as she was, will Hannah be. I