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It is a fearful trust, the trust of love. In fear, not hope, should woman's heart receive A guest so terrible. Ah! never more Will the young spirit know its joyous hours Of quiet hopes and innocent delights; Its childhood is departed.

" more I see of the world," continued Lavinia, sipping her bohea from a little china cup, that might have served Titania, "the more I am convinced that the principles with which I set out in life are the only ones to get on with. You ought to refer every thing to