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 and Friedbert’s beloved would be eteemed the fairet of brides: Alas, it is gone! the grace of the Grecian maid, the betower of the charms, which enchant the eyes of our youth.’ Here a deponding tear dropped from her roy cheek on her now-white boom, which quite melted the good mother, epecially as he held the weeping of a bride for as bad an omen as the crying of a child in its mother’s womb. Her ympathy queezed out the ecret, which had long tood jut between her lips—for the open-hearted Friedbert had unwarily entruted the loquacious dame with the prize of his tratagem, without adding any account of its properties. He had only deired her to lay it by in a afe place, as a pledge of love he had taken from Callita, enjoining her by no means to hint that he had it in her poeion. The matron, rejoiced at o good an opportunity of eaing her boom of a load which had long lain upon it like a tone: ‘Weep not,’ aid