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FAIR TIDE.

A NOVEL.

IN THREE VOLUMES.

BY MISS G. M. STERNE.

Author of "My Village Neighbours," &c.

VOL. I.

London:

T. CAUTLEY NEWBY, PUBLISHER,
30, WELBECK STREET, CAVENDISH SQUARE.

1860.

[The Right of Translation is reserved.]

249, s. 608.

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A STRONG WILL AND A FAIR TIDE.

CHAPTER I.

"Whilst in the sky, black clouds impend,
And fogs arise, and rains descend."

"Thou born to soothe distress, and lighten care,
Lively as soft, and innocent as fair;

Blest with that sweet simplicity of thought
So rarely to be found, and never to be bought-
Of winning speech, endearing, artless, kind;
The loveliest pattern of a female mind-
Like some fair spirit from the realms of rest,
With all her native heaven in her breast,
So pure, so good, she scarce can guess at sin;
But thinks the world without like that within :
Such melting tenderness so fond to bless,
Her charity almost becomes excess."

THERE is a lonely lane in the suburbs of busy London; it lies in the direction of Brompton

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a long lane, which might have been pleasant once, when it cheered the poor, pale invalid who loved to saunter slowly by its pleasant hedges. Yes! it was pleasant once, in days gone by, when decked in gay spring flowers dancing merrily on its banks, nodding and waving to each passing breeze; or when fragrant in the summer evenings with the perfume of the wild rose or scented eglantine, yet it was pleasant to saunter there and listen to the wild birds trilling their matin song; or in the soft summer evenings to leave far behind the dull London smoke and cheer the weary heart amid its shady trees,

for many many a bending lime or wavey or wavey birch grew there then. But those times have passed away; it is long since anything has flourished there. Sometimes a stunted bit of groundsel might peep forth from the crumbling mortar of the walls; but it looked ashamed, and out of place, and never attempted to blossom, but drooped and withered.

A few dirty, desolate looking cottages stand there; before each is a little trodden-down piece

of earth, once called a garden-garden no longer!

Some attempts had been made by the occupiers of two of the cottages to induce the sulky, heavy looking earth to lighten up and become more comely; but what had been planted in the day was generally torn up in the night, so after a while all attempts of the kind had been given up, and the earth was left to be trodden down, or dug into holes by the ruthless children who swarmed in this lonely lane, and the muddy water was left to rest where borders once had been-that is, if anything could rest for the noisy, mischief loving urchins who congregated there morning, noon, and night. One of these two cottages had the highest claim to respectability, inasmuch that the curtains of the two small windows were always clean, and so were the windows, too; but who cleaned them was a great mystery.

They must have been cleaned in the night, or very early in the morning, as no one ever saw it done. Or perhaps the fairies brushed them

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