additional bitterness to his reflections, when he thought of the difference in their respective situations. Poor, friendless, and dependent, a labourer working for his daily bread, how could he hope to gain the wealthy farmer's consent to a union with his daughter? and without _that_ consent, she had said that, much as she loved him, she never would be his. Prompt and impetuous, his resolution was soon adopted; he could not bear suspense, and was determined to put an end to it at once. He told his master all; told him that he could not bear to deceive him; that he loved his daughter, but that he was well aware it would be madness and presumption in him, situated as he was at present, to hope for his approval of his passion; that he could not live in the presence of the object of his hopeless affection; but that he meant to depart, and to endeavour, by his own exertions in some other sphere of life, to remove what he hoped was the only bar to his wishes--his poverty; his birth and education, he said, were equal to her own, and he trusted that his master had never had occasion to think otherwise than well of his private character. The good farmer was much surprised and affected by this disclosure, and, in reply, spoke in the warmest terms of commendation of his young friend; but said that, as a prudent father, he could not think of giving his consent to a union which the want of means might render an unhappy one to both parties; and that, much as he esteemed him, and grieved as he would be to part with him, he perfectly agreed as to the propriety and necessity of his departure. Next day, followed by the tears and good wishes of all the inmates of the farm, he left the house, a sorrowful but a sanguine wanderer. He had met his mistress before his departure; their parting was sad and tender. He vowed unwavering constancy and attachment, but would not accept an offered pledge of the same kind from her, leaving her free, he said, to think of or forget him. He told her he felt he was meant for better things; that brighter days would come; and that then he would return to prove that he was worthy of her. His intention, he said, was to go to sea; he had always a secret liking for it; and in the war which was now raging, he had no doubt that opportunities of distinguishing himself would present themselves. He was determined to do his duty steadily and perseveringly; her image would be ever present with him, to cheer him in the hour of danger, and to nerve him to exertion. With such a prize in view, he said, he felt confident in his own resolution, and was sanguine in his hope that fortune would eventually smile upon him.