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A ROMANCE.

BY THE AUTHOR OF “ WAVERLEY, IVANHOE,” &ca

IN TWO VOLUMES.

VOL. II.

PHILADELPHIA:

JAMES CRISSY, No. 14, SOUTH SEVENTH STREET.

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THE PIRATE.

CHAPTER I.

But lost to me, for ever lost those joys,
Which reason scatters, and which time destroys.
No more the midnight fairy train I view,
All in the merry moonlight tippling dew,
Even the last lingering fiction of the brain,
The churchyard ghost, is now at rest again.

THE LIBRARI.

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The moral bard, from whom we borrow the motto to this chapter, has touched a theme with which most readers have some feelings that vibrate unconsciously. Superstition, when not arrayed in her full horror, but laying a gentle hand only on her suppliant's head, had charms which we fail not to regret, even in those stages of society from which her influence is well nigh banished by the light of reason and general education. At least, in more ignorant periods, her system of ideal terrors had something in them interesting to minds which had few means of excitement. This is more especially true of those lighter modifications of superstitious feelings and practices which mingle in the amusements of the ruder ages, and are, like the auguries of Hallowe'en in Scotland, considered partly as matter of merriment, partly as sad and prophetic ear

And with similar feelings, people even of tolerable education have, in our times, sought the

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