CHAPTER I.

MAG SMITH, MY MOTHER.

Oh, Grief beyond all other griefs, when fate
First leaves the young heart lone and desolate
In the wide world, without that only tie
For which it loved to live or feared to die;
Lorn as the hung-up lute, that ne'er hath spoken
Since the sad day its master-chord was broken!

MOORE.



LONELY MAG SMITH! See her as she walks with
downcast eyes and heavy heart. It was not
always thus. She HAD a loving, trusting heart.
Early deprived of parental guardianship, far
removed from relatives, she was left to guide her
tiny boat over life's surges alone and inexperi-
enced. As she merged into womanhood, unpro-
tected, uncherished, uncared for, there fell on her
ear the music of love, awakening an intensity of
emotion long dormant. It whispered of an ele-
vation before unaspired to; of ease and plenty
her simple heart had never dreamed of as hers.
She knew the voice of her charmer, so ravishing,