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THE AUTHOR'S DAUGHTER.

eyes off his face, as she traced the likeness of the fair slight lad through the changes that had converted him into the strongly-made, handsome, embrowned, and bearded man.

"Oh! the eyes are the same, but there are lines about them that I was not used to see," she exclaimed; "and I can scarce recognise the smile with all that hair about your face; but it is George, my own George. My son was lost, and he is found."

"Yes, it is him really come home in the body, Sarah, in spite of all your forebodings of shipwrecks and unknown dangers. I knew he'd turn up without fail, after he had wrote that he was coming. Ah! George, my lad, you'll see great changes in us too, and in the parish as well," said Mr. Copeland.

"No more than I ought to be prepared for," said George. "Mother looks thin, but still she is just the same in every other respect, and you are a little heavier than you were, father, but as erect as ever. With a horse up to your weight I fancy you could ride to cover as well as any one in the county yet. But let us not be altogether taken up with ourselves. Mother, this is my dear good wife. Let Jessie be a daughter to you. He put their hands together. The mother