one of many, which, more than probably, were in the hands of some roving Hulan, or resting quietly in the debris of some baggagewaggon.

CHAPTER XXX.

Here is her letter, writ with bitter words.
This should be blood, not ink. Gonsalez, see,
How sharper than the dagger's point, than gall,
Than the keen falchion's edge; how heavier far
Than iron manacles, a few sad words
May smite upon the heart.

Phineas Webb.

66

THIS letter was of a nature to awake all his feelings, if they had slept. "I mentioned in my last," it began, "my surprise at Philip Courtney's marriage. Yet I will own, that notwithstanding the prejudice which I had Aimbibed against his young wife, principally from her unlucky choice "

"Unlucky," mused Vaughan, "heartlessguilty these would have been the appropri ate terms.""There is yet something about this graceful woman, which renders it almost impossible to deny her one's esteem.""Esteem," cried Vaughan; "she forfeited all claim to the esteem of man or woman,

even of her miserable and culpable husband, when she consented to receive him; even with my mother she is Catherine no longer."

"I have before mentioned to you," continued the letter, "that having to seek a new abode, and my passion for a country life being as strong as ever, I have at length fixed myself in the village where your uncle resided, as the next most familiar place in my recollection. The Courtneys have just come down here for the summer. Young Mrs. Courtney's affability and unaffected sweet

ness

"Sweetness! ay, so it is," murmured Vaughan, with a sad smile of recollection"have won all hearts. Chance has thrown them often in my way, and I cannot deny that I have caught the general feeling."

Vaughan laid down the letter in sudden disappointment. "Are all women then alike, all destitute of firmness, young and old; all vacillation, incapable of retaining even a just resentment ?” He returned to the letter. "Especially," observed Mrs. Vaughan, "as I have strong grounds for believing that she was urged, nay, even compelled to this illassorted union by her father. I grieve for her situation; I grieve for the companionship which she has chosen; it is plain that she is not blind to the dark and repulsive features of her husband's character." 19 *

VOL. II.

"Had she not time to think of this before?" cried Vaughan, at once grieved and offended; "was not their acquaintance long enough. If she could be blind, she was blinded by vanity, by inconstancy, by ambition, and deserves to feel."

The letter concluded thus-" She has made many advances towards an intercourse, which I have hitherto avoided; but I will frankly confess, that in this I am making a sacrifice to your injured feelings. My dislike of Courtney continues unabated; but my heart would yet lead me to his very interesting bride, and I wait only your ap proval."

"Can all this be?" cried Vaughan, giving way to an agitation which he had so long laboured to subdue. "This woman has destroyed my happiness. Yet for some trivial taste is sacrificed that honest pride and justified disdain which would have renounced them for ever."

He wrote a few lines in reply. It was the briefest and least affectionate letter that he had ever addressed to her. "Be it as you will, my dear mother, I can have no right to object to any friendship which you may wish to form; but I implore you, that your hand may not be the first to open those wounds which can hope for an effectual cure only by my ceasing to hear of those who have in

flicted them. And now," said Vaughan, as he closed the letter, "my account with the world is completed. I knew that this marriage was to be. Why does the blow fall thus heavily! Was I mad enough to hopecould I think that a touch of human feeling would have arrested her at the very altar! Catherine-traitress! I have pronounced your name for the last time !”

CHAPTER XXXI

Death has been here, and with his armed heel
Has trod out noble lives. Look on that face
That was the merriest rover in our camp,
He sat but yester-even in my tent,

And wagered on our years to come. Look there,
Another loose his morion. In that eye

Was yesterday a light that laughed at fate,
And now the dust will shroud him.

Phineas Webb.

THIS was the memorable period of Waterloo. It would be idle to repeat the details: of a day familiar to the English heart, and which will stand before the eye of future ages among the noblest exploits of manly counsel and heroic valour.

The greatness of the stake; the renown of the two leaders, themselves the guiding spirits of European war; the character of the armies meeting to decide the military eminence of the two most warlike nations of the earth; all placed Waterloo in the foremost rank of national glories.

But when the glow of combat was over, the scene was one of undissembled pain and sorrow, Every man had lost some friend; and as the line, which had advanced to complete the rout of the French, returned through the field, the most bitter recognitions occurred in the trampled forms and ashy faces that they had seen rushing forwards a few hours before in the ardour of assured victory.

As Vaughan's regiment moved down to wards the highway, in rear of the memorable Château de Goumont, he was roused by the voice of an officer, whom a soldier had just lifted on his shoulders to carry to the hospital." Have we gained the day?" were the first words which he uttered on being released from a pile of dead. "Ay, captain," said the soldier; "and only that I saw where your honour fell, you would have been with many a fine fellow that this day has cost." The officer clasped his hands with a faint effort of triumph, and relapsed into insensibility.

The soldier laid his gallant burden on the