was banished, and the ex-major was as happy as fox-hunting and cock-shooting, dancing and drinking, could make him. Yet at times, and it was natural enough, old recollections would cause a sigh. At his brother's jovial board, the memory of the messtable would obtrude itself; and even in the merriest dance, other balls and other beauties would pass in "shadowy review." Sometimes he contrasted the rival belles who now besieged him with his absent loves, and the result was not favourable. Harriette Kirwan, "the Cynthia of the minute," was a glorious, joyous, unsophisticated madcap. All with her was natural and unstudied, whether she sailed through the mazes of a country-dance, or rode with masculine intrepidity to the fastest foxhounds in the county, her light green habit and veil, like a streamer behind, "floating loose as mountain breezes." But Harriette's spirits were at times too exuberant-and when once she flogged a shepherd for letting a field-gate close against the counter of her thorough-bred mare, my father shuddered at this amazonian feat, and felt afraid lest in the married estate this passion for the horsewhip might continue, and in connubial discussion, if all other arguments failed, the devil might tempt her, as a last resource, to try what virtue lay in flagellation. Such was Cæsar Blake's state of feeling, when a letter addressed to him, bearing an English post-mark, was left upon the breakfast-table. The hand-writing of the direction, and the motto and device upon the seal, told that his correspondent was a female. Harriette Kirwan's eyes flashed while she observed the colour rise upon my father's check, as he perused the fair one's billet; and when he rose suddenly and left the room, and afterwards, under some light pretext, declined riding with her to make a morning call in the neighbourhood, her jealousy was confirmed; for Harriette loved him. The letter that interested the major so much, ran thus: "I hardly know in what terms to address you. Still I feel the effort must be made, and that too without farther preface. During many, many months, I have indulged the cherished expectation of seeing you again. You promised this at parting, and I have clung to the hope, until to hope longer would be foolish. "I address you with diffidence; for, in doing so, perhaps I shall incur your contempt. But even that I must risk; and more I can scarcely suffer than I have already done from concealed anguish and suspense. "If I overstep the barrier prescribed by custom to my sex, do not judge of me unfavourably. She who does so, has nothing but the purity of her motives to console her. If she errs, she errs from principle; and while she knows the act may be indelicate, she proudly feels that her honour is stainless as your own. "When I met you, Blake, my heart had never felt any attachment, nor owned warmer impressions than those which natural affections produce. Since then, one object has haunted my imagination-I have thought of you, prayed for you, dreamed of you. If this open and undisguised expression of my feelings offend, I shall be sufficiently punished by your indifference. I have no other fear; I confide my secret to a soldier - my confidence is not mis placed, and I implicitly rely on your silence with regard to this communication. "I may have done wrong in encouraging fancies, which in maturer age I should have known were improper. I may be deemed by you a silly and romantic girl; but this confession would not have been made-this weakness exposed-had not circumstances rendered a disclosure, otherwise indelicate, now, on my part, an imperious duty. "Blake-Oh! that I dare add the epithet my heart suggests-I am addressed by one in every respect my equal: and he is encouraged by my only parent. I cannot love him; my hand he may obtain, but he will have no heart to accompany it. Would I not be wrong, would I not be criminal, did I plight my troth to him at the altar of my God, when my thoughts by day, my dreams by night, wander to another? "With bitter anguish I observed that, for some trifling misunderstanding with your commanding officer, you had in pique retired from the regiment. I know nothing of the causes; it is enough for me that you retired with unblemished honour. How far your circumstances may be affected by this professional misfortune I cannot conjecture; but-why does my cheek glow-why does my hand tremble-why blush at the avowal?-if my small fortune could be an object, it is freely, entirely yours. Would that I could win your heart; mine, alas! is all your own. "Blake― dear, dear Blake-pardon this madness. Alas! I know not what to do: I have no sister to console, no mother to direct me. My father loves me; but he is stern and cold-I dare not confide in him-his very look would kill me. Will you come to me? Ah! no; seas probably divide us: but write to me, dear Blake. If your heart is another's, in mercy tell me so that cruelty will be kindness; then must I tear your image from my heart, though the effort break it. "Farewell, dear, dear Blake. I feel that I have taken a fearful step, and suspense will now be insupportable. If I knew that to love you would be hopeless, vain, criminal, I might forget you. Be candid with me, and if your |