would never trust another civilian. Julia, my love," added the Colonel, turning to his daughter, "If you had been a boy you certainly should have gone into the army, if it was only to keep you free from contamination. Dont laugh, my dear, indeed you should have gone into the army, if I could have managed it; but as matters stand, that unfortunately can't be."

"What a pity it is, dear papa," replied Julia, laughing; "that there is not a female battalion which I could join; I doubt not, we should strike terror into the very hearts of our

enemies."

"If Miss Graham headed such an army, Mars himself would soon be defeated, and would be glad to be made the slave of such victors," said Fanshaw, as he gave an admiring glance at the beautiful girl, whose face was radiant with smiles.

"Well," said the Colonel laughing, "that is all very fine, but depend upon it, if girls could be subjected to military discipline in their youth, there would not be so many insubordinate wives, and consequent unhappiness when they grow up."

"My dearest papa," said Julia, as she rose from the table and kissed his forehead, "a person who did not know you, would fancy from your own account you were a sad martinet, instead of being the most indulgent of fathers."

"Yes, to you, Julia," answered Colonel Graham; "but you know you are a privileged person and a spoilt child," and he affectionately kissed her hand; "but," he added, "I see my doctor has just rode up to the door, so if our guest, and yourself would like to take a walk this charming evening, and leave us to the full possession of our one room, I think it would be a good plan. Is this arrangement agreeable to you, Mr. Fanshaw ?"

"Perfectly so, Colonel Graham," replied the young man, with a glance at his fair companion, and a little more impréssment than was perhaps quite prudent.

There is often something in the peculiarity of circumstances, under which we meet persons that never cease to affect our intercourse with them, besides unfolding, perhaps, in one short hour, or day, the inmost thoughts and feelings of that heart which, under other circumstances, we might not have really known so well in the long acquaintance of years.

It was a beautiful evening in June, when these two young creatures walked forth

"To hold

Converse with nature's charms, to view her stores unroll'd."

But this was no solitude, not even the sweet solitude that the poet extols. It was that most delightful of all society, where two kindred hearts interchange their thoughts and feelings.

Julia had taken the proffered arm of Fanshaw, and reader, you will not I hope be sceptical when I tell you that they both heeded little of which way they were going, and both changed color, when they suddenly, by a turn in the road, met Colonel Graham and an elderly gentleman walking arm in arm.

"How do you do, Fanshaw," cried Sir George Barton, the Colonel's companion, "You have led us a pretty round, we came out with the expectation of meeting you-been fishing again! Eh Fanshaw, but come Graham, you must introduce me to your daughter."

"You see, my dear Julia," said the Colonel laughing, "my aquatic expedition yesterday was to some purpose, for by means of it I have fished up several old friends, that worthy and most skilful chirurgeon, who was called in yesterday, was also exercising his Esculapian powers on a member of my excellent friend's family, and while at his house, mentioned by way of retailing the scandal of the neighbourhood, that a certain follower of Mars had suddenly deserted to the service of Neptune; now the name of this same renegade, happened to possess a local habitation' in the memory of this worthy Baronet, and feeling inclined to clear up the mystery, he rides over to our wayside quarters, and to make a long story short, he finds I am the very man he took me to be, that is to say, an old friend of his own, some twenty years ago."

Fanshaw," said the good-humoured Baronet, "I am very angry with you. Why, in the name of fate, did you not send Colonel Graham and his daughter to Allingham, whether strangers or not, instead of suffering them to remain in that dirty public house? I thought you had a better opinion of my hospitality, but but better late than never,' so just turn back, put up your things, and go over to Allingham to-night. Yes, now, no excuse-this very night; and, added the Baronet, laying his broad hand on Fanshaw's shoulder, "You, my good fellow, put up your carpet bag, have your horse saddled, and ride over by way of avant courier, to tell the good people that we are coming, I must stop here to take care that my detachment don't desert."

"You are very kind, Sir George, but really," began the Colonel. "Nonsense," interrupted the Baronet; "I've proclaimed martial law, and as a military man you ought to know, there's

VOL. I.

M M

NO. XII.

no going against that, now dont stop to parley. Be off, Fanshaw, I consider you my guest too, you know, now dont wait for us, we cant walk fast, but just order the Colonel's carriage when you get to the Inn."

There was no resisting all this: so the evening found the Colonel, Miss Graham, and Fanshaw comfortably domesticated at Allingham. They were received with the greatest kindness by the Baronet's family, the home circle of which consisted of his wife, two daughters and a son.

Lady Barton almost over-powered them with her kind attentions, and her endeavours to supply every supposed wish or want: though it was the middle of June fires were ordered in every room they were likely to be in, and all the remedies for colds that she could possibly think of were prepared for the Colonel. In vain he assured her that he was quite recovered, and that there was not the slightest occasion to fear any bad effects from his accident, "You forget," said he, laughing, "that I am an old soldier, and pretty well seasoned to all the adventures of both "flood and field."

"But my dear Sir," persisted the Lady, "consider at your advanced age, it is really a serious thing to have such an accident as I hear you had yesterday; why, Sir George said just now, you were his senior and he is, let me see he is

66

Stay, Lady Barton, I entreat you," interrupted the Colonel, laughing, "do not make any such disclosure respecting my age, you forget that I am a widower, which is much the same as being a bachelor, or an old maid, and all such people hate having their ages noted down; besides, I really think Sir George made a slight mistake, he ought to have said I was his junior by ten years, and to attest my juvenile condition, Lady Barton, I must positively resist your kind endeavours to make me appear an invalid."

"I really dread the consequence of your imprudence, Colonel Graham," said the good Lady, with a feeling of real concern at the rejection of her various remedies, and turning to Miss Graham, she said, "Is your papa always so perverse, my dear? If so you must find it difficult to manage him, but I suppose all military men are alike, for my eldest son is just the same, one never can persuade him to take care of himself. The tea ready? -very well Wilson-now Miss Graham are you sure you have dined? I should be distressed if you did not tell me candidly. I do hope your father will not find the other room cold,-coming from India too, this climate must be dreadful-Wilson, here

Wilson, close those folding doors;-now, Colonel Graham, a seat next the fire, but I fear you feel a draught from that window. Fanny, my love, do shut it."

"Not on my account I entreat you, Miss Barton, "cried the Colonel," for I am really quite oppressed by the heat, and should be glad to feel the air."

"Good gracious, Colonel Graham, I could not have conceived it possible," exclaimed Lady Barton, in unfeigned surprise," and coming from India too-sugar and cream, Miss Graham? Ah, there is Mr. Fanshaw and Henry coming up the avenue, I wonder where they have been; Henry is always late for meals, I wish he would not be so tiresome. I am sure I shall always be thinking now that he has tumbled into the river. Shall I give you some more water, Colonel ?"

"Not a drop more I thank you, Lady Barton, for like poor Ophelia, I have had too much of it already."

(To be continued.)

PRIDE AND JEALOUSY.

Concluded from page 336.

CHAPTER VII.

It was scarcely a month after the event last narrated when the village upon the verge of which Ormington Lodge stood, was visited by a storm of more than ordinary violence. It was a day in June. The weather had been sultry, and towards evening the sky became overcast with dark, heavy clouds reaching almost to the earth. As the evening deepened, the storm increased in its intensity, and the lightning's flash was instantaneously succeeded by thunder claps, loud in their explosions and long in their reverberations. By midnight the tempest had grown to its height and awful beyond comparison was its grandeur. It made the timid tremble, and the stout-hearted pale. The rain descended in torrents bearing the earth away from the roots of the plants - the wind howled as in fury it swept round the house, its terrors increased by the occasional crackling of the timber which it tore from the trees-the thunder crashed with still more startling bursts, and the lightning glowed with a supernatural vividness. It was a terrible night that twentyeighth of June, one never to be erased from the remembrance.

The very elements seemed at strife, and the roaring of the thunder sounded like the angry voice of an avenger.

And how such a scene speaks to the hearts of men, how it daunts their false courage, and quells their raging passions. Not a taper's ray was to be seen gleaming from the villager's chambers throughout that fearful night excepting here and there one streaming from the abode of sickness or death.

Afraid to sleep or quit their dwellings to breast the terrors of the storm without-and equally fearing to remain beneath the cover of their roof-tree lest the lightning should blast it whilst they sought its shelter, the bewildered inhabitants were sorely perplexed. Some hurried to and fro they knew not whythey recked not whither they stood a moment upon their doorsteps, mute and motionless with apprehension, but gazing with earnestness upon the quivering heavens and then returned to pray. Groups formed together and whispered in mysterious and hurried tones the dreams which had disquieted their past night's slumbers, the portents of the present visitation; whilst others gave utterance to their vague and undefined fears of some greater calamity yet to come, of which this was to be regarded only as the prelude.

Amidst this general commotion a stranger-a female-wrapped in a large cloak walked slowly and with staggering steps through the village. No other covering had her fair brow than a light bonnet drenched with the rain and distorted by the violence of the blast. The thin shoes also bore marks of distant travel. She passed on unheeded, apparently with pain, and with a keen glance that denoted a knowledge of the people and of the place. To shield the wanderer seemed to enter into no man's mind, and so, unaided and unsupported she moved onwards.

She had cleared the village and was advancing towards the Lodge when, happening to look abroad, Mr. Ormington beheld the wayfarer tottering to the gate, and he hastened to offer shelter. His hand was outstretched to uphold the travel-worn creature, who fell swooning into his arms. He bore his burthen gently, (for though aged he was hale) to the house, and laying her upon a couch summoned a domestic to her assistance. It was long before his poor guest woke from the state of unconsciousness into which she had fallen. At first she stared wildly about her, but in a moment as she felt the full force of her reason returned, she covered her face with her hands, and turning to the wall like the prophet of old, she wept. When she had recovered from her paroxysm, she looked with an unquiet glance