busy scene, in which they were about to mingle, they would not cease to be companions.

Dr. Lumley's reports of my application and advancement, I imagine, had not been very favourable. I manifested, on all occasions, the strongest predilection for a military life, and entreated Dr. Lumley to make my wishes on this subject known to my father. Never shall I forget the glowing interest with which I read the history of the campaigns of the Great Gustavus, Prince Eugene, and Lord Peterborough. I followed the course of their armies on the map; I drew plans of the battles, and modelled little fortresses, on the principles of Vauban.

In a town about twenty miles distant, I had accidentally heard that a review of the troops of the district was to take place. With what deep, but silent anxiety, did I expect the appointed day! I was too apprehensive of being prevented from gratifying my curiosity, to communicate my intentions to any one. At length the day came, and the dawn of morning found me mounted on my horse, and proceeding, with a beating heart, to the scene of action. It may be conceived what effect the imposing spectacle of pomp and parade, which I there

witnessed, was likely to produce on my excited spirit. It added fuel to the flame that already burned within me, and what Lord Peterborough and Gustavus had begun, the spectacle of this review completed.

My father, however, was not disposed to offer any vehement objection to my entering on a military life. His own views with regard to me had been directed to the bar; but finding I was neither suited by character or inclination for that profession, it was determined I should become a soldier, and that the two years which were to intervene before my obtaining a commission, should be spent in preparatory studies at the Military Academy at Marlow. When Charles, therefore, quitted Doctor Lumley's, I also returned to Thornhill, where it had been arranged that I should remain a few months, after his departure for the University. On taking our leave of the worthy Doctor, "we shed some natural tears, but wiped them soon." In that moment, we even loved Mrs. Lumley, and received her parting benediction with softened hearts, and an oblivion of all the petty annoyances, of which the over-anxiety of that worthy lady, with

regard to our outward elegance of deportment, had sometimes been the cause.

Warm welcome awaited us at Thornhill. The old lions seemed to regard us with looks of peculiar benignity as we passed the gate, where our sisters were waiting our arrival. Jane locked her arms in ours as we walked onward to the house; and little Lucy bounded by our side, with a heart full of buoyancy and glee.

No fountain, from its native cave,
E'er tripp'd with foot more free;

She was as happy as a wave
That dances on the sea.

Hel. Even where Fate leads me-we are all her slaves,
And have no dwellings of our own.

M.

Yes-graves.

Royal King and Loyal Subject.

THE period of Charles's departure for College now rapidly approached, and nothing else could be talked or thought of in the family. All hands were busy, and everything around gave note of preparation. My mother was engaged in issuing, and the housekeeper in executing, orders for a copious supply of every imaginable comfort; Jane, in marking his linen with her own hair, and making little keep-sakes that might recall her often to his memory. Even little Lucy would not be idle, and might be seen seated with unwonted gravity, assiduously employed in hemming his pockethandkerchiefs. By my father he had been summoned to two long audiences in the library; and

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had been furnished with suitable directions and advice, for his guidance in the new circumstances, of the life on which he was about to enter. For myself, I haunted him like his shadow. We rode and walked together, talked of our little griefs and glowing hopes, and bound ourselves by solemn promise, to maintain a frequent and regular correspondence.

There was heaviness in every heart, but most of all in mine. It was now October, and Charles was to return home, for the summer vacation, in June. The very days were counted, and the length of his absence computed to an hour; but I would then be gone, and years might elapse before we again embraced in brotherhood and love. Our separation seemed long and limitless; for, to a boy, the future is an eternity-the past a point.

Thus did all things go on, until the day preceding that fixed for his departure. There is nothing in that day that is not burned deeply and indelibly on my memory. The morning dawned in clouds. Volumes of deep red vapour obscured the rising of the sun, and seemed to presage a day of rain and storm; but at ten o'clock they began to disperse ; and before the sun had attained his meridian, the