awaited him on his return home. His wife, with whom he had lived very happily for many years, -his pride being continually gratified by the attention which her beauty and conversational powers attracted, was a complete piece of deception, and having ventured too far on his credulity, was entirely unmasked. She had been dreadfully extravagant during his absence, and knew not how to clear herself of debt before his return; so she laid an ingenious plot for swindling, was detected and prosecuted. The consequences involved her husband still deeper in debt, and on his return these embarrassments, with his shame and grief, led him to bury himself in an obscure village, and by an unremitting attention to his profession, endeavor to extricate himself with honor from the pecuniary part of his difficulties.

What induced his detestable wife to inflict the next trial he never told. After a lingering and unaccountable illness, he discovered that he was laboring under the effects of poison, which his wife was administering, a little at a time, in almost everything he took. As soon as he admitted a suspicion of the fact, he sent for her brother, who was also a medical man, and they proceeded to analyze some coffee which his wife had just presented to him, with the most endearing persuasions to drink it. A quantity of arsenic was clearly discovered. Just then she entered the

room.

He broke forth in a paroxysm of rage and anguish, and ordered her never to appear in his sight again. She retreated to her mother's apartments (an old lady who lived with them, and was seldom able to leave her room,) and there the poor criminal had lived for nearly three years when this account was given to me. She was as effectually confined by fear and shame as if she had been under lock and key. She knew her life was in his hands, but relied entirely on his humanity. He knew that his was not safe a moment, but could not bear to drive her from the shelter of his roof.

It sometimes appeared a mere fable to me that a murderess lived so near to my friend's house, and that the refined, romantic man, whose conversation afforded us so much pleasure, had been driven from society by such undeserved disgrace, such tragic circumstances. He seemed to dread everything that could remind him of his former happiness; the contrast was too strong to be endured. When we remonstrated with him for neglecting literature, and urged him to embellish his retirement with some of its best productions, he replied, "No, I must not, I cannot, I am afraid of being in love with the world again. Since I have buried myself here it has been my study to deaden every feeling, every taste, and to become, if possible, a mere machine."

CHAPTER XXXVII.

W

THE GARDENER'S GRANDDAUGHTER.

HEN Napoleon I. threatened to invade England, and dictate terms of peace from St. James's Palace, a very large militia force was added to the standing-army of the country, and men of all classes cheerfully enrolled themselves in the regiments of their different counties. The drilling was as thorough as that of the regular army, and the discipline as strict. They lived in barracks, and their quarters were frequently changed, to make them more of soldiers and less of citizens. Many fine ladies left luxurious homes and lived either in lodgings in some country town or in the officers' quarters, in the barracks. It was well for those regiments whose officers had their wives with them, for where there was no female society the manners and the morals of the young men were apt to degenerate.

A gentleman whom I knew when he was in middle-life, told me of his experiences when he entered the militia, a stripling of eighteen, as first-lieutenant. He was the youngest officer in the regiment, and was both the plaything and the

victim of his comrades. He was sometimes made to sit on a chair in the middle of the mess-table, after dinner, and drink wine with every one present, until, quite tipsy, he was borne off to his bed. He was much displeased at being so treated, but did not know how to help himself. One day he left the mess-table before the dinner was over, and walked out of the town into a neighboring wood, on purpose to avoid being made to drink wine. Much pleased at having thus foiled his tormentors, he walked on briskly until he came upon a group of young people, which he stopped to admire. Among some hazel bushes was one higher than common, and in its branches was a little boy gathering the nuts and throwing them into the apron of a very pretty girl, who was holding it up to receive them. A slight but well-rounded figure was shown to advantage by her attitude, while her head, thrown back, prevented her luxuriant curls of light hair from hiding her large blue eyes and fair complexion. A small aqueline nose, well-cut lips, and the whitest of teeth, completed her charms. She was a study for a painter. Though no artist, the young lieutenant was transfixed with admiration of this rustic beauty. She and her companion were so engrossed by their nut-picking that they did not observe the stranger, who watched them from a distance, until they had filled their basket and

were going off with it. He then joined them and entered into conversation with the girl. She answered his questions, and put some to him, in a simple, artless way, that well became her. He accompanied her to her home, a neat little cottage surrounded by flowers and vegetables, and left her at the garden-gate. That one interview shaped all his future life. He became extravagantly in love with this Ellen Potter, the gardener's granddaughter; he wooed and won her clandestinely, for she never allowed him to make the acquaintance of her grandfather, knowing that he would forbid any young officer to visit her. Many were the meetings in the wood, and many were the hours spent in the old man's house, when he was absent working in other people's gardens. Lieutenant B

was an orphan, and heir to a small fortune. His guardian gave him a handsome allowance, and that with his pay would support two as well as one; so he resolved to marry the girl of his heart, but to keep it a secret until his regiment should be ordered elsewhere. His brother officers soon discovered that he was in love, but never supposed that he would marry a peasant girl; they thought he was only amusing himself, and they were satisfied with cracking their jokes upon him. Ellen was such a mere child that she knew not the importance of the