ELEMENTS OF THOUGHT. CONSCIENCE. WHAT HAVE I TO DO WITH POLITICS?-NOTHING. HE that hath a scrupulous conscience is like a horse that FROM this important question, my countrymen, so weakly is not well broken; he starts at every bird that flies out of and wickedly answered, have arisen all the evils which the hedge. A knowing man will do that which a tender have afflicted the nation through a long succession of ages. The other knows there is no hurt; as a child is afraid to go conscienced man dares not do, by reason of his ignorance. This is the fountain from which not only waters of bitter-into the dark when a man is not, because he knows there is ness, but rivers of blood, have flowed! Did you ever doubt what connexion you had with morals and virtue? And no danger. But if one once come to leave that outloose, as what are politics but that wide system of duties which na-convenience may follow! For thus, suppose an Anabapto pretend a conscience against law, who knows what in tion owes to nation. Politics are to nations what morals are to individuals. They have lately, indeed, been called the principal branch of morals-I think they are more: I hold them to be the great trunk of morals, on which all the other duties depend but as branches. It is only upon a strict performance of these duties that you can expect to be prosperous and happy as a people. Now as war can only be just on one side, it must be murder on the other. The good or evil qualities of all actions depend, not on the number or dignity of the agents, but on their tendency to promote the good of mankind. By this standard must equally be tried the actions of the peasant and the prince. In the guilt or innocence of the present war, as we all con tribute to carry it on, either by personal service, or the taxes which we pay, the declaration of war by the King has deeply involved us. We are bound, therefore, as moral and accountable agents, to examine the justice of the measure. The means of information are at hand, and let me assure you, that when knowledge is a duty, ignorance is a crime. -Gerald." [This was written in warning at the beginning of the ruinous French war, which ended with the restoration of the now expelled Bourbons, and after the grinding National Debt of Great Britain amounted to sums which may be seen in the following curious calculations]:-On the 5th June, 1811, the debt, funded and unfunded, was L.811,898,811, which is equal to 773,236,267 guineas, which at five dwts. eight grains each guinea, weigh 6312 tons, 11 cwts. three quarters, five pounds, one ounce, six drams avoirdupois. Now suppose a waggon and four horses to extend in length 20 yards, and to carry two and a half tons of the said guineas, the number of teams necessary to carry the whole would extend in length 28 miles and 23 yards. To count the debt in shillings, at the rate of 30s. in a minute, for ten hours a-day and six days a-week, would take 2469 years, 306 days, 17 hours, and 30 minutes. Its height in guineas, supposing twenty to be an inch, would be 610 miles, 339 yards, and 9 inches. And supposing each guinea an inch in diameter, they would extend in a right line 12,203 miles, 150 yards, and 7 inches. Moreover, the said guineas would cover in space 3 acres, 2 roods, and 202 yards; and lastly, in shillings, each an inch in diameter, would cover 7319 acres, one rood, and 34 yards. The last wars cost Britain not less than L2,040,000,000 of our money. To aid our conceptions of the vastness of this sum, suppose this money were in gold, and valued at 1..5 per ounce, it would weigh about 14,000 tons, which would load, at three tons each, 4800 waggons; and if in silver, at 58. per ounce, about 76,000 waggons; and allowing 20 yards to a waggon, would reach, in a direct line, about 864 miles. If an ounce of gold can be drawn into a wire of 1000 feet long, the above sum would be sufficient to make a girdle for the whole globe!!! Need we say Joseph Gerald the Political Martyr. tist comes and takes my horse ;-I sue him; he tells me he did according to his conscience; his consicence tells him all things are common among the Saints, what is mine is his, therefore you do ill to make a law that a man who this man? He does according to his conscience. Why is takes another's horse shall be hanged. What can I say to not he as honest a man as he that pretends a ceremony established by law is against his conscience? Generally, to pretend conscience against law is dangerous; in some case haply we may. Some men make it a case of conscience, whether a man may have a pigeon-house, because his pi geons eat other folk's corn. But there is no such thing as conscience in the business; the matter is, whether he be a man of such quality, that the state allows him to have a dove-house; if so, there's an end to the business-his pigeons have a right to eat where they please.-Selden. NOT GUILTY. THERE is some confusion about this plea, and from con scientious scruples men have refused to employ it. Selden says, "A man may plead not guilty, and yet tell no lie ;" not that he is conscious of innocence, but that, "by the law no man is bound to accuse himself;" so that when I say not guilty, the meaning is, "I am not so foolish as to tell you. If you will bring me to a trial, and have me punished for this which you lay to my charge, prove it against me.' RIGHTS OF CHURCH PROPERTY. THE unwillingness of the monks (or any churchmen) to part with their land, will fall to be just nothing; be cause they were yielded up to the king by a supreme hand, namely, Parliament. If a king conquer another country, will deny but that the king may give them to whom he the people are loath to lose their lands; yet no churchman pleases. If a Parliament make a law concerning leather, or any other commodity, you or I, for example, are Farliament men; perhaps, in respect to our own private interests, we are against it, yet the major part conclude it; we are then included, and the law is good.-Selden. BISHOPS. precept; it does not follow that we must have bishops still THERE is no government enjoined by example but by because we have had them so long. All is as the state pleases.-Selden. Heretofore the nation let the church alone, let them do as they would, because they had something else to think of, things, and will have nothing; but grow dainty, and viz. wars; but now, in time of peace, we begin to examine all wanton-just as in a family, when the heir goes a hunting-he never considers how his meat is drest, but takes a curious, he does not like this, nor he does not like that; bit and away; but when he stays within, then he grows he will have his meat drest his own way; or peradventure, he will cook it himself.-Selden. THE STORY-TELLER. THE SOLDIER'S RETURN. SIMPLE is the story that I am going to tell, and lowly are he hero and heroines of it; and perhaps, were I to relate it u their humble language, its interest would be much inCreased: but I dare not do so-lest, while pleasing some, should displease many: therefore, should my readers experience neither interest nor pleasure in the perusal of this tale, I can only exclaim, "I wish you had heard Mary tell it herself!" Fanny Hastings was the daughter of a publican in the Little town of in South Wales. When she was only eight years old both her parents died, and she became dependent on the kindness of an aunt, and on the labours of her own hands, for support; and she soon found sufficient employment to enable her, with the aid of her relation, not only to maintain herself, but to appear better dressed than many girls whose situation in life was not higher than her own. in Fanny was beautiful; so much so, that her beauty was the subject of conversation, even amongst the genteel circles — and many a youth of the same station with herself was earnest to be her accepted lover; but professions of love she listened to with pleasure from one only. Lewellyn Morgan, with his father and mother, and his cousin Mary, was her opposite neighbour. His father was a carpenter, his mother took in plain work, and he himself was undecided whether to follow his father's business or seek a different employment,-when he fell in love with our handsome sempstress. Fanny, whether from coquetry or convenience, always sat by the window at work: it was therefore impossible for her not to observe Lewellyn sometimes,-particularly as he was young, neatly dressed, well made, and as much an object of admiration to the women as she was to the men: besides, his eyes seemed to be often on the watch for hers, and it would have been cruel to disappoint them. tion: on the contrary, he would have felt pleasure in it had not Fanny seemed to enjoy it so much herself; but he saw her eyes sparkle at other praises than his, and he always returned from the parade displeased with Fanny, and dissatisfied with himself. Still he had not resolution to refuse to accompany her every evening to a scene so fatal to his peace: and if he had, he feared that she might resolve to go thither without him; and he was as wretched as an accepted lover could be, when a day was fixed on for a review of the regulars quartered in the town and its environs, and of the newraised militia. "Only think, Lewellyn," said Fanny to her lover; "there is going to be a review!" "And what then?" replied he in a peevish accent, displeased at the joy that sparkled in her eyes. "What then!" rejoined the mortified beauty; "only I I never saw a review in my life." "And I do not know that it signifies whether you ever see one or no," returned Lewellyn, still more pettishly. "I am of a different opinion," retorted Fanny; "and if you do not take me to see the review next week, I know who will-that's all :" and away she walked in all the dignity of conscious and offended power. Nor did she overrate her influence. Lewellyn's jealousy took alarm; he followed her immediately, and with a forced laugh told her that he knew as well as she did who would take her to the review. "Who?" angrily asked Fanny. "Myself," replied her humbled swain," and we will walk together to the heath on which it is to be; it is, you know, only three miles off." "Walk!" exclaimed Fanny; "walk! and be melted with heat, and our clothes covered with dust when we get there! No, indeed! fine figures we should be." "I should not like you the worse, Fanny; and I thought you went to see, and not to be seen," said Lewellyn. "However, just as you please; I suppose you have thought of some other way of going." One day his cousin Mary said sarcastically, "That he did "O yes, we can borrow your cousin John's cart and nothing but look from the window," and as Lewellyn red-horse; Mary can drive me, and you can hire a pony and dened, his father said, “That girl opposite seems a good ride by the side of us.” industrious girl," and his mother added, "I dare say she will make a good wife."-" She is pretty-looking," faltered Mary. "Pretty looking!" cried Lewellyn angrily. Lewellyn, with a deep sigh, consented to the proposal, and even assisted Fanny to conquer Mary's aversion to perform her part of the plan. "I hate war, and all that belongs to it," cried Mary ; believe me, I shall have no pleasure if I go." "But you will give others pleasure by going," said Lewellyn; and Mary consented directly. "She is an angel." A military spirit pervaded the whole town; the industrious artisan forsook his work-shop to lounge on the parade: here, too, the servant girl showed herself in her Sunday clothes; and even Fanny preferred listening to the military band, and beholding the military array, to a quiet walk in the fields with her lover. But the sound of martial music was not the only one that reached and delighted her ear. Praises of her beauty ran along the ranks“ A devilish fine girl! who is she?" was audibly whispered by the officers. Some young men, who had in vain sought Fanny's attention when they wore the plain dress of tradesmen, now took pains to attract her eyes by their dexterity in the manual, and by displaying to all possible advantage the brilliancy of their dress, in order, perhaps, to let Fanny feel the value of the prize which she had rejected; while others, not content with exciting her regret for her cruelty to them, were still desirous of gaining her love; and, unawed by the almost fierce looks of Lewellyn, persisted in making way for her in the crowd, that she might hear the band to advantage. And but too often, Fanny, delighted at the attention paid to her, rewarded it by smiles so gracious, that they conveyed hopes and joy to the bosom of her attendants, and fear and jealousy to that of her lover. Not that Lewellyn was sorry to see the woman of his choice the object of general admira The important day arrived, and Fanny appeared at her aunt's window, ready dressed, long before the hour appointed for them to set off. "How beautiful she looks!" thought Lewellyn, "and how smart she is! too smart for her situation; yet had she been dressed so to please me, I should not have cared for that; but she would not have taken such pains with her dress to please me!" I doubt Lewellyn was only too much in the right; and that though she looked so handsome that he could not help gazing on her as they went along, at the hazard of riding against posts and carriages, this look had something so sad and reproachful, that Fanny, she knew not why, perhaps wished to avoid it; and when he ventured to say, "You would not have made yourself so smart to walk alone with me, Fanny!" a self-accusing blush spread itself over her cheek, and for the first time in her life she wished herself less smart. Eager, therefore, to change the subject of Lewellyn's thoughts, she asked Mary whence arose her extreme aversion to soldiers and to war. "I will tell you," said Mary impatiently, " and then I desire you to question me on this subject no more. My father was a soldier, my mother followed him to battle; I was born on a baggage-waggon, bred in the horrors of a camp, and at ten years old I saw my father brought home mangled and dying from the field, while my mother was breathing her last in the camp-fever. I remember it as if it was only yesterday," continued Mary, shuddering and deeply affected; and her volatile companion was awed into silence. At length they arrived on the review ground; and Lewellyn, afraid lest the horse should be frightened at the firing, made them leave the cart, and then leaning on his arm they proceeded to the front of the ranks. But the crowd was soon so great that Fanny began to find that she was not likely either to see or be seen, and was almost tempted to join Mary in regrets that she had given herself the trouble of coming; when she was seen and recognised by one of her quondam lovers, who, since she had rejected him, had become a sergeant in the militia of the town. Immediately this gallant hero made his way through the crowd; and forcing a poor boy to dismount from a coachbox conveniently situated for overlooking the field, he seized Fanny's unreluctant hand, led her along the ranks, and lifted her to the place, crying out " Make way for a lady!" Surprise, and the suddenness of Fanny's removal, prevented Lewellyn's opposing it; but, as soon as surprise gave way to jealousy and resentment, he prepared to follow them. But it was impossible: the review was begun, and Lewellyn could not leave Mary, lest he should expose her to the risk of being run down by the horses, though his own danger he would have disregarded: he was therefore obliged to content himself with watching the conduct of Fanny at a disance, who, placed in a conspicuous situation, and taugh by coquetry to make the most of it, attracted and charmed all eyes but those of her lover. In vain did Fanny cast many a kind glance towards her deserted companions. She received none in return: Mary yid not, and Lewellyn would not see them; and the pleasure which she experienced was at length, in spite of the qentinual attentions of her military beau, completely damped oe the expectation of the reproaches which she knew she would receive when she returned to her lover, and which her conscience told her she but too well deserved. The review ended, and Fanny was reconducted by the ysung serjeant to the friends whom she had quitted. The iaception which she met with I shall leave to my readers to magine-suffice, that Lewellyn upbraided, that Fanny cried, and Mary mediated, and that they parted the best friends in the world; Lewellyn promising to drink tea at Fanny's aunt's that afternoon, and even to behave cordially to the young serjeant, whom Fanny thought it incumbent on her to ask, in return for his civility. "How pale you look!" exclaimed Mary, running to meet him. "My dear child! you are not well," cried his mother. "We must send for advice for him," said his father; "the poor lad has looked ill some days, and bad fevers are about. If we should lose you, Lewellyn, what would be come of us in our old age ?" Lewellyn tried to speak, but his voice died away; and, leaning on the arm of his father's chair, he sobbed aloud. Alarmed at his distress, but quite unsuspicious of the cause, his mother hung about his neck; his father walked up and down the room exclaiming, "What can have happened? What can this mean?" and Mary, motionless as a statue, stood gazing on him in silence; when, as he took his handkerchief out of his pocket, he pulled out with it the cockade which he had just received from the recruit. ing serjeant. Mary eagerly seized it; and in an instant the truth burst on her mind. "Oh! what does this mean?" cried she in a tone of agony. "How comes this here? Surely, surely, Lewellyn, you have not been so rash as to enlist for a soldier!"" "Is the girl mad!" exclaimed the old man," to suppose Lewellyn would do what he knew would break my heart?" Lewellyn hid his face, and again sobbed aloud. “Would to God I may be wrong!" said Mary, “but I fear" "Mary is always full of her fears," said his weeping mother pettishly; and the old man was beginning anew to chide poor Mary, when his son, summoning up all his re solution, faltered out, "Mary is right!-I have enlisted!" The wretched father tottered into a chair; and, clasping his hands, moved backwards and forwards as he sat, in speechless agony; while the mother threw her apron over "But if I come, Fanny, you promise not to make me un- her face, and groaned aloud; and Mary in silent grief comfortable again by your attentions to him?" "O yes; I promise faithfully to behave just as you wish me; I will be rude to him if you like it." "No I would not have you be absolutely rude, but-" "But why do you ask him ?" said Mary abruptly. "In return for his civilities," replied Fanny. "And a pretty return it will be," cried Mary, "if you behave rudely to him; it surely would have been more civil not to have asked him at all." "Mary is so severe !" retorted Fanny. "And so wise," said Lewellyn, peevishly-" nothing pleases her." "I believe, indeed, my temper is altered for the worse lately," answered Mary, bursting into tears. A profound silence ensued, and lasted till they got home :-then Fanny, seconded by Lewellyn, urged Mary with more than common kindness, for her tears had affected them, to be of the party in the evening. "No," replied Mary;" I had rather not come-I do not like soldiers; therefore, why should I meet them?" And Fanny, wondering at her want of taste, acceded to the propriety of her not coming; but Lewellyn, while he approved of her determination of staying at home, observed to himself," She does not like soldiers!--What a sensible young woman my cousin Mary is !-I wish" Here he stopped; but the violence with which he struck his stick on the ground, and shut to the door as he entered his own house, were sufficient proofs that the conclusion of his sentence would, if uttered, have had some reference to Fanny's admiration of the very people whom Mary disliked. leaned her head on her hands. "Oh! that girl! that cursed girl!" at length exclaimed the father. "This is her doing!" "She knows nothing of it," replied Lewellyn; " and you have no one to blame but me." "I had rather have to blame any one else," cried his father." It is a hard thing to have to reproach one's own child, an only child, too. Oh, Lewellyn! we have not deserved this of you; indeed we have not !" "We will buy him off again!" exclaimed his mother, starting from her chair. "We will spend all our little savings with pleasure to do it!" "You shall have all mine too," cried Mary; and Lewellyn will thank us in a short time, whatever he may do now." "Now, and ever, 1 shall reject your proposal," he re "My child!" said his father, grasping his hand, and bursting into tears, "do you think 1 have lived long enough? Do you wish to kill me?" Lewellyn could not answer; but he threw himself on his neck, and sobbed aloud. "Have we found our child again?" said his mother, taking his hand tenderly between both hers; and Mary, timidly approaching him, cried-" Dear cousin! why should you be a soldier? If you should be sent abroad, Lewellyn;-if you should be killed, what would become of?" Here her voice faltered; and, as both his parents at this moment folded their arms round him, Lewellyn's resolution was shaken; and he was listening with complacence to their renewed proposal of purchasing his discharge, when, as he raised his head, he saw Fanny at her window, talking with smiles of complacency and glowing cheeks to a recruiting serjeant: and as she spoke she played with the tassel of his epaulet, and seemed to be admiring the beauty of the uniform. This sight hurried the unhappy Lewellyn into all his wonted jealousy, and counteracted entirely the pleadings of filial piety in his heart. "My lot is cast !" he exclaimed, rushing to the door :— "For your sakes, I wish it were a different one: but I am resolved, and nothing can shake my resolution.” So saying, he left the house: but he did not go in search of Fanny, who had, he observed, left the window; for he felt dissatisfied both with her and himself, and was at that moment ashamed to prove to her the extent of her influence over him, by telling her that he had become a soldier for her sake. He therefore hastened into the fields, and took a long and solitary ramble, in hopes to compose his feelings, and enable him on his return to meet the just reproaches of his parents with more resolution. As soon as he thought that his firmness was sufficiently restored, he returned to the town; when, as he approached it, he saw Fanny leaving it in a market-cart driven by a young man. She did not see him; and, overcome by a variety of emotions, he felt unable to call to her loud enough for her to hear him; and, wretched and disappointed, he reached his own house. His first inquiry was, whether Fanny had called during his absence; and he heard, with anguish, that she had not: and his pride being completely conquered by affection, he went to her aunt's house immediately to know whither she was gone, and found she was gone to spend two days with a friend of hers in the country. And gone without letting me know it, or taking leave of me!" he exclaimed-" Oh, Fanny !" But Fanny was in this case innocently blamed; and when she heard of the enlistment she was in great distress, especially when told it was to recommend himself to her love. "To please me!" cried Fanny:-" I solemnly declare that this rash deed was wholly without my knowledge, and quite contrary to my wishes." "Indeed!" cried both the parents. * Indeed-so help me God !" "Then you are willing," said Mary, "no doubt, to use all your influence to prevail on him to let us buy his discharge." "I am I am!" returned Fanny in a hurried manner; and the poor old people folded her fondly and gratefully to their hosom. "But how will he look a year hence ?" said Mary, with a sigh. "How? Why, just the same, to be sure." "But suppose he should be ordered abroad?" replied Mary. Fanny started, and turned pale, exclaiming, "Bless me, Mary, you are such a croaker!" She had time for no more Lewellyn was at the foot of the hill; and Fanny, running down it like lightning, arrived just time enough to clasp her lover's extended hand as he passed, and gaze on him with a look which well rewarded him for all that he had suffered. "Come, Mary, let us follow them," cried Fanny. "Presently," she replied, slowly descending the hill. "You are so slow," said Fanny; "I dare say Lewellyn will get to his father's house before us." "Before one of us, perhaps." "Well, that will seem very unkind to him, I am sure." "No, he will not miss me, I am sure," returned Mary, wiping away a tear; "he did not even see me as he passed; he had no eyes but for you, Fanny." But Fanny was out of hearing before she finished the sentence, and she did not overtake her before she reached the town. The meeting of the lovers after this, their first separation, was a moment of such true joy to both, that, alive only to the pleasures of affection, they thought not of its pains; and Fanny forgot her anger, Lewellyn his jealousy, while both seemed unconscious that the will of government might, in a few hours, doom them to a long if not an eternal separa. tion. These fears, however, though strangers to them, were only too present to the minds of the unhappy parents and Mary: when Fanny and Lewellyn, not liking to have their joy damped by the sight of melancholy faces, went out to take a walk; and Fanny, leaning on the arm of her now military lover, led him in triumph, as it were, through the streets of his native town. When they returned, the father and Mary took Fanny on one side, asked her whether she had begun to persuade Lewellyn to leave the army again: and Fanny, blushing deeply, replied — "No: but that it was time enough yet;" and again she was alive only to the satisfaction of the mo ment. Another day passed, and still she was too proud of her lover's appearance as a soldier to endeavour to persuade him to be one no longer; and when spoken to on the subject, she replied, that it would be time enough for him to try to get discharged when he was ordered to a distance, or to go abroad. "No!" cried Mary indignantly ;-" should he be or Fanny now found her voice again, and began to ask se-dered to go abroad, I should despise him if he wished then veral questions concerning the hasty, ill-advised step which to be discharged: for, though I value Lewellyn's life, I her lover had taken. She inquired the name of the regi- value his honour more. No; he must gain his discharge ment; and being told, she eagerly exclaimed-" What! in now, or never!" that regiment !—the uniform is scarlet turned up with deep blue and gold!-Oh, how handsome he will look in his rerimentals!" she added, wiping her eyes, and smiling as she spoke. The poor old man frowned, and turned away; and Mary shook her head: but the mother, with all a mother's vaLity, observed-"True, child, he will look handsome, indeed; and more like a captain, I warrant, than many a one that's there!" And Fanny, in the thought of her lover's improved beauty, forgot his absence, and all sense of the danger to which his new profession would expose him. Mary and Fanny went next day to see a detachment in which Lewellyn marched. As they ascended a hill, a drum and fife were heard. The destiny of Lewellyn was speedily fixed; and when too late, Fanny urged him to get off, though on terms derogatory to his honour, and to which he would not yield. The hour of his departure now drew nigh. In vain did he endeavour to keep up his spirits, by telling Fanny that he hoped to distinguish himself so much, that he should return a non-commissioned officer at least. His sanguine descriptions caused Fanny to smile, through her tears, with joyful anticipation: but they could not make him smile himself; nor could they call one smile to the pale lip of his cousin Mary. Her grief seemed so deep, so rooted, that Lewellyn felt almost angry with her for feeling more than Fanny did; and sometimes a suspicion that her love for him exceeded the love of a relation darted across his mind and awakened there no pleasant sensations. At the moment of his leaving the parental roof, and "Come, Mary, let us run and meet them," cried Fanny, joyfully; but Mary languidly exclaimed, "I can go no fur-when his parents, convinced that they should see him no ther!" and sat down on the ground: and Fanny consoled herself by reflecting that from the hill she could see them pass better than by standing on the level road. At length Fanny beheld Lewellyn; and in a transport of joy she exclaimed, "See, Mary, there he is! there he is!Oh how handsome he looks! but I knew he would!" more, had just folded him, in speechless agony, in a last embrace, he wrung Mary's cold hand, and said, pointing to his father and mother" I bequeath them to your care, Mary." That was quite unnecessary," she replied, half reproachfully. "And Fanny, too," he added, in a fainter voice. "There was no need of that, either," she returned:you love her, that's enough!" "Mary, dear Mary!" cried Lewellyn; but she had left the room. It so happened that a friend of mine was passing a bridge near Lewellyn's native town as the regiment were crossing it, in their way to the place whence they were to embark; and, being obliged to stop to make way for them, his attention was attracted by the violent and audible grief of Fanny, who was walking by the side of Lewellyn; by the settled wo visible in his countenance, and by the still more touching, though quiet, distress expressed by Mary. "Those two young women are that soldier's sister and wife, I presume!" said my friend to a bystander. "No, sir;-one is his cousin, and the other his sweetheart," was the answer. “Oh then, that pretty pale girl, who says nothing, but looks so very sad, she is his mistress, I conclude ?" continued my friend. "Oh, no, sir, she is only the cousin!" returned the man. "I wish she had been the mistress!" observed my friend, "for her grief seems to me to be of the more lasting nature." Soon did Fanny forget her lover, though at first her grief was violent. Again she was displaying her beautiful face at military parades, and receiving the homage of her numerous admirers: yet she was pleased when letters came from him from Holland. In the course of the winter his father died half-broken hearted, and his widow fell into a kind of harmless insanity, in which she imagined her son was a great man; and every day she would be dressed to go out to meet him returning from battle and conquest. It was only on her death-bed her senses returned; and she blessed the kind and attentive Mary, and with her left a mother's blessing for her son. "Oh! how happy I shall be," said Mary to herself, " to tell him, should he ever return, that they blessed him in their dying moments." One evening, after they had been dead some months, and when Mary had, as usual, visited their graves to strew them with fresh flowers (as is customary in many parts of Wales,) and weed the little garden which she had planted on them, instead of returning home she sat herself down on a wooden bench at the entrance of the churchyard, which commanded a view of the town; and as she listened to the distant and varied sounds which reached her ear from the barracks, and a crowded fair about a mile distant -time insensibly stole away, and, lost in her own thoughts, she was not conscious of the approach of a stranger, till he had reached the bench and was preparing to sit down on it. Mary started ;—but, with that untaught courtesy which the benevolent always possess, she made room for the intruder to sit down, by removing to the other side of the seat. Neither of them spoke; and Mary insensibly renewed her meditations. But at length the evident agitation and loud though suppressed sobs of the stranger attracted her attention to him, and excited her compassion. "Poor man!" thought Mary, "perhaps he has been visiting the new-made grave of some dear friend:" and insensibly she turned towards the unhappy stranger, expecting to see him in deep mourning; but he was wrapped up in a great coat that looked like a regimental one. This made Mary's pity even greater than before; for, ever since Lewellyn had enlisted, she had lost her boasted insensibility to soldiers and their concerns. "He is a soldier, too!" said Mary to herself: "who knows but?" Here the train of her ideas was suddenly broken; for an audible and violent renewal of the stranger's distress so overset her feelings, already softened by her visit to the grave of her relations and the recollections in which she had been indulging, that she could keep her seat no longer besides, conscious that true sorrow loves not to be observed, she felt it indelicate to continue there: but, as she slowly withdrew, she could not help saying in a faltering and compassionate tone, "Good evening, sir-and Heaven comfort you!" At the sound of her voice the stranger started-"'Tis she!'Tis Mary!" he exclaimed, rushing towards her. Mary turned about on hearing herself named, and in a voice so dear to her; and in an instant found herself clasped in the arms of Lewellyn. To describe the incoherence either of grief or joy is im possible: suffice, that Mary was at length able to arti culate, "We feared that you were dead!" "You see that I am not dead," replied Lewellyn; “but I find that others are." Here tears choked his voice; but, recovering himself, he added, pointing to the grave of his parents, "Oh, Mary! that was a sad sight for me!—I have found much sorrow awaiting me." "You know all, then ?" interrupted Mary with quickness "I know that I have lost both my parents: and I fear my disobedience-my obstinacy-Tell me tell me, Mary, did they forgive me, and leave me their blessing? Many, many a pang have I felt when I thought of my ingratitude and disobedience in leaving them; and in all my hardships I have said to myself, Unnatural child! this is no more than you have well deserved.” "Dear, dear Lewellyn!" cried Mary, "do not grieve yourself in this manner. If my son should ever return,' they both of them said, and they were loath to believe you would not, tell him,' were the words of each of them, that I prayed for and blessed him on my death-bed.” "Thank God! thank God!" replied Lewellyn: and for a few moments neither he nor Mary could speak. At length Lewellyn said, "Fray, whose pious hand has decked their grave with flowers ?" "I did it," answered Mary; and, as she said this, she thought she saw disappointment in the face of her cousin. But her look was a transient one; for she was careful not to let her eyes dwell on Lewellyn's face, lest she should wound his feelings, as the fate of war had sadly changed him. His forehead was scarred, he wore a black patch on his right cheek, and his left arm was in a sling: besides, fatigue, low living, and imprisonment had made him scarcely recognisable, except by the eye of love and friend. ship. He had been left for dead on the field of battle; and, when life returned, he found himself in a French hos pital, whence he was conveyed to a prison, and in due time was released by a cartel. "You see I am dreadfully altered," said Lewellyn, observing that Mary watched her opportunity of looking at him" I dare say you would scarcely have known me?" "I should know you any where, and in any dis guise," said Mary warmly :-" but you seem fatigued: let us go to my little lodging." "I am faint and weary, indeed," replied he, accepting the arm which Mary offered to him as they walked towards the town: "but I am come home to good nurses, I trust, though one of them is dead" (drawing his hand across his eyes as he said it ;)" and my native air and the sight of all i love, will, I doubt not, soon restore me to health.” As he uttered these words he fixed his eyes steadfastly on Mary's face, which she hastily averted, and he felt her arm tremble under his. "Mary!" exclaimed he, suddenly stopping, "you must guess the question which I am longing to ask, but dare not : Oh, these horrible forebodings!Mary, why do you not put an end to this suspense which tortures me?" "She is well," replied Mary, in a faint voice. "And not-not married, I hope?" "Oh! no, no, no-not married,” replied Mary. "Thank God!" exclaimed Lewellyn, and Mary was about to speak, when she was prevented by violent shouts and bursts of laughter from persons approaching them-the path which they were in being immediately across the road which led from the fair. "Hark! I hear singing," said Lewellyn, his whole frame trembling, "and surely in a voice not unknown to me!" "Nonsense!-impossible!" replied his agitated compa nion, violently seizing his arm! "But let us go another way." "I will go no way but this," said Lewellyn, resolutely: and the voice began again to sing a song which, in happier time, had been often sung by Fanny, and admired by Lewellyn. "I thought so;-it is Fanny who is singing!" |