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A CONVERSAZIONE.
(Continued from page 125.)

T so happened, that in all the engagements which took place previous to the decisive battle of Vittoria, Colonel V and his Spanish friend were employed in the same brigade. On this memorable day, the Colonel received a musket-ball, which passed through both his cheeks. Don Alonzo seeing his Colonel fall, immediately gave orders to a Lieutenant and a file of men to carry him to the rear, where the surgeons, assisted by some of the wives of the Spaniards, were stationed to receive the wounded. The Colonel had fainted by the way; and when he recovered, he found himself supported by the Lieutenant and a female of uncommon beauty kneeling at his feet in readiness to supply the surgeon with lint and dressings. As soon as he had fully regained his senses, he immediately recognized Dona Miranda, but the nature and stiffness of his wound prevented him from speaking. She had not observed to whom she was administering succour-so disfigured was the Colonel by the course which the ball had taken. The surgeon, perceiving his patient much agitated, forbade hiur to speak-but the Colonel made signs for a pencil and paper, which the Lieutenant supplied him with-he then wrote the name of Dona Miranda Fodeya, and attached his own-the Lieutenant who supported him saw the name, and gave it to the female-she rose instantly from her knees, and, uttering a piercing shriek, fell into the arms of her husband, for this Lieutenant was Charles Mannard. When she came to herself, she told him who the wounded man was-and with a generous spirit of extraordinary fortitude, resumed her task of assistance." Colonel," said she, " your situation will not allow you to answer me, but make a sign to me by an inclination of your head are my father and mother yet alive?" -The Colonel moved in affirmation. "Thank Heaven!" said she, "you have relieved my heart of its heaviest burden-Let me now endeavour to return, by my anxious assistance, the generous action by which you delivered me from the vile machinations of a licentious tyrant-My dear Charles, you will, I am sure, rejoice to see me so occupied in administering solace to one who preserved me from horrors worse than death, when the union of Europ. Mag. Vol. LXXII. Sept. 1817.

our hearts was first ratified by the hallowed hand of religion."-Mannard bowed to the Colonel; and, turning to his wife, assured her that, although his heart unfeignedly regretted the oppor tunity which had presented itself of evincing the gratitude which he felt in equal degree with herself, yet it was highly satisfactory that one so dear to him as his beloved Miranda could thus display the noble-mindedness by which she was always actuated. Again bowing to the Colonel, and tak ing an affectionate leave of his wife, telling her that he should soon rejoin them, he returned to the field, and resumed his station in his regiment, just as the shouts of victory and the trumpets were proclaiming the defeat of the enemy. As the part of the brigade to which he belonged formed a detachment of the reserve, orders were brought to Don Alonzo to push forward in pursuit; the word of command was obeyed with alacrity by the men, who were anxious to secure to themselves some portion of the glory of the day. A carriage proceeding at full speed through the extremity of the enemy's lines attracted their notice-a party of chasseurs followed it as its guard-the cry spread in every direction, that Joseph Buonaparte was in it. Urged by his personal hatred of the Usurper, and impelled by a desire to avenge the insult offered to one of his family. Don Alonzo pressed on his men, and Mannard seconded him with feelings no less ardent than his own--They perceived the carriage stopped by a body of British cavalry; and in hastening onwards, they found themselves suddenly in the midst of a retreating squadron of French lancers: Mannard perceived their perilous condition; and seeing Don Alonzo in imminent peril from the thrust of a lance, be seized the weapon with one hand, and with the other made a blow at the horseman; at that instant he was himself pierced deeply in the back by another, and was wounded at Alonzo`s side. All this took place in the passing speed of the squadron's flight; and as escape was their object, Alonzo found himself left unhurt, with poor Mannard stretched on the earth. Conscious that he owed his life to his Lieutenant's bravery, he hailed an officer who was at that moment eagaged in calling in his men, and intreated his assistance to carry the

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wounded man to the British lines. The battle was over, and the victory complete-Alonzo guided them to the spot where Colonel V- had been carried. At the moment they arrived, Dona Miranda was standing before the tent, in trembling alarm for her husband's safety, and looking out for his return. She saw an officer with a party moving slowly towards her-but where was Mannard -Who is he borne in the arms of those men ?-Alonzo saw her hurried step, and instantly recognized his long lost cousin. Both stood silent for a short interval-Terror, surprise, and fearful foreboding, choaked her Heavens!" exclaimed Alonzo, "what do I see-Dona Miranda here! amidst the horrors ofa field of battle! O stay, fly not-Whither do you go?"-Hecdless of his interrogatories, she flew past him-she saw was her Manuard, her beloved Charles, thus carried by the party who were bending their slow steps towards the lines. Alonzo, ignorant of the tender interest that she felt in the fate of his Lieutenant, hastily followed her; and coming up to the men, heard the exclamation, of "O my husband! my Charles! my beloved!"-then turning towards her astonished relative, she seized him wildly by the arm, and gazing stedfastly in his face-" It is Alonzo-Ab, you will not help me! -but if he's dead, neither he nor I shall want help-Stop," she cried to the bearers of the body, “stop, let me support him, I shall do it more gently than you."-The men stood still-she fixed her eyes upon his ghastly countenance-then casting them up to Heaven, and clasping her hands suddenly together, "O God," she cried, "he's dead!-Where is his wound?-horrible! -Charles, Charles, 'tis Miranda that calls!-O speak-look up!"-He heard her voice, and opened his eyes-his lips moved, but no words issued from them "Ah! he lives! he is not dead!Now, Alonzo, help-help them to bear him to our tent!"-The distracted Miranda then ran forward—but suddenly checking herself, she came back-" He will die, perhaps, if I leave him-No, I will not go from thee, my husband, my life-Gently, gently, good men!You saw him open his eyes-Are you sure he did so I saw him too-Will he reach the tent, think ye?-there it is 0 merciful Heaven! aid me in this hour of agony !"-Here, as if her

heart could bear no more, she sunk upon the ground, and was carried lifeless into the tent. To what a wretched condition of helpless distress were Mannard and his Miranda now reduced!— Alonzo saw, and pitied them-the cou rage of the young man by which he had been rescued, had made a strong impression upon him-by Mannard's interposition the blow was turned aside that would have mingled him among the slain-and he had perhaps lost his own life in the encounter-he was the husband of Miranda-but the honour of his family had not been consulted by either, in the union, and in the step by which it had been accomplished-he was, however, now allied to his house, and all unfavourable impressions must give way to the restoration of the happiness of its members. With these ideas, he instantly sent for a surgeon, who, after examining the wound, pronounced it dangerous; and as the army would move forward in a few days, promised his unremitting attendance-To Alonzo's inquiries after Colonel V, he replied, that he had the most favourable hopes of his speedy recovery.For three days and nights of dreadful suspense, Miranda's distracting apprehensions for the life of her husband kept her mind in constant agitationat length he was declared out of danger. -Alonzo reported the condition of Colonel V and Lieutenant Mannard, to the Commander-in-chief, who, in consequence of the representation of the surgeon, ordered the sick and wounded of Colonel V's regiment back to Madrid, and gave Alonzo the command of the escort. They arrived in that city by easy marches. On the day of their arrival, he took upon himself to visit Don Fodeya-A deep melancholy had absorbed the old man's faculties from the day that the British broke up from their quarters; but Dona Fodeya expressed the greatest joy at again beholding Don Alonzo; and when she heard that her daughter was safe, and so near her, her transports broke forth with the liveliest emotions of maternal recollection— "Q, bring her to me-let me again fold her in my arms-her poor father will rejoice to behold her once more, if," said she, pausing, "if he should recognize her-for, alas! his intellects bave materially suffered since those paroxysms of rage to which you were witness."-Don Alonzo then imparted to her, how and where the fugitives

were discovered, and the calamitous condition in which Colonel V- and Mr. Mannard had returned.—“ O, let me fly to my beloved child," cried the afflicted mother-" I will share with her the careful attendance upon the unfortunate invalids-Let me see her instantly-My heart springs to meet her."-It was then determined, that Don Fodeya should not be informed until the next day of his daughter's return.

Ah!" cried Dona Fodeya, "how happy will Mr. Mannard be to see his son-but no, he returns wounded, and his recovery precarious-His own sufferings have been severe, from the consequence of my husband's infuriated attack-and I believe that, had it not been for the unremitting attention of a lovely young Englishwoman, who, I understand, is his niece and who has accompanied her brother, the British secretary of legation, his recovery would have been of much slower progress; but her attentions, added to the skill of an intimate friend of her brother, a medical man, have produced the happiest effect, and his health is now nearly established-But come, dear Alonzo! let us not lose the precious momentsI must not delay an interview which will dissipate all the clouds of sorrow that have so long obscured the felicity of those who are endeared to me by the tenderest ties."--They proceeded immediately to the Colonel's hotel, and the mother was locked in the embrace of her child.-" O, my mother, my loved, my honoured pa rent, forgive, forgive!"-were the first accents in which the tumultuous feelings of her daughter found utterance"but Charles, my poor Charles-Ah! he is dreadfully wounded. - Come with me to his chamber-my heart is torn with fears-And shall I again see my father?-Will he receive me?-Will he pardon his poor daughter?—Indeed, indeed, I have gone through many dreary scenes, many miserable privations, since I left him-We will see my dear husband, and then we will go home-Home! and shall I be permitted to revisit my parental roof ?”"Yes, yes, my sweet child, you shallcalm yourself-all will yet be well your father has scarcely uttered a word but the name of his Miranda has accompanied it.-Have patience for a little while, and Heaven will yet make us happy in each other.”—Dona Fodeya saw the hurried state of her daughter's pind-and subdued her own agi

tated feelings that she might tranquillize her's. They entered the chamber of her son-in-law-the Colonel was sitting by his bed-side-he rose to receive Dona Fodeya-but motioned to them that they should be silent.“ Lieutenant Mannard," he whispered," is in a quiet sleep-we must not disturb him much depends upon his being kept quiet-Allow me to attend you, ladies, to the room from which you came.""Are you certain he only sleeps?" asked the auxious Miranda." He does, Madam; and 1 augur the best result from this effort of worn-out nature.”—They then retired with him

and Alonzo joining them, they repaired to Don Fodeya's house. As they approached it, Dona Miranda, oppressed by the conflicting sensations of her bosom, was not able to support herself. They entered, and in the vestibule the father met them-He noticed them not, but walked with faultering step towards the door." My father! shun me not -O turn, and take a sorrowing child to thy pardoning embrace-I am Miranda-1 am thy child-thine afflicted, wretched child-Wretched for ever, if her father scorns her!"-"What voice was that?" exclaimed the dejected old man, in a tone of heedless melancholy

"Dona Fodeya, I have no daughter now-thou knowest she has left meWho are these strangers ?"-" We are not strangers, my dearest father-You knew us once-O know me, your child Miranda !"-"Who? Art thou she whom I once doated on? - Go, go, do not trifle with a poor old manI have no child, no Miranda now!"

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"Thou hast, indeed thou hast, and I am she!--On my knees I implore thy forgiveness!”— Lady, kneel not to me-1 am but a wretch-and if thou art wretched, I can feel for thee-Why dost thou let thy tears fall on my shrivelled hand?- -Dona Fodeya, thou must comfort this lady-she is full of sorrows.--- Madam, what a house of woe can afford is all the consolation we can offer thee."- Colonel V—, shocked at the turn this interview had taken, prevailed upon the mother and ber daughter to retire awhile, until be had recalled the senses of Don Fodeya to recollection. This he happily ef fected, and, by degrees, the father was brought to recognize his daughteran unreserved reconciliation followed, and comfort revisited his heart-Of his own accord he proposed that they should all return to his son-in-law's

lodgings-they found him sitting up in his bed, much refreshed by the sleep which he had enjoyed-Don Alonzo had in the mean while paid a visit to Mr. Mannard, and made him acquainted with the return and situation of his son -He came with him to the hotel, accompanied by the medical gentleman to whose skill he had himself been so much indebted--The latter entered the apartment, and instantly recognizing Colonel Vexpressed his joyful surprise at seeing him, and his regret at observing his wound-" However," said he, "I must add you to the list of my patients, but, if I am not much mistaken, I shall have the satisfaction of introducing you to a nurse whose attendauce will be still more acceptable and efficacious than, mine."-The Colonel was about to ask an explanation of these mysterious words, when Mr. Mannard prevented him by saying, "That he believed he had the power of explaining his friend's meaning; and if you, Sir," addressing the Colonel, "will do me the honour to return to my house, I shall be happy to do so. Meanwhile, as we have medical authority for removing my son, I shall make the requisite preparations for the accommodation of all; so may hope, that the storms which had well nigh overwhelmed our family consolations will be succeeded by a brighter sky of uninterrupted sunshine."-Dona Miranda and Alonzo remained with young Mannard-the rest accompanied his father.

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"Colonel." "said the Surgeon, as they entered the house," you must prepare yourself for a surprise of the most agreeable nature-let me restrain your impatience for one short minute, and your curiosity shall be gratified."-Saying this, he threw open the folding-doors of the saloon, and presented Colonel V with the transporting sight of her to whom his vows of love and constancy had been pledged previous to his leaving England three years ago. -I need not trouble this company,' observed the Lecturer, "with the transports of two hearts devoted to each other, by the liveliest sentiments of affectionate regard, at meeting after so long an absence. The presence of his Eliza amply compensated for all the pain which he had suffered; and although her joy was checked in its fulness by the alarm she experienced at seeing him wounded, yet to find that he had escaped with life, and that this life was consecrated in all

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the faithfulness of an ardent attach ment to her happiness, was joy in the extreme, and she could not avoid yielding to the delightful impressionand when she was assured that nothing serious was to be feared from the hurt which he had received, her joy was complete. When the rush of these first emotions had subsided, she told the Colonel, that Mr. Mannard was her uncle on her mother's side-that her brother having received an appointment under the Tegation, and a sea voyage having been recommended for the benefit of his wife's health, she had accompanied her-" and," said she, “I will tell you truly, dear V, I did admit the hope iuto my heart, that being thus brought nearer to your field of action, I should bear of you more certainly and more frequently."-In a few days all the arrangements were fixed, and the intercourse of the different parties became every day more satisfactory, as the invalids became more convalescent. At length, both Usurpers being driven from the two countries whose thrones they had so unjustly seized upon, and the lawful sovereign of each restored, the armies of Great Britain and Spain enjoyed a temporary relaxation from their toilswhen Colonel V— returned, on leave, with the secretary's party to England, and Mannard tasted all that happy repose in his Miranda's society which soon restored him to perfect health. On the part of Don Fodeya, all discomfiting recollections gradually ceased, and in the new character of a grandfather he seemed to live his days over again.— And thus ends my tale," said Mr. L—; "it has no other merit than that it is a plain fact, communicated to me in a letter from Charles Mannard himself, who was educated with me at Winchester-Yesterday, looking over some papers, I found it; and although these runaway matches, which have more of the madness than the morality of love in them, seldom are found to end hap pily, yet this has done so-but certainly not without sufficient punishment for the rashness of its imprudence, and just enough recompense for the constancy and fortitude with which the parties bore it. Colonel V and Lieutenant Manuard were among our Waterloo heroes, and I understand that the latter has been promoted to a company-he and Dona Miranda are now in Paris-with Don Alonzo-who being of the ancient house of Felasquez, has

been placed on the diplomatic list by bis sovereign, and was last winter officially employed at the Court of Vienna." "But, Mr. L-," said Miss Julia, "you did not tell us who the youth was to whom Mr. Mannard gave the route of his son, and for my part I always like every thing to be explained." "Why truly, madam," replied Mr. L, "I should have supposed that would have been instantly guessed at -Who should it be but Dona Miranda -who, in order to escape with more secrecy, exchanged the attire of her sex for a military dress, and so found her way without interruption to her husband."

"Well, thank Heaven!" cried Julia," it all ends happily at last."

The company then proceeded to make their comments upon the different incidents of the story.

(To be continued.)

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'Till rolling time beheld the fabric rise, Span the horizon, and invade the skies, And, curved concentric to the starry sphere, Mount o'er the thunder's path, and storm's

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-The echoes of thy hundred caves. Caves every where abound along the coast of Antrim, and in all its various strata. Thus they penerate the amorphous basalt of the Cave-hill and the Gobbins, the red ochre of Cushendall. the pudding-stone of Cushendun, and the lime-stone of Larne, Ballintoy, and Dunluce. Some of these caves, particularly those of Cushendun and Ballintoy, are dry and roomy, affording the fishermen comfortable accommodations for building and keeping their boats. Grace Staple's Cave, between Ballycastle and Kenban, is remarkable for the columnarity of its sides; in which particular it resembles Fingal's Cave, in the island of Staffa. The Cave

of Port Coou, at the Giant's Causeway, is celebrated for its fine echo, continually resounding to the dash of the waves, But no cave on the coast of Antrim can vie in grandeur with Dunkerry, between Port Coon and the Bush Foot Strand. It is accessible only from the ocean, between two mural ridges of jet black rock. Its lofty dome and sides are overspread with a covering of green confervæ which suggests the idea that it might have been scooped out of solid emerald. A crimson zone of marine plants, five or six feet in breadth above the

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