"Are you sure," asked I, "that there has been no illusion? Is it not possible that the scene may have been acted by some one of our giddy youth ?"

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No," replied Fanshaw, "it was Wilmot himself; I had always a dread and presentiment that he would appear. Listen to me, Willoughby, while I am yet able to give a distinct account of this awful visitation. I went late to bed, but though fatigued, I could not sleep. I felt an oppression at my heart, for which I was unable to account; I breathed with difficulty, and sighed heavily. The sigh was echoed. Startled at this, I called out suddenly, Who is there?' Wilmot!' replied a voice, whose tones yet sound in my ears. Fanshaw,' continued he, surely there is a place of punishment for the wicked! Avoid my dreadful fate! I impiously dared to doubt, and sinned against the light of conscience.'

"The blood," continued Fanshaw, "curdled in my veins; but although the words

fell on my ear, the thing seemed so incredible, I suddenly exclaimed, It is all delusion."

Fanshaw,' said he, mournfully, and is it even so! Yet reach me your hand, and look upon me ere you disbelieve my words;' I turned towards the speaker, and mechanically stretched out my arm-the semblance of Wilmot stood before me, and my hand was seized by one of burning fire!"

"This," said Sefton, "is the most extraordinary affair I ever heard; one hardly knows what to think of it."

"The impression it made upon Fanshaw," replied Willoughby, "was never effaced; he became an altered man in every respect, and was ever after assiduous in the highest degree to check, in all the officers of the regiment, every species of irregularity and dissipation."

"That would be no easy task," remarked Sefton.

"It was, indeed, an arduous undertaking," replied Willoughby, "and Fanshaw

suffered much from the unfeeling allusions which were sometimes made to himself."

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Why," replied Sefton, trying to dissipate the increasing melancholy of Willoughby," this, I suppose, accounts for your serious air? until I heard this marvellous story, I thought, from your disconsolate appearance, that you must either be in

love or in debt."

"And now tell me, Sefton," said Willoughby, "what has brought you to Scot

land?"

"Just, my dear friend," replied Sefton, "that which carries many a man out of his way-a woman. Mrs Sefton insisted on coming down to pay a visit to a very old and dear friend, whom I now esteem, but at one time hated most cordially. Perhaps you are not aware that my Ellen's father would not consent to our marriage, because he disliked my profession; and as I was then too poor to quit it, what was to be done? I hinted at a private marriage; a proposal which Ellen instantly rejected;

but too much in love to be easily repulsed, I returned to the charge, and assailing her with entreaties, reproaches, and with all the vehement eloquence of a lover, I flattered myself her resolution was giving way, when, behold, she suddenly changed her mind, positively rejected my proposal, and forbid me ever to mention the subject again. Stung to the quick by this disappointment, I gave the reins to my passion-reproached her bitterly with indifference—and, in short, acted so many extravagancies, that poor Ellen burst into tears.

«‹ Harry,' said she, our parting will be sufficiently trying to us both, (at that time our regiment was changing quarters,) without the additional misery of parting in anger. Here,' said she, putting a letter into my hand; here are to be found the reasons for my determination, never to be yours without my father's consent.'

"I tore open the letter; it was from the friend whom we are now come to visit, and to whom Ellen had confided my proposal

of a private marriage, entreating her advice. This meddling prude, as I then thought her, in the most beautiful and affectionate language imaginable, conjured Ellen never for a moment to think of taking a step of such importance without the consent of her father, and set forth the duty she owed him in such a striking point of view, as completely fixed her wavering resolution, and of course she decided against me.

"And so, said I, gloomily, you value the good opinion of this girl more than my love?"

"Sefton,' replied Ellen, you wrong me, but let us part in peace.' She held out her hand, but I caught her in my arms, and besought her to pardon my impetuous temper. We parted good friends, and looked forward to happier days; and you see, Willoughby, all is ordered for the best. We have come together at last, and with the entire approbation of my father-inlaw, who, upon my unexpectedly succeeding to the estate of a distant relation, which