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She could reply in no other way than by laying her head on her father's shoulder, and sobbing out the almost inaudible word—“ read."

"Horace is mentioned as having been seen early in the action, badly wounded, and is returned missing."

"Horrible!" exclaimed the shuddering girl, and embraced her father the more closely.

"And our poor friend, Albert, is dangerously wounded, too," said the father.

Matilda made no reply; but as a mass of snow slips down from its supporting bank-as silently, as pure, and almost as cold, fell Matilda from her father's arms insensible the floor. Sir Oliver was upon not surprised, but much puzzled. He thought that she had felt quite enough for her lover, but too much for her friend.

A few days after, a Belgian officer was introduced by a mutual friend, and was pressed to dine by Sir Oliver. As he had been present at the battle, Matilda would not permit her grief to prevent her meeting him at her father's table. Immediately she entered the room the officer started, and took every opportunity of gazing upon her intently, when he thought himself unobserved. At last he did so, so incautiously, and in a manner so particular, that when the servants had withdrawn, Sir Oliver asked him if he had ever seen his daughter before.

"Assuredly not, but most assuredly her resemblance," said he, and he immediately produced the miniature that Ho. race had obtained from his mistress.

The first impression of both father and daughter was, that Horace was no more, and that the token had been entrusted to the hands of the officer, by the dying lover; but he quickly undeceived them, by informing them that he was lying desperately, but not dangerously, wounded, at a farm-house on the continent, and that, in fact, he had suffered a severe amputation.

"Then, in the name of all that is honourable, how came you by the miniature?" exclaimed Sir Oliver.

"O, he had lost it to a notorious sharper, at a gaming-house in Brussels, on the eve of the battle; which sharper offered it to me, as he said that he supposed the gentleman from whom he won

it would never come to repay the large sum of money for which it was left in pledge. Though I had no personal knowledge of Colonel Horace, yet, as I admired the painting, and saw that the jewels were worth more than the rascal asked for them, I purchased it, really with the hope of returning it to its first proprietor, if he should feel any value for it, either as a family picture, or as some pledge of affection; but I have not yet had an opportunity of meeting with him."

"What an insult!" thought Sir Oli

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Talking of miniatures," resumed the officer, "a very extraordinary occurrence has just taken place. A miniature has actually saved the life of a gallant young officer of the same regiment as Horace's, as fine a fellow as ever bestrode a charger."

"His name?" exclaimed Matilda and Sir Oliver together.

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"Is Albert; he is the second in command; a high fellow that same Albert." Pray, sir, do me the favour to relate the particulars," said Sir Oliver; and Matilda looked gratefully at her father for the request.

"O, I do not know them minutely," said he, "but I believe it was simply that the picture served his bosom as a sort of breast-plate, and broke the force of a musket-ball, but did not, however, prevent him from receiving a very smart wound. The thing was much talked of for a day or two, and some joking took place on the subject; but when it was seen that these railleries gave him more pain than the wound, the subject was dropped, and soon seemed to have been forgotten."

Shortly after the officer took his leave.

The reflections of Matilda were bitter. Her miniature had been infamously lost; whilst the mistress of Albert, of that Albert whom she felt might, but for family pride, have been her lover, was, even in effigy, the guardian angel of a life she loved too well.

Months elapsed, and Horace did not appear. Sir Oliver wrote to him an indignant letter, and bade him consider all intercourse broken off for the future. He returned a melancholy answer, in

which he pleaded guilty to the charge spoke of the madness of intoxication, confessed that he was hopeless, and that he deserved to be so; in a word, his letter was so humble, so desponding, and so dispirited, that even the insulted Matilda was softened, and shed tears over his blighted hopes. And here, we must do Horace the justice to say, that the miniature was merely left in the hands of the winner, he being a stranger, as a deposit until the next morning, but which the next morning did not allow him to redeem, though it rent from him a limb, and left him as one dead upon the battle field. Had he not gamed, his miniature would not have been lost to a sharper, the summons to march would have found him at his quarters, his harassed steed would not have failed him in the charge, and, in all probability, his limb would have been saved, and his love have been preserved.

A year had now elapsed, and at length Albert was announced. He had heard that all intimacy had been broken off between Horace and Matilda, but nothing more. The story of the lost miniature was confined to the few whom it concerned, and those few wished all memory of it to be buried in oblivion. Something like a hope had returned to Albert's bosom. He was graciously received by the father, and diffidently by Matilda. She remembered " the broken miniature," and supposed him to have been long, and ardently, attached to another.

It was on a summer's evening, there was no other company, the sun was setting in glorious splendour. After dinner, Matilda had retired only to the window to enjoy, she said, that prospect that the drawing-room could not afford. She spoke truly, for Albert was there. Her eyes were upon the declining sun, but her soul was still in the dining-room.

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I loved, but was not loved. I had a rival that was seductive. I saw that he was preferred by the father, and not indifferent to the daughter. My love I could not-I would not attempt to conquer: but my actions, honour bade me control; and I obeyed. The friend was admitted where the lover would have been banished. My successful rival obtained the miniature of his mistress. O, then, then I envied, and, impelled by unconquerable passion, I obtained clandestinely from the artist a fac-simile of that which I so much envied him. It was my heart's silent companion; and when at last duty called me away from the original, not often did I venture to gaze upon the resemblance. To prevent my secret being discovered by accident, I had the precious token enclosed in a double locket of gold, which opened by a secret spring, known only to myself and the maker.

"I gazed on the lovely features on the dawn of the battle day. I returned it to its resting place, and my heart throbbed proudly under its pressure. I was conscious that there I had a talisman, and, if ever I felt as heroes feel, it was then--"On, on I dashed through the roaring stream of slaughter. Sabres flashed over and around me-what cared I? I had this on my heart, and a brave man's sword in my hand-and come the worst, better I could not have died than on that noble field. The showers of fated balls hissed around me. What cared I? I looked round-to my fellow-soldiers I trusted for victory, and my soul I entrusted to God, and-shall I own it? for a few tears to my memory I trusted to the original of this, my bosom companion."

"She must have had a heart of ice, had she refused them," said Matilda, in a voice almost inaudible from emotion.

Albert bowed low and gratefully, and thus continued." Whilst I was thus borne forward into the very centre of the struggle, a ball struck at my heartbut the guardian angel was there, and it was protected: the miniature, the double case, even my flesh were penetrated, and my blood soiled the image of that beauty. for whose protection it would have joyed to flow. The shattered case, the broken, the blood-stained miniature, are now dearer to me than ever, and so will remain until life itself shall desert me."

"May I look upon those happy features that have inspired and protected a heart so noble?" said Matilda, in a low, distinct voice, that seemed unnatural to her from the excess of emotion.

Albert dropped upon one knee before her, touched the spring, and placed the miniature in the trembling hand of Matilda. In an instant she recognised her own resemblance. She was above the affectation of a false modesty-her eyes filled with grateful tears—she kissed the encrimsoned painting, and sobbed aloud "Albert, this shall never leave my bosom. O, my well-my long beloved!" In a moment she was in the arms of the happy soldier, whilst one hung over them with unspeakable rapture, bestowing that best boon upon a daughter's love "A father's heart-felt blessing!"

LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. No. 3.

THE REV. H. WHITE TO MISS

Thursday Morning, Oct. 15, 1795. FROM narrow-streeted Warrington, rendered more dark and Londonish from the rain now descending with a liberality proportionate to that total exemption which exhausted the million sources of cataracts and mountain torrents in the beloved country I have regretfully left, I now proceed to continue my journal, first thankfully acknowledging, dear your letter of Monday, Sept. 28.

Riding on the ever-varying shores of Windermere, and leaving White Rayrig, with its overshadowing groves, smiling "as in scorn" of every other situation, I passed the sublime head of this matchless lake, to pine-screened Ambleside, built apparently before the flood, for the ark still remains in its centre, but placed among an inimitable profusion of nature's grandest and most lovely scenes. Scorning the friendly Salutation, I rode through the town, and descended into a valley, which, with almost all its successors, baffles description. "The longing pen toils after them in vain." Upon a terrace smooth shaven, in the midst of an immense hill buried in timber, stands the superb seat (Rydal Hall) of Sir Michael Le Fleming, who beholds the graceful majesty of Windermere, floating above the groves below the house. Guided by a pretty golden-haired nymph, we scaled the mountain's brow, through a night of woods, animated by the constant dashing of angry waters, and arrived at the first and great cascade, which pours an unbroken sheet, for

many yards, into a basin of darkgreen liquidness, and clearer than you can imagine; as, indeed, are all the lakes. Disdainful of this placidity, the checked waters then rush down a channel of huge stones, some of which they have worn through, resounding along the woods till they reach the second fall. And now for EFFECT of this latter: nothing was seen, though heard, till we reached through dark shrubberies, a mile below the former, a time-worn building, sunk in shades, whose door had the effect of Circe's wand, for it magically opened into a square room, from whose large and glassless window we beheld this unrivalled basin; while exactly opposite the door our sight was dazzled by the silver sheet of falling waters, over which a rustic bridge terminates and completes the scene; not exceeding, as Mason says, in size, one dropt from a theatre. We then passed the skirts of Rydal Water, whose bosom is overshadowed by immense superincumbent mountains, which, while they guard in sullen dignity the lake, contrast with shuddering awe its peaceful quietude. Our panting steeds now "wound their toilsome march" upon the side of one of those giants, and again descending it, upon our enraptured view, bosomed in her sequestered valley, peeped forth "Grasmere's sweet retreat." The rocks, softened by her bewitching graces, lose something of their majesty. The torrents bound adown their cliffs, telling the rapt beholder that they are jumping for joy that they are so near the embrace of their lovely queen. Nothing can disturb her serene reign, for it seems consecrated to peace and devotion by the white-towered chapel, with three houses around it, and a bridge of the same hue. From the village, this is the view: Grasmere sleeps between the long and cultivated reach of Fairfield on one side, and beyond some pastures, silver the other; at the upper end, stupendous LoughRigg Fell ascends to heaven, the stream from

Water pouring from its craggy side; behind the village, the cleft head of Helm Cragg rears its tremendous height; and immediately opposite, the immense Seat-Sandal, shews her hollowed bosom; between these protectors, the road is seen towards Keswick, with an angle of huge Helvellin. Beneath the roof of worthy Robert Newton I staid three days; and on Wednesday, the 30th, I passed DunmailRaise, a vast conglomeration of stones which divide Cumberland from West

moreland, and came to a four-mile ride upon the borders of Leathes Water, called also Wythburn, a new and singular object; to the left, extensive and verdant pastures spotted with cattle, and at intervals sending forth green promontories in the lake, present a landscape of agricultural beauty, while to the right, the narrow road threads the base of a most horrid part of Helvellin, whose brow has cast forth fragments large as houses, and appears ready to hurl others at the terrified passenger; some lie on the very path; others have crossed it, and taken refuge in the water. About the middle of the lake, below a neat and excellent villa, two closing stripes of land rush from either side, and come so near, that three little bridges cross the narrowed stream, somewhat like an hourglass, which again immediately expanding, resumes its wonted breadth. After turning aside to view the entrance of the exquisite vale of St. John (where hills of strange form and sky-aspiring height almost close over a rapid stream, to guard the entrance, and when passed, open into lands of cultivated loveliness), we ascended the precipice that overlooks the vale of Keswick, serenely smiling beneath the dominion of majestic Skiddaw. He was the sole feature of the right hand; to the left, beneath mountains scarcely less sublime, swam Derwent Water, spotted with islets and disgracing summer-houses. In front, the large white church of Crossthwaite would not be overlooked, as it rises about a mile over the town, and is its only church; beyond it, Bassenthwaite Water looked dark from surrounding hills. In Kes

wick, both the museum, and the amiable, diffident, intelligent girl who daughterizes to its founder, merit a particular notice, that want of room could alone deny. Nor can I do the least justice to my ride on Thursday, October 1st, so abundant in before unbeheld sublimity and grace. Lowdore, the Migara of the Lakes, was, alas! only distinguishable by two silver threads; but this defect was somewhat compensated by the sublime cataract of Scale Force, which, not depending upon casual rains, poured in an unbroken perpendicular stream, equalling in height the largest spire of the cathedral. This stream has worn itself fifty yards within a solid rock; after forming a pool, it again rushes with thundering noise over its stony bed, terminating in the lake of Cromack. The roads here are all but inaccessible, no Staffordshire horse could travel down

precipices covered with stones, to which our rocks are pebbles. We passed beneath Honister Craig, on whose brow, at the shout of my guide, two miners appeared; like unto birds he said, for though I strained my glass-aided eyes, I could not see them. The Craig is above six times higher than our spire, for honest Thomas Hutton, the clerk of Mr. Gisborne, had seen both-though nearly perpendicular, the miners climb up and down it with laden sledges every day. We dined by the side of Buttermere lake, totally out of all the world, and returned down Newland Vale, which is almost literally "Beauty in the lap of Horror," skirted the opposite side of Derwent Water, and, after a circuit of thirty miles, I alighted at the parsonage, where Gray says, "Could I have fixed the view in my mirror, and transferred it to canvass, a thousand pounds would cheaply purchase it." Friday, Oct. 2, I attempted an ascent to Skiddaw (five miles), in opposition to the discouraging opinion of many, for the clouds enveloped all the top. When we had wound along the side of Lattrig (Skiddaw's Cub) rolls of vapour arose from St. John's Vale, and mantled us, the sun gilding the valley below. "Now, sir," saith Thomas, "it is all over, this obscurity will darken more and more." And so it was; though an instant before, breathless with heat and fatigue, I had opened every garment to the wind, now, dews descending, and the cold blast blew, I began to shiver. Sam tied my hat over my ears; but though we had now a mile and a half of ascent, I was determined to scale the top. When we reached it, the drops pearled my coat; so dense was the fog, that we could not see each other, but explored our way to a huge heap of stones, that marked the extreme summit. Here, as I leaned for some time, to recover breath and meditate upon sublunary disappointments-" Look, sir, look!" burst from my astonished companions. As if the Superior Power had said, "The preacher of my word shall not return ungratified by a sight of my chiefest work," the sun burst through the involving shades, and drove with unutterable majesty the whole host of clouds before him. As they went, the view unfolded the whole vale: below appeared the Irish Channel and Sea, the Scotch mountains, the Frith of Forth, Gretna Green; and to the right, the mountains of Durham and Northumber-land. In ten minutes the darkness returned; no view has been since visible.

I descended awe-struck. It might be chance, but I cannot believe it was. Thomas Hutton has ascended almost every day for twenty-seven years, and never beheld the like. Saturday, Oct. 3d, we enjoyed an alpine ride; the left-hand barriered by huge Saddle-back, divided only by a brook from Skiddaw, and apparently as high. We entered Gowbarrow Park at Matterdale, and turned aside to view one of the loveliest sports of nature ever beheld-the Fall of Airey-Force; from thence we soon arrived at the Borders of Ulswater, near Lyulph's Tower. No time to describe what I esteem the first water of the whole. Including its borders, to go to Penrith (O, sweet town!), the road is nine miles, within an arboured road, with the lake purling in mildness, and roaring in majesty at our feet. At Patterdale, John Mounsey, the quite uneducated king (a name whose sound he abhors), is the worthiest and most benevolent of men; the father, not of nine children (out of fifteen, and he but thirty-six), but of the whole country. On Sunday evening, the 4th of Oct., he, the parson and the clerk, attended me to the summit of huge Helvellin, forty-five yards higher than Skiddaw. Mounsey and I rode, but he was thrown from his horse in a morass, immediately before me, so that I had but just time to save myself. On my return, Lodona herself was not more dripping, though from a different liquid. Tuesday, Oct. 6th, ascended the long precipice of Kirkstone, saw the thrice lovely Vale of Troutbeck, obtained a new, and, if possible, more charming view of Kimbermere, and dined at Kendal; reached Lancaster the 7th, Preston the 8th, and, for the sake of Mrs. Kemble's benefit, Yarico and the Pannel, Liverpool the 9th; preached morning and evening at Old Church, 11th, after seeing all the walks, docks, &c. on the 10th, with Sir Nigel; came to the dear village of Wavertree on Monday; dined at Hoyle Lake Tuesday (13th), and came here last night. Enter Sam, with an account that the weather clears, so abruptly adieu! -Never mention me, but still less shew my epistolary libels to any one. Adieu! H. W.

AN EPISODE OF THE REVOLUTION OF JULY 1830.

THE last rays of the setting sun fell upon the gilded dome of the Hotel des Invalides; a thick smoke rose from the barriers of Paris;-the provocatons of the populace

were answered by the thundering cannon, and the tocsin rent in the air :-it was July 1830.*

A young man, named Pierre, arrived at the gates of the metropolis at this awful moment. His parents were respectable inhabitants of Paris, who had been reduced to indigence by unfortunate speculations; and Pierre was now on his return from the south of France, whither he had gone in search of employment. His family had heard nothing of him since his departure;-he had not, however, forgotten either his widowed and high-spirited mother, his brother, the companion of his earlier years, his little sisters, or his aged grandmother :often did he think of their destitute condition, yet he had never afforded them any assistance; - nevertheless, Pierre was not exactly a mauvais sujet, but his best intentions were, but too often, frustrated by the variability of his character. He was an odd compound of folly and intelligence,-being a frequenter of petty coffee-houses, a great billiard-player and news-devourer.

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When the young traveller arrived at the barrier, he beheld a crowd of frantic beings who were singing-or rather howling-the Marseillaise; and there

*The above is a sketch written by the Viscount d'Arlincourt, a zealous partisan of the fallen dynasty, and the facts detailed are stated by him to be actually true, although the names of the parties are concealed. It is written in the true Tory spirit, though we have seen nothing which the Viscount has yet produced to make us regret the change in France which he so unceasingly deplores. To prove the benevolence of the individual members of the exiled family by such means is unnecessary. No one is inclined to dispute it; but the French have lost nothing by the change even in this particular; whereas what they have gained is well appreciated. The French are satisfied: for nothing has proved the feebleness of faction more strongly than the late anarchical attempts at Paris and Lyons. We rejoice in the conviction that the throne of Louis Philippe is secure ; and that amiable and talented gentlemen, such as the Viscount d'Arlincourt, may indulge their literary taste in penning sketches on whatever subject they please, assuring them, when the facts to which they pledge themselves are of a political nature, that a friendly allowance will be made for the imagination of the romantic and the prejudice of the partisan.

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