than two months, and that the young man wished very much to marry her; but that she would neither consent to this nor to tell her father's name, nor to write home (though often urged to do so by the old woman), till she should stand acquitted of the charge of theft; which event, knowing her innocence, she thought time might bring about.—That when she heard of the transportation of her fellow-servant, she relinquished all hope of ever having her character cleared, and gave herself up to despair. That just about this time, the young man who had treated her so kindly, was killed by the fall of some old houses he was examining, and his aged and feeble parent survived his loss but eight days.—That after the death of these persons she had hired this miserable lodging; and having gone in search of employment to a distant part of the town, on her return homewards she had fallen asleep from grief and weariness, and never awoke till she was roused by the person Mary had seen holding her, who persisted that she was drunk, and ordered her to get up and go away.

During the whole of the recital, Jessie's voice was almost inarticulate from hysterical weeping: her violence of language, the bitterness with which she expressed herself against all those connected with her dismissal from service, startled and dismayed the gentle Mary. At first she strenuously refused to return to her father's house, and passionately disclaimed any wish to be received, unless they entirely believed her assertions of innocence. But when the orphan meekly reasoned on her probable fate,—when she contrasted the confused shouts, the brawlings, the drunken songs with which from time to time their ears were assailed, with the quiet of their own old home,—when, above all, she described the utter brokenheartedness of the stout farmer,—the proud spirit melted, and Jessie consented to accompany her adopted sister. A letter was written to prepare her father and mother; and late on the evening of the day farmer Somers received the intelligence, the two sisters again walked together through the little lane which led to the farm-house; and in a few minutes more Jessie was folded to her father's heart. Another letter had reached him that eventful morning;-it was from Jessie's master, containing the confession of her fellow-servant, taken before a magistrate and duly signed; the principal purport was, that the theft had been a concerted plan, both to obtain money and cause Jessie's dismissal, of whom she was very jealous: -that she had taken Jessie's bonnet, and procured curls of the description usually worn by the unhappy girl :-and that she had purposely dropped the handkerchief, that no circumstance might bo wanting to condemn her.

While these happy tidings were reading, Mary scarcely felt that

James's arm was thrown round her while he gazed on Jessie; but she heard and felt his audible amen, when at evening prayer that night, farmer Somers called down a fervent blessing on "THE ORPHAN;" and the humbled and saddened Jessie, who became again (and with better cause) the cherished idol of all around her, never forgot the day when Mary sate in that dark and wretched room, earnestly persuading her, in those low musical tones, to return like the prodigal son, like him to be welcomed.

THE DYING ONE.

PALE hectic's 'plague spot' on her wasted cheek,
Proclaim'd her fast dissolving ;-fair she was,
Though aye her wan and ashen hue belied
The flashing sparkle of her clear bright eye;
Deceitful lustre !-but for this she seem'd
As dead, and yet alive, as if, in sooth,
Some spirit pure had left its blest abode,
And reinspirited the lifeless form
Of beauty's fairest semblance,-or, more like
The inanimated work of sculptor's hand
Starting to life nerved with Promethean fire.
Her sun of life was setting fast, and now
A last, a radiant beam, had thrown athwart
Her pallid features,-her fair soul appear'd,
As if rejoicing to be free, and leave

All wo, and want, and pain-to soar aloft
To realms of bliss, 'mid seraphs fair as she,
Blooming in undecaying beauty-'neath
Their loved Redeemer's endless, holy sway.—
Or, like the light of beaming lamp,-inclosed
In glassy prison,-which resistless darts
Its radiance through the thin and fragile walls
Mocking their opposition,-such she seem'd,
A frail weak frame without, a fire within.-
The anxious eye of parents, brothers, saw
Her quick declining,-nor could venture ought
To stay consumption's sure, relentless stride.
Peaceful and calm, like soothing sleep's approach,
Death's chill came o'er her, and her latest gasp
Could scarce be noted.-Her soul's last adieu,
Seem'd e'en as when the fading twilight sinks
Beyond the distant mountains, night's dark part,
Her gloomy threshold,-ne'er observed,-no eye
Can mark the time, no sage's glance can note
When light doth change to darkness, even so
Was her unseen departure.

Q. R.

THE CHEVALIER D'AVENANT.*

DURING the late revolutionary war in Spain, a regiment of dragoons was raised at Madrid, which was chiefly composed of foreign volunteers. The Chevalier D'Avenant, who had served long in the French army, resided at that time in the Spanish capital, and was induced, partly by his love of freedom, and partly by the urgent solicitation of the Cortes, to take the command of this corps. Unfortunately after the Duc D'Angouleme crossed the Pyrenees, the campaign commenced under very unfavourable auspices, and the Constitutionalists were not long in discovering that the success of their arms was not equal to the justice of their cause. In the action which took place at Corunna, the Chevalier D'Avenant was present with his regiment, and took an active part in the military operations of the day. In consequence of this the troops under his command suffered severely; and when they were finally repulsed by the superior strength of the enemy, he found it quite impossible to keep them together, or preserve discipline so as to make an orderly retreat. After the confusion of the flight was over, he mustered his scattered force, and discovered that he was left with a party of men not exceeding forty in number, who seemed to cling together rather from the desire of mutual preservation, than the hope of being able to accomplish any important services.

With this small remnant of the corps, Colonel D'Avenant continued to retreat for several days without being engaged in any important adventures. At length he began to consider himself beyond the reach of pursuit, but still he did not neglect the precautions which were necessary in his situation. On the morning when our narrative opens, he was seen taking a survey of the surrounding country on a neighbouring hill, before the soldiers under his command left the place where they had bivouacked for the night, for the purpose of proceeding on their march.

"Yonder is the Chevalier D'Avenant," said Pierre Rigaud, a veteran soldier, addressing some of his comrades, and pointing to an officer in uniform, who at that moment crossed the ridge of a hill at a little distance, and rode towards the spot where the party was stationed. "The Colonel is a brave fellow," one of the troopers observed, "and, what is more, as fine a horseman as ever put foot in stirrup." Yes, indeed," Pierre replied, "but had you seen him when he led on the Chasseurs at Talavera, you would have thought such a

* From the Edinburgh Literary Gazette.'

gallant officer could never be reduced to command such a paltry picquet as this." "A truce to your old campaigns; why, man, that affair of Corunna, the other day, showed us all very well that D'Avenant was made of the right stuff." "Hush-look there!" the veteran exclaimed, "the Colonel comes down the hill like lightning. I'll peril my life he brings news of danger with him. Get the horses ready, my lads, and prepare for the worst."

In a few moments the Chevalier D'Avenant reached the place where the soldiers were posted. He was a tall handsome man, apparently in the prime of life, with some marks of care and campaigns on his face, but still remarkably stout and vigorous in his appearance, with pleasant features, and large black eyes of unusual brilliancy. Those eyes flashed finely when he exclaimed, "There is a column of French cavalry close upon our rear-mount, soldiers, mount!"

This order was quickly obeyed; for the party was instantly in motion, and set forward at a rapid pace. For several miles the dragoons continued to push on with unabated speed; but at length they gave their horses a little indulgence on coming to a part of the road which winded up the gentle acclivity of a hill. On reaching the highest point in the ascent, they had a fine view of the surrounding country, and on looking back they had the satisfaction to find that the French had not yet appeared in sight. This discovery raised their spirits, and they proceeded to descend with fresh vigour ; but they had not gone far when they observed at a considerable distance, a large body of troops advancing to meet them. In a moment the word "halt" was given, while Colonel D'Avenant pulled out a telescope, and rode briskly in advance to reconnoitre. The Chevalier soon returned, and said to his men. "These troops are royalists, I see by their colours; so we must go on and take up a position to the right-Forward!" The dragoons were not long in executing this manœuvre. Descending a little way, they reached a range of open country, and immediately turned off to the right of the high road, for the purpose of taking up an advantageous post on a small rising ground in an adjoining field. After they had formed into line in this situation, Colonel D'Avenant gave the usual order to load carabines, and prepare for action. When this was done, a silence of a few moments ensued, during which they attentively observed the movements of the Spanish troops, and awaited their approach in the deepest suspense.

Meanwhile the Chevalier turned to the men under his command, and shortly addressed them,-" Soldiers!" he said, "we are now placed in circumstances of great danger, from which we can only be delivered by courage and presence of mind. If we fall back and sur

render to the French, we shall certainly be condemned—many of us at least for fighting against our country; and on the other hand, if we throw ourselves on the mercy of these Royalists, we shall probably be pillaged, and then left to perish in the dungeons of the inquisition. Unless fair terms are offered, then, we must advance to death or victory!" This speech was received with loud cheers by the soldiers; but it was scarcely concluded when the Spaniards, who appeared to consist of about 400 irregular infantry and armed peasantry, approached within musket-shot of the position occupied by the dragoons. Colonel D'Avenant now ordered his trumpeter to sound a parley, and rode forward alone to treat with the Spanish commander, who immediately obeyed the signal, and advanced to meet him. "Lay down your arms, else we shall cut you to pieces!" exclaimed the Spaniard. "No never! Hear me, Senor," said D'Avenant, with dignity and firmness. "You see we are few in number, but remember we are all well armed,

well mounted, and desperate men." "What mean you? I say you must surrender at discretion." "And I say," the French colonel replied, with earnestness, "rather than submit to such an indignity, we are determined to cut our way through your disorderly troops, or perish in the attempt!" The commanding tone in which this was spoken had a striking effect on the Spanish officer, for he seemed embarrassed, and wavered a little before he made any reply. When at length he did speak, it was in a subdued manner. "What terms, then, do you expect me to grant, while I command such a superior force?" "I don't know what terms you will grant; but the terms I demand are, that you shall give us passports, and allow us to go wherever we choose, provided we surrender our arms and horses." "Well," said the Spaniard, "to prevent bloodshed, I agree to these terms, and pledge my honour to fulfil them."

The treaty being thus summarily concluded to the mutual satisfaction of both officers, each rode back to the troops under his command. When D'Avenant apprized his little squadron of the result of his negotiation, it appeared to give satisfaction to every one excepting Pierre Rigaud, the veteran already noticed, who muttered to himself "Spanish treachery-the terms are good-but they are too good to be kept." The Colonel overheard these expressions, but did not think it necessary to pay any attention to them. After issuing some instructions to his troop, he ordered them to follow him, in single files, at intervals, and dismount and deliver up their arms, according to stipulation, and gave an express command to Pierre to remain behind, to bring up the rear of the party. In a short time the dragoons had all, one by one, surrendered to the Spaniards, till Pierre was left alone on the ground; but in place of