e ferocity of
purpose, followed by a child-like docility and a womanly softness; the
grave, the gay, the resolute, the fickle; the firm, the yielding, the
unsparing, and the tender-hearted,--blending their contrarieties into one
nature, of whose capabilities one cannot predicate the bounds, but to whom,
by some luckless fatality of fortune, the great rewards of life have been
generally withheld until one begins to feel that the curse of Swift was
less the sarcasm wrung from indignant failures than the cold and stern
prophecy of the moralist.

But how have I fallen into this strain! Let me rather turn my eyes forward
towards my home. How shall I find all there? Have his altered fortunes
damped the warm ardor of my poor uncle's heart? Is his smile sicklied over
by sorrow; or shall I hear his merry laugh and his cheerful voice as in
days of yore? How I longed to take my place beside that hearth, and in the
same oak-chair where I have sat telling the bold adventures of a fox-chase
or some long day upon the moors, speak of the scenes of my campaigning
life, and make known to him those gallant fellows by whose side I have
charged in battle, or sat in the bivouac! How will he glory in the
soldier-like spirit and daring energy of Fred Power! How will he chuckle
over the blundering earnestness and Irish warmth of O'Shaughnessy! How will
he laugh at the quaint stories and quainter jests of Maurice Quill! And how
often will he wish once more to be young in hand as in heart to mingle with
such gay fellows, with no other care, no other sorrow, to depress him, save
the passing fortune of a soldier's life!

CHAPTER XLII.

THE RETURN.

A rude shock awoke me as I lay asleep in the corner of the chaise; a shout
followed, and the next moment the door was torn open, and I heard the
postilion's voice crying to me:--

"Spring out! Jump out quickly, sir!"

A whole battery of kicks upon the front panel drowned the rest of his
speech; but before I could obey his injunction, he was pitched upon the
road, the chaise rolled over and the pole snapped short in the middle,
while the two horses belabored the carriage and each other with all their
might. Managing, as well as I was able, to extricate myself, I leaped out
upon the road, and by the aid of a knife, and at the cost of some bruises,
succeeded in freeing the horses from their tackle. The postboy, who had
escaped without any serious injury, labored manfully to aid me, blubbering