avera. All my bold and hardy days came rushing madly to
my mind; and my present life seemed no longer endurable. The last army
list and the newspaper lay on my table, and I turned to read the latest
promotions with that feeling of bitterness by which an unhappy man loves to
tamper with his misery.

Almost the first paragraph I threw my eyes upon ran thus:--

OSTEND, May 24.

The "Vixen" sloop-of-war, which arrived at our port this morning,
brought among several other officers of inferior note
Lieutenant-General Sir George Dashwood, appointed as
Assistant-Adjutant-General
on the staff of his Grace the Duke of Wellington. The gallant
general was accompanied by his lovely and accomplished daughter,
and his military secretary and aide-de-camp, Major Hammersley,
of the 2d Life Guards. They partook of a hurried _dejeune_
with the Burgomaster, and left immediately after for Brussels.

Twice I read this over, while a burning, hot sensation settled upon my
throat and temples. "So Hammersley still persists; he still hopes. And
what then?--what can it be to me?--my prospects have long since faded and
vanished! Doubtless, ere this, I am as much forgotten as though we had
never met,--would that we never had!" I threw up the window-sash; a light
breeze was gently stirring, and as it fanned my hot and bursting head, I
felt cooled and relieved. Some soldiers were talking beneath the window and
among them I recognized Mike's voice.

"And so you sail at daybreak, Sergeant?"

"Yes, Mister Free; we have our orders to be on board before the flood-tide.
The 'Thunderer' drops down the harbor to-night, and we are merely here to
collect our stragglers."

"Faix, it's little I thought I'd ever envy a sodger any more; but someway,
I wish I was going with you."

"Nothing easier, Mike," said another, laughing.

"Oh, true for you, but that's not the way I'd like to do it. If my master,
now, would just get over his low spirits, and spake a word to the Duke of
York, devil a doubt but he'd give him his commission back again, and then
one might go in comfort."

"Your master likes his feather pillow better than a mossy stone under his
head, I'm thinking; and he ain't far wrong either."

"You're out there, Neighbor. It's himself cares as little for hardship as
any one of you; and sure it's not becoming me to say it, but the best blood
and the best bred was always the last to give in for either cold or hu