on the next battle field.

This was very dreadful, of course; but that winter's practice had given
me quite a turn for arithmetic, and I fell to calculating how many
battles would probably transpire before that crippled shoulder would let
him take the field again.

'You will not get out under three months,' said I, confidently.

He looked at me for a moment; and then, bending closer, he whispered,
'You do not really mean it, Isabel?'

My face flushed uncomfortably at this address, but, making a last
struggle, I inquired carelessly, 'And why not, pray?'

'Because,' he replied, with a steady voice, 'you have too kind a heart
to consign to a disappointed life one who loves you so devotedly.'

I suppose I had; for, after that, he had the impudence to assure me that
I was engaged to him.

'Providence seems to smile upon us,' observed my convalescing patient,
the next morning; 'read this, Isabel.'

The formidable looking document was placed in my hand, and I learned
that Lieutenant Elihu Summers, for gallant conduct at the battle of Bull
Run, was promoted to the rank of colonel.

'Mrs. Colonel Summers,' said he, with the old mischief beaming in his
eye; 'isn't that tempting?'

I immediately punished him by reading an article that happened to be on
hand, which proved conclusively that army and navy officers were a
worthless, dissipated set. Nevertheless, it was a satisfaction to think
that my wish of entering the army was about to be gratified--although in
such an unexpected way.

I could never definitely ascertain whether Helen Legram loved Mr.
Summers or not; but I am under the impression that she did, and that she
will never marry. She makes a splendid principal for the Peppersville
Academy; and, when we have a house of our own, she will be the first
invited guest.

I am afraid that I have no 'mission.' I spoiled my school teaching by
falling in love with the principal, and my hospital nursing by becoming
infatuated with my most troublesome patient. I do not feel disposed,
therefore, to try another field.

LETTER WRITING.

To Atossa, a Persian queen, the daughter of Cyrus and the mother of
Xerxes, has been ascribed the invention of letter writing. She, although
a royal barbarian, was, like her prototype of Sheba, not only an admirer
of wisdom in others, but wise herself. She first composed epistles. So
testifies Hellanicus, a general historian of the ancient states, and so
insists Tatian in his cel