the honourable character of volunteer soldier or volunteer attendant on Mr. Eliot Lee. This done, nothing remained but the customary devotional service, still performed by the village pastor on all extraordinary occasions. On this, Dr. Wilson's feelings overpowered his technicalities. His prayer, sublimed by the touching language of Scripture, melted the coldest heart, and raised the most dejected. After bestowing their farewell blessing the neighbours withdrew, all treasuring in their hearts some last word of kindness from Eliot Lee, long remembered, and often referred to.

The family were now left to a sacred service more informal, and far more intensely felt. Eliot, locking his mother and sister in his arms, and the little ones gathered around him, with manly faith commended them to God their Father; and receiving their last embraces,

sprang on to his horse, conscious of nothing but confused sensations of grief, till having

passed far beyond the bounds of Westbrook, he heard his companion lightly singing-" I cries for nobody, and nobody cries for Kisel!"

CHAPTER VI.

I do not, brother,

Infer, as if I thought my sister's state
Secure, without all doubt or controversy;

Yet, where an equal poise of hope and fear
Does arbitrate the event, my nature is,

That I incline to hope rather than fear.-MILTON.

Eliot Lee to his Mother.

66

Town, 1778.

"I HAVE arrived thus far, my dear mother,

on my journey; and, according to my promise,

am beginning the correspondence which is to soften our separation.

"My spirits have been heavy. My anxious thoughts lingered with you, brooded over dear Bessie and the little troop, and dwelt on our home affairs.

"I feared Harris would neglect the thrashing, and the wheat might not turn out as well as we hoped; that the major might forget his promise about the husking bee; that the pumpkins might freeze in the loft (pray have them brought down -I forgot it!); that the cows might fail sooner than you expected; that the sheep might torment you. In short, dear mother, the grief of parting seemed to spread its shadows far and wide. If Master Hale could have penetrated my mental processes, he would have deemed his last admonition, to deport myself in thought, word, and deed, like a scholar, a soldier, and a gentleman, quite lost upon me. I was an anxious wretch, and nothing else. Poor Kisel did not

serve as a tranquilliser. His light wits were throwing off their fermentation, in whistling, laughing, and soliloquising; and this, with Beauty's shambling gait, neither trot, canter, nor pace, but something compounded of all, irritated my nerves. Never were horse and rider better matched. Together, they make a fair centaur; the animal not more than half a horse, and Kisel not more than half a man. There is a ludicrous correspondence between them; neither vicious, but both unbreakable, and full of all manner of tricks.

"Our land at this moment teems with scenes of moral and poetic interest. We made our first stop at the little inn in R. The landlord's son was just setting off to join the quota to be sent from that county. The father, a stout old man, was trying to suppress his emotion by bustling about, talking loud, whis

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