They did not hear the noise which disturbed our little congregation at Brussels. Much louder than that which had interrupted them two days previously, as Mrs. O'Dowd was reading the service in her best 5 voice, the cannon of Waterloo began to roar.

When Jos heard that dreadful sound he made up his mind that he would bear this perpetual recurrence of terrors no longer, and would fly at once. He rushed into the sick man's room, where our three 10 friends had paused in their prayers, and further interrupted them by a passionate appeal to Amelia.

I can't stand it any more, Emmy," he said; “I won't stand it; and you must come with me. I have bought a horse for you-never mind at what price15 and you must dress and come with me, and ride behind Isidor."

20

"God forgive me, Mr. Sedley, but you are no better than a coward," Mrs. O'Dowd said, laying down the book.

"I say come, Amelia," the civilian went on; never mind what she says; why are we to stop here and be butchered by the Frenchmen?"

"You forget the th, my boy," said the little Stubble, the wounded hero, from his bed—“ and—and you 25 won't leave me, will you, Mrs. O'Dowd?"

"No, my dear fellow," said she, going up and kissing the boy. "No harm shall come to you while I stand by. I don't budge till I get the word from Mick. A pretty figure I'd be, wouldn't I, stuck be30 hind that chap on a pillion?"

mention of the service in the English Church and "they," the worshippers in England.

This image caused the young patient to burst out laughing in his bed, and even made Amelia smile. "I don't ask her," Jos shouted out-"I don't ask thatthat Irishwoman, but you, Amelia; once for all, will you come?"

"Without my husband, Joseph?" Amelia said, with a look of wonder, and gave her hand to the major's wife. Jos's patience was exhausted.

66

and

5

Good-bye, then," he said, shaking his fist in a rage and slamming the door by which he retreated. And 10 this time he really gave his order for march mounted in the court-yard. Mrs. O'Dowd heard the clattering hoofs of the horses as they issued from the gate; and looking out, made many scornful remarks on poor Joseph as he rode down the street with Isidor 15 after him in the laced cap. The horses, which had not been exercised for some days, were lively, and sprang about the street. Jos, a clumsy and timid. horseman, did not look to advantage in the saddle. "Look at him, Amelia dear, driving into the parlour 20 window. Such a bull in a china-shop I never saw." And presently the pair of riders disappeared at a canter down the street leading in the direction of the Ghent road, Mrs. O'Dowd pursuing them with a fire of sarcasm so long as they were in sight.

All that day, from morning until past sunset, the cannon never ceased to roar. It was dark when the cannonading stopped all of a sudden."

At this point the narration of the battle, as heard at Brussels, ends until resumed in the rapid summary of the last paragraph. The dignity and the fine reserve of the style in the following

25

All of us have read of what occurred during that interval. The tale is in every Englishman's mouth; and you and I, who were children when the great battle was won and lost, are never tired of hearing and 5 recounting the history of that famous action. Its remembrance rankles still in the bosoms of millions of the countrymen of those brave men who lost the day. They pant for an opportunity of revenging that humiliation; and if a contest, ending in a victory on their 10 part, should ensue, elating them in their turn, and leaving its cursed legacy of hatred and rage behind to us, there is no end to the so-called glory and shame and to the alternations of successful and unsuccessful murder, in which two high-spirited nations might en15 gage. Centuries hence, we Frenchmen and Englishmen might be boasting and killing each other still, carrying out bravely the devil's code of honour.

All our friends took their share and fought like men in the great field. All day long, whilst the women 20 were praying ten miles away, the lines of the dauntless English infantry were receiving and repelling the furious charges of the French horsemen. Guns which

were heard at Brussels were ploughing up their ranks, and comrades falling, and the resolute survivors closing 25 in. Towards evening, the attack of the French, repeated and resisted so bravely, slackened in its fury. They had other foes besides the British to engage, or were preparing for a final onset. It came at last the

paragraph are very noteworthy. The aim is not to portray a battle scene but to give an account of a great event, in simple, appropriate words.

columns of the Imperial Guard marched up the hill of Saint Jean, at length and at once to sweep the English from the height which they had maintained all day, and in spite of all: unscared by the thunder of the artillery, which hurled death from the English 5 line-the dark rolling column pressed on and up the hill. It seemed almost to crest the eminence, when it began to wave and falter. Then it stopped, still facing the shot. Then at last the English troops rushed from the post from which no enemy had been able to ro dislodge them, and the Guard turned and fled.

No more firing was heard at Brussels-the pursuit rolled miles away. Darkness came down on the field

and city and Amelia was praying for George, who

was lying on his face, dead, with a bullet through his 15 heart.

2. Henry James.

Born 1843.

FROM Confidence,' CHAPTER I.

[Confidence appeared in 1880. The following passage is notable for the ease and smoothness of the style-qualities which are rendered more apparent by the rather trivial nature of the subject. These qualities are most remarkable in the delicacy of the transitions; and they come out most clearly in the airy precision of effect and in the lightness of touch of the dialogue. Each sentence, each word, leads into the next in a way that renders the passage the perfection of coherence. It is notable, too, structur

ally, as a skillful opening.]

It was in the early days of April; Bernard Longueville had been spending the winter in Rome. He had travelled northward with the consciousness of several social duties that appealed to him from the 5 further side of the Alps, but he was under the charm of the Italian spring, and he made a pretext for lingering. He had spent five days at Siena, where he had intended to spend but two, and still it was impossible to continue his journey. He was a young Io man of a contemplative and speculative turn, and this was his first visit to Italy, so that if he dallied by the way he should not be harshly judged. He had a fancy for sketching, and it was on his con

1 Printed by the kind permission of, and by arrangement with, Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin & Co., the publishers.