off his schako in silence, twisted the billet among its gold tassels, and twice passing his hand through his luxuriant locks, he said, not without considerable vexation, "this, forsooth, is rare luck! No doubt the rich miser is well enough known!-I heartily wish, however, that I had been quartered anywhere else!" "Ha, ha! what a silly fellow you must be!" cried a bold knowing comrade" what is it to you, pray, if your host is a miser or a spendthrift? Only let him be rich enough-then a soldier is sure to be well off. However, you must begin with politeness and address-every thing depends on good management." "That is very true, I grant you!" said Wolfe, as he threw his knapsack over his shoulder"but there are a set of people in the world on whom all politeness is thrown away, and who have no heart or feel ing for man nor beast. If ever I meet with a butcher's waggon in the streets, full of miserable animals tied and bundled together, and see how the poor beasts lie there over and under one another, groaning sometimes, so that it cuts one to the heart, and mark how the fellows plod on behind the cart in utter indifference-whistling perhaps all the time, I have much ado to withhold myself from falling on, and beating the scoundrels heartily! Besides, to say the truth, I have had enough of blood and slaughter, and begin to be disgusted with the whole trade!"

“Oh!” cried his laughing companions, "Wolfe cannot bear the sight of blood-Thou chicken-hearted fellow!-And when did this terror come upon thee?"-" Don't talk nonsense," replied Wolfe angrily-" in battle, when man stands against man, and besides, when there are different motives for action, (laying his hand on his iron cross) one looks neither to the right nor the left, but in a soberer mood-well then, I shall not deny it, whenever I pass by a butcher's stall, and see the bloody axe, and hear (or fancy that I hear) the groans of agony, I feel inwardly, as if the fibres of my heart were torn-and therefore, I do wish that I had been quartered any where else!"

His comrades began to laugh at him more than ever, though they did not

The

venture it till he had gone a little way. He then looked round at them, and shook his lance, half jesting, half angry. They made faces at him in return, but soon began to disperse, and Wolfe proceeded on the road to his quarters.

He had not gone far when he found the street and the number. Already at a distance he saw a gigantic man in his shirt-sleeves, standing under the door-way. His countenance of a dusky yellow complexion, was quite shaded over by coal-black bushy projecting eyebrows; the small eyes, devoid of intellect, appeared to watch the rolling vapours of a short pipe.-One hand was placed in the waistcoat pocket, the other seemed to dance up and down the silver knots of the pipe, which rested ever and anon on his goodly person. Wolfe saluted him courteously, and, with a modest bow, shewed him his billet; upon which the man squinted at him sidewise, and without attending any further to his guest, he pointed, with his thumb bent backwards, to the house at the same time adding, in a gloomy and indifferent tone-"Only go in there, Sir! my people know already." Wolfe bit his lips, and entering somewhat abruptly, his sabre that rattled after him, happened to inflict a pretty sharp blow across the legs of Mein-herr John, his landlord. "What the devil in hell!" grumbled the butcher. Wolfe, however, did not allow himself to enter into any explanation or dispute, but passed on, and came into the court. He found there a pale and sickly-looking girl carrying two buckets of water. Wolfe, drawing near to her, inquired if she was the servant of his landlord? The girl remained silent, and as if terrified standing before him. She had set down the two buckets on the ground, and looked on him with large rayless eyes unsteadily. Her complexion seemed always to become more pale, till she resembled a marble statue more than an animated being. Meanwhile, as Wolfe renewed his question, she let her head sink upon her breast, and taking up the buckets again, she said, with her eyes fixed on a short flight of steps that led by a servant's door into the house, "Come up here; and

immediately at the first door on the right hand you will find your chamber."

Wolfe looked after her a while quite lost in thought, then climbed up the narrow stairs, and found all as she had told him. The room was small and dark; the air oppressive and suffocating. From the rough smoky walls large pieces of the lime had fallen away, and here and there were scraps of writing, initials, and figures of men and women, and beasts' heads, drawn with pieces of coal, or a burnt stick. Right opposite to the half-blinded window stood a miserable bed; and near it he saw a red-rusty nail, sticking a long way out of the walls. Wolfe hung his cypress crown upon it; placed his lance and sabre in a corner; threw his knapsack upon the table, and more than once, grumbling within his teeth, “What lubberly fellows these rich misers are!" he kicked aside two broken stools, went and leaned out of the window, and by degrees whistled his anger away.

Over the court and neighbouring buildings was visible a fine large garden, which "looked out," fresh and fragrant through the bluish-grey atmosphere of the town. There dark avenues twined their branches on high, in arches like those of a gothic cathedral over the solitary places; golden sun-flowers waved on their limber stalks over long labyrinths of red and white roses; walks and thickets surrounded the whole. There, all was silent; the rich luxuriance of the domain seemed like that of an enchanted wood, that no mortal foot had ever violated. Wolfe surveyed this garden with extraordinary pleasure, and would almost have given the world for the privilege of walking through a region of so much beauty and stillness; but however this might be, he became quite reconciled to his apartment on account of its having such a prospect.

He kept himself quiet through the rest of the day, giving himself little concern about what might be going on in the house. Towards evening his military duties called him abroad. He returned just after it had begun to grow dark. The window still remained open. He drew a chair towards it, filled his pipe, seated himself, and rolling out ample volumes of

5

smoke into the serene air, resigned himself to the voluntary flow of his thoughts and recollections.

The solitary garden, the obscure canopy of the trees, the bright moonshine that gleamed over them-all these things harmonized wonderfully together, and woke in his mind infinite trains of long-lost associations. He thought of his home, and of his aged mother; and by degrees became altogether opprest and melancholy. It occurred to him, that he was here absolutely without any one who took an interest in his fate; and all at once he felt an extraordinary longing and anxiety for his brother, who had now for a long time roamed about the world, and of whom no satisfactory intelligence had for many years been received. He had at first been a baker's apprentice-had afterwards entered into an engagement as a chaisedriver-and at last all traces of his name and fortune had, among strangers, vanished quite away. "Perhaps,' thought Wolfe, "he has also become a soldier; and now, when peace has come, and every nation is tranquil, news may have in all probability arrived at home of my poor brother Andrew."

With this persuasion he endeavoured to console himself; but could not help wishing immediately to write home for information; the recollection of his brother had so suddenly and deeply agitated his heart.

Wolfe now for the first time noticed with great vexation, that they had given him no light. This at least he resolved to demand. He got up therefore, (not without a soldier-like oath) and dressed as he then happened to be, in a short linen waistcoat, and without a neckcloth, went out. According to his custom when much irritated, he passed his hands over his head several times, raising his luxuriant locks in such manner as to give a considerable wildness to his toute ensemble, and cautiously groped his way down stairs. In the lobby there glimmered a dusky lamp. Wolfe stepped into the circle of the uncertain radiance, looked about for some means or other of obtaining his object, and searched with his hand for the bell-rope. At this moment Meinherr John happened to return home from his evening recreation at the ale-house; and with glowing com

plexion and glistening eyes, (not being aware of Wolfe's presence) gave the accustomed signal with a hard knotted stick on the door. Wolfe perceiving this, stepped up to meet him, carrying his head very high (while the light, such as it was, shone full upon him), and said, in a commanding tone, "Must I always sit in the dark?" Mein-herr John started as if he had been struck with a thunderbolt, let the cudgel fall out of his hands, looked about wildly and aghast, then rushed in and passed by Wolfe, uttering a deep groan of indescribable terror. "Is he mad, or drunk?" said our hero, who, at this strange behaviour, grew more irritated, applied himself resolutely to the bell, and stood prepared to raise a still greater disturbance, when the pale interesting girl, Louisa, stepped out timidly, and, on hearing his demand, excused her negligence, and, with a light in her hand, hastened up stairs before him. She then set the candle on the table, shut the window, wiped the dust from the chairs, and, in her silent and quiet manner, employed herself for a while

in the room.

Wolfe was very reserved and modest with ladies-he hated scandal; and, on the whole, perhaps, had not much confidence in the house. For these reasons, the presence of the girl rather vexed him. He kept himself turned away, and drummed with his fingers against the window. Louisa stood at the bed, with spread hands, smoothing and arranging the bed clothes. Wolfe heard her sigh deeply, and involuntarily looked after her, as she retired sobbing and hanging down her head with an expression of the deepest melancholy. All this vexed him to the soul. "What then can she weep for?" said he to himself "Has my rough manner terrified her? or, in my hurry, have I used to her some harsh words?" He had already the light in his hands, and anxiously hastened after her-"Stop, stop, my dear!" cried he aloud; "it is as dark as pitch on the stairs!-you may do yourself a mischief!"-Louisa was still standing on the first steps. Wolfe leaned over the railing and lighted her down. She thanked him with emotion, and her humid eyes were lifted up to him with an expression of unaccountable grief. Wolfe beheld her with silent perplexity, not

unmingled with pleasure, for he now perceived that she was very pretty; and a fine, but rather hectic, red played alternately over her interesting features. He took her hand respectfully-" My dear," said he," you are so much agitated-have I offended you?""Oh heavens! certainly not," answered she, beginning to weep anew. "Then, surely," said Wolfe, earnestly, "some one else has done something to distress you?" Louisa folded both hands, pressed them to her eyes, and slightly shook her head-" God has so willed," said she; "you also have been sent hither; good Heavens ! all was so well-so tranquil-now all my afflictions are renewed !" She made signs to Wolfe that he must not follow her; wiped the tears with her apron from her eyes; and went silently down the steps.

Wolfe having returned to his room, sat for a long time right opposite to the candle, leaning his head on his hands; and, without being able to account for the extraordinary and mysterious emotion by which he was overwhelmed, all his thoughts involuntarily became more and more dark and melancholy, just as if some fearful and heavy misfortune were about to fall upon him. He could not prevail over his reflections so as to bring them into any regular order; so deeply had the voice of the weeping Louisa penetrated into his heart. Her accents were now inwardly renewed, and divided, as it were, into a thousand echoes. In listening to her, it had not been without difficulty that he had refrained from tears; her touching sorrow almost broke his heart; and his own fate seemed unaccountably involved with her misfortunes.

Thus wholly occupied and lost in deep thought, he began, absently, to engrave with a pen knife, (which lay near his tobacco-pouch, and had served for clearing his pipe), all sorts of lines and angles on the crazy old wooden table at which he sat. Without knowing or intending it, he had engraven on the already hacked and disfigured boards, Louisa's name, which he had overheard frequently called aloud through the house. On observing what he had done, he almost started; and then drew the knife several times across the letters to obliterate the name. As he was then more fully made aware of what he had done, all