of the foliage had disappeared ;---the face of nature shone in the pale, soft loveliness of beauty dimmed by sorrow. The genii of calmness and consolation seemed to hover in the whispering breeze. It was the very spot to indulge in the luxury of subdued grief, and it must be an agony scarcely less than phrenzy, that could resist its chastening influence.

The morning dawned, and with it came the anxieties, the hopes, and the terrors of the preceding day.

And as that day had worn away, so did this disappear, different only by the more numerous. arrivals of prisoners and of the wounded.

Exhausted nature could no longer endure the continuance of mental conflicts so torturing; and Isadora spent this night in profound

repose.

But the images which had occupied her waking fancy, were presented more distinctly in her visions of the night. Montague wounded -dying---calling fondly on her in his last moments---was continually before her. Sometimes she lived over the past in all its beauty, -sometimes she embodied the future enveloped in a shroud, and descending to the darkness of the grave.

It was about ten o'clock on the succeeding morning, when the distant roll of a heavy cannonade declared the work of death had commenced. The anxiety visible in every countenance was heightened or diminished as this tremendous sound appeared to advance or to recede. The report of every succeeding min

ute contradicted that of the last, and increased the general consternation. Some were engaged in exertions for the security of their property;--some fled precipitately ;---whilst others awaited the event in the dreadful patience of stupor.

At length the crisis on which the fate of Europe hung, arrived. The whole city was in commotion ;--the wounded soldier staggered to his home, to tell the important news, and to die. The French were routed---the victory of the allied armies was complete in every point, and the triumph of Britain was perfect!

The glow which should have warmed the heart of the Englishwoman at this moment, was displaced by the chill of uncertainty. Where was the messenger of Lord Montague? ---where, Lord Montague himself?

Grosvenor saw her distress, and participated in it. He inquired---he sought tidings---in vain. Not one sentence could be heard that related to him ;---and every moment confirmed to the mind of Isadora, the gloomy conviction that he indeed lived no longer.

At ten, one of his servants arrived with his arm broken. He had quitted the field at four, and was charged to tell the Bishop that the position was yet maintained, but the carnage dreadful. He had left his lord in the heat of the action, endeavouring to extricate his friend the Colonel, who was dreadfully wounded. The horse on which Lord Montague had left Brussels, was shot under him during the first day's action.---He himself had been delayed on

his journey by being crushed between the carriages, and thus having his arm broken.

Isadora drank every syllable of his recital, and ardently desired to hear more, though every instant confirmed the fallacy of her hopes, and the reality of her fears.

A second servant of Lord Montague's arrived scarcely an hour after his companion. His ghastly countenance was a terrible prelude to the tale he had to unfold :--Isadora looked on him-fancy anticipated the worst, and with the calmness of despair she bade him communicate quickly the tidings he brought, and terminate a suspense which could not be inferior to the most alarming certainty.

This man stated that his lord had succeeded in rescuing his friend, but on his retreat, he himself had been, in turn, surrounded. He had watched the conflict, and had ridden to the assistance of his master. But on his arriving at the spot, the whole party had disappeared: a horse, which he recognised to have belonged to Lord Montague, lay on the ground dead, and covered with innumerable wounds.. By the side of the animal

Isadora sprung to the narrator; she wrenched from his grasp that which had fallen by the horse,---she pressed it, stained with blood, to her lips,---to her heart; she gazed on it with the strained view of madness; she raised it to her burning temples, and started from the freezing chillness of its touch. It was the chain of pearls, the sacred cross, the amulet, which was to have defended the life of Lord

Montague! But the chain was broken, and the jewels that remained were drenched in blood,---in his life-blood!

Their pale loveliness was crimsoned by the sanguine stain; there was not a jewel that did not bear evidence to the fate with which the conflict had teemed. "It has been bathed in his heart's best blood! Oh God! at what a

price was it purchased!"

She spoke in the piercing scream of unutterable agony; her eyes shone, for an instant, in the fire of delirium. Overcome, at length, by the violence of her emotions, she sunk into a stupor, from which, it appeared, that nothing could rouse her.

The long gray lines, shooting across the eastern horizon, bespoke the approach of morning. The heavy clatter of horses, at length, excited the attention of Isadora. The trampling on the pavement ceased; the horsemen appeared to pause at the corner of the street, and to separate. The sound was renewed, but considerably weaker than before; it proceeded from the advance of one equestrian. He approached rapidly; he rested, he dismounted, entered the house; Isadora had fainted in his arms.

She recovered; excess of happiness had burst the thraldom of her senses, she was assured of her felicity, Lord Montague stood before her, Lord Montague supported her ;--

Lord Montague, glowing with health and with happiness, not only had escaped death, but returned covered with glory, attended by no expense but the having dared every danger of the fight.

CHAP. XVII.

While cymbal's clang, and trumpet's strain,

The knell of battle toll'd;

And trampling squadrons beat the plain,
Till the clouds echoed back again,

As if the thunder roll'd!

CROKER.

Ye sainted spirits of the warrior dead,
Whose giant force Britannia's armies led;

Your sons behold, in-arm, in heart, the same,
Still press the footsteps of parental fame.

HEBER.

LORD Montague learnt from the Bishop and from Grosvenor the agony that had distracted Isadora when his safety had appeared questionable. He exulted in the felicity of his prospects; he felt that he was loved as he desired to be---with a love of which he had never before dared to believe her capable.

Youth and beauty did not, at this moment, shrink from administering to the wounded and the dying. Fastidiousness and refinement were, at once, discarded; every thing that humanity could dictate was to be performed for those who had bled in that field, for their country.

When these duties-for duties they appeared to our English residents-were discharged, Isa