mit, I visited my parents, whose joy at seeing me again exceeded all bounds. They were very comfortably settled, and it was not amongst the least of their gratifications to behold their only child arrayed in the naval uniform of his country. It would be a useless, though perhaps not altogether an uninteresting task, for me to detail the events of the seven succeeding years, during which I frequently endeavoured to get on the East India station, and at last obtained my desire. At this time I was first-lieutenant of a frigate, (as through the interest of the captain, I received a commission almost immediately after passing my examination,) and had amassed a very handsome property in prize-money; but I knew it would be necessary for me to gain higher promotion before Sir Edward would listen to my proposals. Nevertheless, the prospect of seeing Agnes afforded me the most lively emotions of pleasure. To this moment I can remember the delight which swelled my soul when we anchored at Bombay, particularly as we had captured an enemy's ship that had long been a great annoyance to commerce in the Indian seas, as it seemed to promise me another step.

As soon as duty would permit, I went on shore and eagerly hastened to the residence of Sir Edward, where almost the first individual that met my sight was the old butler. From him I learned

that the baronet had been consigned to the tomb about nine months;-that young Sir Edward retained an important and lucrative office,-and that the gentle Agnes, harassed by the importunities (I afterwards heard cruelties) of her brother to become the wife of an extremely wealthy but depraved libertine, had sunk broken-hearted to the grave! and the old man, with many tears, placed in my hands her last letter addressed to me, with a small box containing her miniature and several other mementos of an affectionate heart.

I shall not attempt to describe the anguish of my spirit at this heavy disappointment; at first it seemed to wither up my faculties, as if the only incentive to exertion was entirely destroyed, and all my future prospects were thenceforward to be. dark and dreary. Many years have flown away since, and I am now an old post captain; but though I have seen hundreds of beautiful and pleasing women, I am still single. My affection for the devoted Agnes-my first, my only loveremains unshaken, and I look forward to that happy union in the blissful realms of immortality which knows neither separation nor sorrow.

THE VETERAN SOLDIER.

"The brave poor soldier ne'er despise,
Nor treat him as a stranger:

For still he'll prove his country's stay,
In every hour of danger."

THE young urchins were taking their last five minutes of play on the beautiful village green at S- in Devonshire, previous to returning to the school-room for the afternoon, and in the midst of them stood a tall but aged man, who appeared to be regulating the game with all the accuracy of a thorough tactician. I stood watching the interesting group of children (of all ages) whose actions were guided by the tall old man, and witnessed their parting when the sonorous bell called them from their sports. They assembled round the aged mentor, and in a broad Irish accent he bade them mind their "larning," and be good "childer."

I entered into conversation with the veteran, and found he was a pensioner on the army, who had also a little property to live upon in the village of S, which had been left him by an officer whose life he had preserved at the battle

of Talavera. Having an hour or two to spare, I requested to hear something of his history, and with the garrulity natural to old age, he readily complied with my request. We seated ourselves, on a rustic bench beneath a giant sycamore, and he began by telling me-but I cannot do better than give it in his own language.

"Faith, but your honour's mighty condescending,” he exclaimed, "to listen to the chathering of ould Pat. Fifty years have marched off under General Time since I first shouldered the firelock, and now I am daily expecting the route (for my billet is nearly expired) to assemble for the grand review before the sarcher of all hearts. Och, many's the time and oft I've wished for some kind friend that I might spake a word to and unburthen my sinful spirit; for when I've stood sentry all alone by myself in the dark nights in Ameriky and Spain, and in dare little Ireland too, I've thought, 'Arrah Paddy, but you are a great big blaggard, so you are, for running away from your ould mother that's dead and gone, without so much as seeing her dacently laid under the turf. If she had been alive, it would have broke her heart, so it would, to think how her own beautiful Paddy should desart her in time of need, and not stop to see her waked.'. But 'twas the dthrink, your honour, 'twas the murthering dthrink, and bad manners to Sarjent Linstock for

that same; he laughed at poor Pat, and marched us off without bate of drum, saying that 'She would never wake again;' for I must be after telling you that there was a recruiting party came down to the fair, so they picked me out as the most likely lad on the sod; and indeed your honour, there wasn't many in those days, though Í say it meself, that dared tread upon my greatcoat, or call my shtick a rascal. But, as I said before, it was the dthrink, and then they chated me by slipping the king's countenance into my fob when I knew nothing about it at all, at all; but they swore I had 'listed willingly, and had taken the picture meself. Och, by my conscience, didn't I get into a thundering rage, sure! not that I minded sarving his Majesty, heaven bless the heart of his soul, that's in t'other world! but I thought it was not trateing me handsome, your honour, to trap me into it. But I found it was of no use to complain; so I went to bid poor mother good bye, and she'd just breath enough left to tell me not to disgrace the country that gave me birth. Arrah Paddy, (says she,) my own dare Paddy, that I loved so tinderly, and used to get the but-but-but-buthermilk and pra-pratees for!' Oh, sir, 'tis a big shame to see a sodger cry; but when I think of the dare soul and the buthermilk, how can I help it? Niver dishonour your cloth, Paddy, (says she,) nor the king you sarve,