I went straight up stairs, and met Harriet at the door. I pushed her back into the room and took her hands.

"Harriet! Robert has found poor Edmund's hand, with the ring, buried under some wood in Thomas Parker's barn. I am going up to town with him at once, to put the matter into Dr. Penn's hands, and save George Manners' life, if it be not too late."

She wrenched her hands away, and flung herself at my feet. I never saw such a change come over any face. She had had time in the (what must have been) anxious interval of our absence, for some painful enough reflection, and my announcement had broken through the blindness of a selfish mind, and found its way where she seldom let anything come to her feelings.

"Oh, Dolly! Dolly! will you ever forgive me? Why did I not tell you before? But I thought it was only a dream. And indeed, indeed I thought Mr. Manners had done it. But that man Parker! If it had not been for Mr. Manners being found there, I should have sworn that Parker had done it. Dolly! I saw him that night. He came in and helped. And once I saw him look at Mr. Manners with such a strange expression, and he seemed so anxious to make him say that it was a quarrel, and that he had done it in self-defense. But you know I thought it must be Mr. Manners and I did so love poor Edmund!"

And she lay sobbing in agony on the ground. I said

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My love, I pray that it is not too late: but we must not waste time. Help me now, Harriet !"

She sprang up at once. "Yes! you must have food. You shall go. I shall not go with you. I am not worthy, but I will pray till you come back again."

I said, "There is one most important thing for you to do. Let no soul go out or come into the house till I return, or some gossip will bring it to Parker's ears that we have gone to London."

Harriet promised, and rushed off to get me food and wine. With her own hands she filled a hot-water bottle for my feet in the chariot, supplied my purse with gold, and sewed some notes up in NEW SERIES-VOL. I., No. 5.

my stays; and (as if anxious to crowd into this one occasion all the long withheld offices of sisterly kindness) came in with her arms full of a beautiful set of sables that belonged to her-cloak, cuffs, muff, &c.—and in these she dressed me. And then we fell into each other's arms, and I wept upon her neck the first tears I had shed that day. As I stood on the door-step, she held up the candle and looked at me.

"My dear!" she said, "how pretty your sweet face does look out of those great furs! You shall keep them always."

Dear Harriet! Her one idea-beauty. I suppose the "ruling passion," whatever it may be, is strong with all of us, even in the face of death. Moreover, hers was one of those shallow minds that seem instinctively to escape by any avenue from a painful subject; and by the time that I was in the chariot, she had got over the first shock, and there was an almost infectious cheerfulness in her farewell.

"It must be all right, Dolly!"

Then I fell back, and we started. The warm light of the open door became a speck, and then nothing; and in the long dark drive, when every footfall of the horses seemed to consume an age, the sickening agony of suspense was almost intolerable. Oh, my dear! never, never shall I forget that night. The black trees and hedges whirling past us in the darkness, always the same, like an enchanted drive; then the endless suburbs, and at last the streets where people lounged in corners and stopped the way, as if every second of time were not worth a king's ransom; and sedanchairs trotted lightly home from gay parties, as if life were not one long tragedy. Once the way was stopped, once we lost That mistake nearly killed me. At last a watchman helped us to the little by-street where Dr. Penn was lodging, near which a loud sound of carpenters' work and hurrying groups of people puzzled me exceedingly. After much knocking, an upper window was opened and a head put out, and my dear friend's dear voice called to us. I sprang out on to the pavement and cried—

it.

"Dr. Penn, this is Dorothy." He came down and took us in, and

35

then (my voice failing) Robert explained to him the nature of our errand, and showed him the ghastly proof. Dr. Penn came back to me.

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My love," he said, "you must come up stairs and rest.”

"Rest!" I shrieked, "never! Get your hat, doctor, and come quickly. Let us do something. We have very little time, and he must be saved."

I believe I was very unreasonable; I fear that I delayed them some minutes before good Dr. Penn could persuade me that I should only be a hindrance, that he would do everything that was possible, and could do so much better with no one but Robert.

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My love," he said, "trust me. To obey is better than sacrifice!"

came up to me with an air of determination.

"My dear, you must be a good young lady and take some tea. We all have our troubles, but a good heart goes a long way."

Her pitying face broke me down. How sadly without feminine sympathy I had been through all my troubles, I had never felt as I felt it now that it had come. I fairly dropped my head upon her shoulder, and sobbed out the apparently irrelevant remark

66

'Dear madam, I have no mother!" She understood me, and flinging her arms round me, sobbed louder than I. It would have been wicked to offer further resistance. She brought down pillows, covered them with a red shawl, and propped me up till the horsehair sofa became an easy couch, and with mixed tears and smiles, I contrived to swallow a few mouthfuls, a feat which she exalted to an act of sublime virtue.

I sat staring at the sprawling paper on the walls, and at the long snuff of the candle that Dr. Penn had lighted, and at a framed piece of embroidery, representing Abraham sacrificing Isaac, that hung upon the wall. Were there no succoring angels now?

The door opened, and I looked wearily round. A motherly woman, with black eyes, fat cheeks, and a fat wedding ring, stood curtseying at the door. said, "I think you are Dr. Penn's landlady? He says you are very good. Pray

come in."

I

Then I dropped my head on my hand again, and stared vacantly as before. Exhaustion had almost become stupor, and it was in a sort of dream that I watched the stout figure moving softly to and fro, lighting the fire, and bringing an air of comfort over the dreary little parlor. Then she was gone for a little bit, and I felt a little more lonely and weary; and then I heard that cheerful clatter, commonly so grateful to feminine exhaustion, and the good woman entered with a toasted glow upon her face, bearing a tray with tea, and such hospitable accompaniments as she could command. She set them down and

your hands and face, and smooth your hair, and go to sleep for a bit.” "I can not sleep," I said.

But Mrs. Smith was not to be baffled. "I shall give you something to make you," said she.

And so, when the warm water had done its work, I had to swallow a sleeping-draught, and be laid easily upon the sofa. Her last words as she "tucked me up" were, oddly enough

"The tea's brought back a bit of color to your cheeks, miss, and I will say you do look pretty in them beautiful sables!"

A very different thought was working in my head as the sleeping-draught tingled through my veins.

"Will the birds sing at sunrise?”

Nelly, I slept twelve long hours without a dream. It was four o'clock in the afternoon of Monday when I awoke, and only then, I believe, from the mesmeric influence of being gazed at. Eleanor! there is only one such pair of eyes in all the world! George Manners was kneeling by my side.

Abraham was still sacrificing his son upon the wall, but my Isaac was restored to me. I sat up and flung myself into his arms. It was long, long before either of us could speak, and, oddly

My story is ended, Nelly, and my promise fulfilled. The rest you know. How the detective, who left London before four o'clock that morning, found the rusty knife that had been buried with the hand, and apprehended Parker, who confessed his guilt. The wretched man said, that being out on the fatal night about some sick cattle, he had met poor Edmund by the low gate; that Edmund had begun, as usual, to taunt him; that the opportunity of revenge was too strong, and he had murdered him. His first idea had been flight, and being unable to drag the ring from Edmund's hand, which was swoollen, he had cut it off, and thrown the body into the ditch. On hearing of the finding of the body, and of poor George's position, he determined to brave it out, with what almost fatal success we have seen. He dared not then sell the ring, and so buried it in his barn. Two things respecting his end were singular: First, at the last, he sent for Dr. Penn, imploring him to stay with him till he died. That good man, as ever, obeyed the call of duty and kindness, but he was not fated to see the execution of my brother's murderer. The night before, Thomas Parker died in prison; not by his own hand, Nelly. A fit of apoplexy, the result of intense mental excitement, forestalled the vengeance of the law.

Need I tell you, dear friend, who know it so well, that I am happy?

Not, my love, that such tragedies can be forgotten these deep wounds leave a scar. This one brought my husband's first white hairs, and took away my girlhood forever. But if the first blush of careless gaiety has gone from life, if we are a little "old before our time," it may be that this state of things has its advantages. Perhaps, having known together such real affliction, we can not now afford to be disturbed by the petty vexations and worthless misunderstandings that form the troubles of smoother lives. Per

haps, having been all but so awfully parted, we can never afford, in this short life, to be otherwise than of one heart and one soul. Perhaps, my dear, in short, the love that kept faith through shame, and was cemented by fellowsuffering, can hardly do otherwise than flourish to our heart's best content in the sunshine of prosperity with which God has now blessed us.

Temple Bar.

ENGLISH DRAGOONS AND THEIR HORSES.

IN one of the pleasantest, because one of the most tolerant, books that was ever produced by a clergyman's pen,* the author tells us, that when showing a certain French cure the wonders of London, after a short pause in front of Northumberland House, he and his guest "passed along Parliament street, gazing with no little wonder at the mounted sentries at the Horse Guards," while "extolling the genuinely military aspect of the finest heary cavalry in the world." Which of us Londoners who has ever had to "do" Babylon the Great in company with either the traditionary country cousin or the inevitable "distinguished foreigner," has not been guilty of the same little piece of metropolitan vanity, when opposite two men in armor at the headquarters of the army? Let us say what we like, we who inhabit London are all— old and young, rich and poor-proud of those two mounted soldiers that appear to stand forever on each side of the entrance to St. James's Park; and the most inveterate financial reformers among us feel almost at peace with the income-tax when we have gazed our fill at the helmets, cuirasses, leather breeches, big boots, sheepskin-covered saddles, and splendid black horses of "the finest heavy cavalry in the world." No true Cockney, whatever else he may omit of the lions throughout the capital, ever failed to show these mounted sentries to the yokel relative or the "Mossoo" friend he happened to be escorting through the metropolis. And have we not all,

G. Musgrave. Sampson Low, Son, and Mars*Ten Days in a French Parsonage. By the Rev. ton: London, 1864.

when thus acting the cicerone, although secretly proud of these sons of Anak, pretended to be merely looking at them as if we took little or no interest in their appearance? How many of us have pretended, as did the reverend writer, to "set our watch by the old clock," while the real cause and reason of our halt was to have another good stare at our beloved Life Guards, or to see what effect their arms, horses, and general splendor would have upon the relation from Somersetshire or the acquaintance from the Boulevard des Italiens? The author of the Ten Days in a French Parsonage is by no means singular in his admiration of "the finest heavy cavalry in Europe;" and we can well imagine how much his French friend, M. le Cure Doyen-what we should call the Rural Dean-of Varennes in Argonne, must have been astonished with the general appearance and turn-out of our British Household Cavalry.

It is always an ungracious task to dispel a popular illusion; but in these days of plain speaking and plain writing it is often necessary to do so. To the military man who has seen cavalry on active service there can be no greater absurdity than to imagine that, as warfare is conducted in the present day, our squadrons of "Blues" or Life Guards would be of the slightest use in the field. If, indeed, an enemy, already landed in England was to give due notice, that upon a certain day and at a given hour he would await on Hounslow Heath or Salisbury Plain the "finest heavy cavalry in the world;" if that finest heavy cavalry were taken down by train, their horses well stabled all night, and well fed in the morning, there can be no doubt but what, man for man and troop for troop, the "Household Brigade" would give an uncommonly good account of its opponents. Nay, we would go farther, and allow that even at the odds of three to two, or two to one, the strong right arms of our English giants, and the weight of their splendid horses, would bear down all before them. But in modern land-warfare the battle is to the swift, not to the strong; and if a battery of rifled cannon had to be charged over a mile or more of ground, we should find that cavalry composed of heavy men six feet high

and stout in proportion, to say nothing of the heavy armor they wore and the pampered condition of their horses, was not exactly the kind of force with which to effect such charges as our famous light brigade made at Balaclava, or as the 7th Hussars, under Colonel Sir William Russell, made when, during the Indian Mutiny, they followed the enemy for twenty-four miles, and drove him over the Taptee, after having fought him hand to hand in the very middle of that deep and rapid river.

The fact is that, however showy they may be to look at, heavy cavalry at the present day are utterly useless, save for purposes of parade. Nothing can be finer than the Life Guards or Blues forming part of our public processions, such as when her Majesty goes to open Parliament, when escorting the Prince of Wales from Marlborough House to St. James's Palace for a drawing-room, or when going through a field-day in Hyde Park. But who can for a moment imagine the heavy black horses, the big boots, the shining cuirasses in the Crimea? Could either the men, or the animals they ride, ever find their way to India? What would be the consternation in the Windsor, Knightsbridge, or Albany Street Barracks, if any one of these showy corps were ordered to embark at Gravesend for foreign service? Surely, unless London, and London barracks, and London hay, straw, and oats, as well as London beef, bread, and porter, could be taken with them, no military authority would dare to send these modern men-at-arms out of the United Kingdom. Their neighbors of the Foot Guards would be much less astonished at being ordered to the Gold Coast or to Sierra Leone, than the Household Brigade would at having to march from London to Liverpool, and there embark for six months' garrison duty in Dublin.

And yet these same Life Guards went through portions of the Peninsula campaign; and both corps, as well as the Blues, left their mark at Waterloo. This is no doubt true; but fighting in 1816 was not what it is in 1865; nor can the hardships of a few weeks' campaign in Flanders be compared with those which our army went through before Sebastopol. We don't for a moment doubt but

what the pluck of every soldier in the Household Brigade is as good now as it was fifty years ago; but what is the use of courage, if a man is not trained how to use it? Imagine for a moment a Life Guardsman attacked by one of the Cossacks, which all who served in the Crimea must remember so well; or by one of those fanatic fighting devils, the Indian Sowars, who made themselves so famous during the great mutiny year. What living targets would both heavy horse and man present to the restless, active irregular, mounted upon what we should regard as a mere pony. How the Cossack could turn and twist and evade his gigantic enemy, dealing wounds with lance, bullet, and sword, until the heavy horseman was by sheer fatigue defeated. The fight would be something like a steam gunboat, armed with a swivel 300pounder, attacking one of the old sailing three-deckers. If the line-of-battle ship could get near her enemy, the latter would be run down by force of weight; but the gun-boat, like the Cossack or Sowar horseman, would take good care to keep out of the way, and the larger vessel, like the Life Guardsman, would have to give in, or else be riddled by the shot of her adversary.

It is a singular fact, that although India, the only foreign station to which we ever send cavalry, requires, on account of the small-sized horses of the country, that none but small and light men should be sent there as dragoons, we are ever committing the error of enlisting men that are far too heavy, in all our mounted corps. Thus when the 9th Lancers were sent out to India in 1841-42, it was found almost impossible to mount the greater part of the regiment, on account of the men being so tall and so heavy; and, when mounted, the horses of the country looked like ponies under them. The reason for this was, that the present Lord Rosslyn, who commanded the regiment for many years before it went to the East, took great pride in making the corps as much as possible like the "Blues," and would enlist none but tall men. So long as the 9th remained in England, and could get large horses, nothing could be finer than the appearance they made; but once they were sent to India, a great number of the men were positively use

less, for the very simple reason that they could not get horses large enough to mount them. And the very same result was witnessed during the great Indian Mutiny, when the 1st, 2d, 3d, and 7th Dragoon Guards were sent off in a hurry to the East. Nothing could have looked better, or have made a finer appearance, than these corps did in England; but once in India, the figure these big dragoons made, riding on what were to them very small horses, was most absurd: they looked as if they were riding on ponies. Not so the 7th and 8th Hussars. These two corps were composed of particularly small men-small, at least, for the English cavalry-and from the very first day they were mounted looked well and fit for service.

As with our men, so with the horses they ride: size and show are the two great objects looked for in mounting all our cavalry. To have the highest animals that can be procured for the regulation price, and to have them groomed and turned out for a show-parade, appear to be all that is looked for in our cavalry regiments. As to whether our horses could rough it on service, or what condition they would be in during a campaign; these are considerations which never seem to enter the head of our military authorities. Enough for the day is the evil thereof. The way in which our cavalry horses have always gone to the bad on service is a matter of history; and yet year after year we fill up our ranks with the half-bred gelding at £30, an animal which never could, and never will, stand any hard work, and which, if taken out of his comfortable stable, always falls off in condition. Every real cavalry officer in England knows that if our mounted troops were to go on service to-morrow, it would be the old story of the Crimea over again. There is not in the English army a single cavalry regiment, in no regiment is there a single troop, in which nine-tenths of the horses would not be entirely unfit for service after six months of rough work in the field; and this in spite of our English system of "stable-duty”—that is, grooming and feeding the troop-horseswhich is more perfect, and in which all the officers take much more pains, than in any other European army. The fault