having quitted his native vales and domestic connexions. His forehead fell upon his hands, and the tears from his full soul, fell fast and audibly to the ground. Again he lifted his eyes to her bright orb. "Ah!" said he within himself, "it was my folly! O that I could return! but I cannot! O my country, my friends, shall I never see you again? Thou dost still shine on my country-but I shall never more see thee there! Every night thou dost visit the dwelling of my mother-perhaps her grave! -God of mercy, thou wilt not suffer my crimes to be the cause of her death 1-But if she lived, would she not assure me of it? -would she forget her child-her only child? No!-I forgot her, but she cannot forget me!--Oh! since I cannot see her, would that I could know she is well-that she has forgiven me-and that she cannot cast me off!Then alien-outcast as I am, I could be content!-But my Father-my heavenly Father! thy will be done!"

Ia

This licence to his feelings composed his mind. He renewed his walk on the terrace, sometimes offering fervent prayer,

sometimes expressing filial resignation, and often indulging penitential regret, till the midnight hour broke upon the silence. Then he was relieved from guard, and sunk, with nature, into peaceful and exhilirating slumbers.

CHAPTER XXX.

ABOUT a week after this, when Lefevre had declined making any further enquiries for letters, one was presented to him by the person, who had the charge of distributing them in the regiment. With what emotion did he seize it! It seemed to restore his connection with his deserted country. He glanced on the superscription. It was the hand-writing of his uncle. His hopes fell. It was only a reproach for his conduct. Yet still it was from Englandand from London; and might at least give him information of his mother. He burst the seal. It contained an order for thirty pounds, and ran as follows:

DEAR NEPHEW,

London,

"I was glad at heart to get your letter, for we had given you up for dead, and your mother would have it, that you died

in Yorkshire, and were buried as a vagabond by the parish. But you're alive, and all's right again.

Say no more about sorrow and pardon, Charles. You see that you have done wrong, that's enough. I did say, to be sure, that I'd never forgive you, but then I'm hasty-yes, I must allow I'm hasty. That's one of my faults. Every man has his faults. But there's one thing I can't do. I can't hold malice. One must forgive, you know, Charles, as one hopes to be forgiven. So say no more about it.

"I would have answered you sooner, but I wanted to send you good news, and now I can. I have got your discharge! A hard job!-but I've managed it. You know I'm pretty great with the young baronet, who stays with us when he stays in town, and I made him take it up. Where's the use of friends unless we use them, aye boy?

"I send you an order for £30. Say nothing about it. You are my nephew, a'n't you? It's what I should have spent in a long journey and a tomb-stone for you, but

for your letter; and don't you think I'd better spend it on a living, than a dead nephew?

So, come, come, Charles, make haste home. Spend as you get-look before you leap-mind the main chance-and keep clear of those confounded methodistsand you'll be a man again. All but Douglas. I think he's good for something; though he'd be no comparison better, if it wasn't for his religion.

"I remain,

"Your true uncle,

"THOMAS PERRY."

Delight filled the mind of Lefevre on

reading the intelligence of this letter. He

read it a second time.

could not mistake it.

All was true-he

But his joy was

mixed with regret for his uncle—“ kind but mistaken man," said he; and with disappointment at not finding the name of his mother-"Why did not he speak of her? Why did not she write to him?" However, he consoled himself by thinking, that had any thing serious happened to her, it