I could be content!-But my Father-my heavenly Father! thy will-be done!"

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 exhi→ larating 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:

London,

"DEAR NEPHEW,

"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?

VOL. IL.

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 dis

appointment 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 would have been stated; and recurring to his discharge, he knew he should soon have the means of satisfying himself.

But where was this discharge? "It would," thought Lefevre, "be sent to the commanding officer. But why did not the Major inform him of it?" He resolved in an instant to go to him, and make enquiries about it; and, then amending his resolution, he unwillingly fell under the conviction, that he ought to wait his superior's pleasure..

To wait is a most difficult lesson to learn. It was one to which Lefevre was particularly opposed; and it was only by severe discipline, he had been taught it. He waited; but he could scarcely be said to wait patiently. All that day and night he passed in suspense, sometimes imagining to himself his joyful return, and sometimes fearing that some unforeseen disaster might arise for ever to prevent it. Often