Mary is so severe !" retorted Fanny. "And so wise," said Lewellyn peevishly-"nothing pleases her."

"I believe, indeed, my temper is altered for the worse lately," answered Mary, bursting into tears. A profound silence ènsued, and lasted till they got home:then Fanny, seconded by Lewellyn, urged Mary, with more than common kindness, for her tears had affected them, to be of the party in the evening.

"No," replied Mary;" I had rather not come-I do not like soldiers; therefore, why should I meet them?" And Fanny, wondering at her want of taste, acceded to the propriety of her not com ing but Lewellyn, while he approved her determination of staying at home, observed to himself," She does not like soldiers!What a sensible young woman my cousin Mary is!-I wish-" Here he stopped; but the violence with which he struck his stick on the ground, and shut.

own, for Mary allowed it to be so; and Fanny, watching her opportunity, threw one of her arms round his neck, and, leaning her face on his shoulder, whispered— "I never saw you look so well in my life!" and for the first time seemed to court the ready kiss of her lover.

Poor Lewellyn thought that the happi est moment of his life: certain it is, it was the most fateful, as all his future hours took their colour from it.

Lewellyn, after wearing the coat longer than propriety warranted, perhaps, returned it to the soldier; but had, at the same time, the mortification of seeing Fanny's eyes continue to the coat, when on his rival's back, the glances of admiration which they bestowed on it when on his. Nay, the capricious girl, not contented with the review in the morning, would accompany her military guests to the parade in the evening; and when there, the serjeant's attention in making

way for her through the crowd, and requesting the band to play only such tunes as she chose, diverted once more her at tention from her lover, and restored to his heart all the pangs of jealousy and disappointment: but then he recollected the tenderness with which she had court, ed and received his caresses when he wore the serjeant's dress; he still felt the pressure of her head against his shoulder; and he owned, in the fullness of his love, that to purchase such another moment he would himself be a soldier.

Day succeeded to day, and week to week; and Fanny continued to receive the visits of the serjeant and other sol diers, though she still professed to look on herself as the betrothed wife of Lewellyn; and though he disapproved in the most earnest manner not only her associates, but the eagerness with which she followed every thing connected with military affairs.

At last, the uneasiness of Lewellyn's

mind showed itself in his countenance. He became pensive, pale, and thin, and every thing about him bespoke some inward struggle; he neglected his business, he spoke little, and ate less; and one evening, in which he had been unusually agitated while Fanny was talking and laughing at her window with one of her military beaux, he started up, and, exclaiming "It shall be so!" seized his hat, and rushed out of the room. “I shall lose her for ever," cried he passionately, "if I do not!" The thought was madness: he hastened along the street, and in a few moments inlisted himself into the regulars then quartered in the town. "Now," said he to himself, as he returned home," she cannot fail of loving me again! But then, to please her, I have assumed a garb hateful to myself and pa. rents. Oh, Fannny, I feel I have pur chased your love very dearly!"

As he said this he found himself at his

own door." No, I dare not tell them to-night what I have done!" said he, and with a trembling hand he opened the door of the sitting-room.

"How pale you look!" exclaimed Mary, running to meet him.

"My dear child! you are not well," cried his mother.

"We must send for advice for him," said his father: "the poor lad has looked ill some days, and bad fevers are about. If we should lose you, Lewellyn, what would become of us in our old age?"

Lewellyn tried to speak, but his voice died away; and, leaning on the arm of his father's chair, he sobbed aloud.

Alarmed at his distress, but quite unsuspicious of the cause, his mother hung about his neck: his father walked up and down the room, exclaiming-"What can have happened?-What can this mean?" and Mary, motionless as a statue, stood gazing on him in silence;-when, as he