ush, prow foremost, into the dark abyss of the
billows. A gush of grief, a wanton profusion of tears, and vain laments,
and overflowing tenderness, and passionate but fruitless clinging to the
priceless few that remained, was followed by languor and recklessness.

During this disastrous journey we lost all those, not of our own family, to
whom we had particularly attached ourselves among the survivors. It were
not well to fill these pages with a mere catalogue of losses; yet I cannot
refrain from this last mention of those principally dear to us. The little
girl whom Adrian had rescued from utter desertion, during our ride through
London on the twentieth of November, died at Auxerre. The poor child had
attached herself greatly to us; and the suddenness of her death added to
our sorrow. In the morning we had seen her apparently in health--in the
evening, Lucy, before we retired to rest, visited our quarters to say that
she was dead. Poor Lucy herself only survived, till we arrived at Dijon.
She had devoted herself throughout to the nursing the sick, and attending
the friendless. Her excessive exertions brought on a slow fever, which
ended in the dread disease whose approach soon released her from her
sufferings. She had throughout been endeared to us by her good qualities,
by her ready and cheerful execution of every duty, and mild acquiescence in
every turn of adversity. When we consigned her to the tomb, we seemed at
the same time to bid a final adieu to those peculiarly feminine virtues
conspicuous in her; uneducated and unpretending as she was, she was
distinguished for patience, forbearance, and sweetness. These, with all
their train of qualities peculiarly English, would never again be revived
for us. This type of all that was most worthy of admiration in her class
among my countrywomen, was placed under the sod of desert France; and it
was as a second separation from our country to have lost sight of her for
ever.

The Countess of Windsor died during our abode at Dijon. One morning I was
informed that she wished to see me. Her message made me remember, that
several days had elapsed since I had last seen her. Such a circumstance had
often occurred during our journey, when I remained behind to watch to their
close the last moments of some one of our hapless comrades, and the rest of
the troop past on before me. But there was something in the manner of her
messenger, that made me suspect that all was not right. A capr