ent was sent against the Burmese, the
bravery of the war, and the hardships of our adventures, so won me
from reflection, that I began almost to forget the accident of that
fatal night.

One day, however, while I was waiting in an outer room of the colonel's
quarters, I chanced to take up a London newspaper, and the first thing
in it which caught my eye, was an account of the trial and execution of
Dick Winlaw, for the murder of Bradley. The dreadful story scorched my
eyes;--I read it as if every word had been fire--it was a wild and
wonderful account of all. The farewell party at the Granby was
described by the witnesses. I was spoken of by them with kindness and
commendation; the quarrel between Bradley and Winlaw was described, as
in a picture; and my attempt to restrain them was pointed out by the
judge, in his charge to the jury, as a beautiful example of loving old
companionship. Winlaw had been found near the body, and the presumptions
of guilt were so strong and manifold, that the jury, without retiring,
found him guilty. He was executed on the common, and his body hung in
chains. Then it was that I first felt I was indeed a murderer--then
it was that the molten sulphur of remorse was poured into my bosom,
rushing, spreading, burning, and devouring; but it changed not the
bronze with which hardship had masked my cheek, nor the steel to
which danger had tempered my nerves.

I obeyed the Colonel's orders as unmoved as if nothing had happened.
I did my duty with habitual precision,--my hand was steady, my limbs
were firm; but my tongue was incapable of uttering a word. My comrades
as they came towards me, suddenly halted, and turned aside,--strangers
looked at me, as if I bore the impress of some fearful thing.
I was removed, as it were, out of myself--I was in another state
of being--I was in hell.

Next morning we had a skirmish, in which I received this wound in the
knee; and soon afterwards, with other invalids, I was ordered home. We
were landed at Portsmouth, and I proceeded to my native village. But in
this I had no will nor choice; a chain was around me, which I could not
resist, drawing me on. Often did I pause and turn, wishing to change my
route; but Fate held me fast, and I was enchanted by the spell of many
an old and dear recollection, to revisit those things which had lost all
their innocence and holiness to me.

The day had been sultry, the sun set with a drowsy eye, and the evening
air was moi