r, gently waving in the evening breeze,
shaded, and added a softness to the settled grief impressed on his
countenance. A lovely girl lay at his feet, embracing the senseless
turf, then raising herself, wrung her hands, and, clasping that of her
companion sank on the sod in a state of insensibility!

"Ellen, Ellen, my child!" exclaimed the mourner. Frederick could refrain
no longer, but, rushing through the gateway, raised the senseless Ellen
in his arms. Life soon returned, when the Captain (who, with Mr. Talton,
had followed Frederick) took the hand of the unhappy man; the softened
accent of commiseration hung on his lips, but, the mourner murmuring an
entreaty to be spared, withdrew his hand from the friendly grasp, and,
taking the weeping girl by the arm, slowly directed his steps from the
compassionate intruders.

His sorrow was sacred--the Captain felt it; but Frederick, whose
attention was fixed on Ellen, perceiving her scarcely able to support
herself, again hastened to her assistance, and the Captain waving his
hand for his servant to attend him, returned with Mr. Talton to the inn.

The scene they had witnessed was too impressive to be erased from their
minds; they communicated it to their host, who said--"Ah, your Honour,
it was Lieutenant Booyers. Poor gentleman--he is the pity of all who
know him, though I knew him when the sun rose not on a happier man: but
that time is passed."

"And pray, my worthy friend," said the Captain, "to what misfortune does
he owe this unhappy change?"

"'Tis a mournful tale, your Honours," answered the compassionate Jarvis,
"never, I believe, did any man experience more sorrow and misfortune
than he has."

"If my curiosity be not impertinent," said the Captain, "I would thank
you for a few particulars respecting him. I remember a Francis Booyers,
who some years since served, at the time I did, on board the Agamemnon;
and what I have beheld I acknowledge has interested me. You appear to
have known him long."

"From his birth, Sir: and, I believe, there are few circumstances of his
life with which I am unacquainted.

"I was, Sir, in my youth a soldier, and served under the father of the
gentleman you this evening beheld: as brave a man as ever fought beneath
the British standard, and as well beloved by his whole regiment. During
our campaign, I had the good fortune several times to gain his notice,
and in the last engagement where I fought, had the happiness to save his