ory. Five years of life it was worth paying down for the
privilege of an outside place.

DE QUINCEY.]

One day (it was a day in the following June) it came in earlier than
usual, and the young lady was not there to meet it.

But a crowd soon gathered round the _George and Dragon_, gaping to see
the Mail Coach dressed with flowers and oak-leaves, and the guard
wearing a laurel wreath over and above his royal livery. The ribbons
that decked the horses were stained and flecked with the warmth and
foam of the pace at which they had come, for they had pressed on with
the news of Victory.

Miss Jessamine was sitting with her niece under the oak-tree on the
Green, when the Postman put a newspaper silently into her hand. Her
niece turned quickly--"Is there news?"

"Don't agitate yourself, my dear," said her aunt. "I will read it
aloud, and then we can enjoy it together; a far more comfortable
method, my love, than when you go up the village, and come home out of
breath, having snatched half the news as you run."

"I am all attention, dear aunt," said the little lady, clasping her
hands tightly on her lap.

Then Miss Jessamine read aloud--she was proud of her reading--and the
old soldier stood at attention behind her, with such a blending of
pride and pity on his face as it was strange to see:--

"DOWNING STREET,

"_June_ 22, 1815, 1 A.M."

"That's one in the morning," gasped the Postman; "beg your pardon,
mum."

But though he apologized, he could not refrain from echoing here and
there a weighty word. "Glorious victory,"--"Two hundred pieces of
artillery,"--"Immense quantity of ammunition,"--and so forth.

"The loss of the British Army upon this occasion has
unfortunately been most severe. It had not been possible to
make out a return of the killed and wounded when Major Percy
left headquarters. The names of the officers killed and
wounded, as far as they can be collected, are annexed.

"I have the honor ----"

"The list, aunt! Read the list!"

"My love--my darling--let us go in and--"

"No. Now! now!"

To one thing the supremely afflicted are entitled in their sorrow--to
be obeyed--and yet it is the last kindness that people commonly will
do them. But Miss Jessamine did. Steadying her voice, as best she
might, she read on, and the old soldier stood bareheaded to hear that
first Roll of the Dead at Waterloo, which began with the Duke of
Brunswick, and ended with Ensign Brown.[3]