kind. I assure you
they stand in a higher rank; for this one night they feel themselves by
birthright to be daughters of England, and answer to no humbler title.

Every joy, however, even rapturous joy--such is the sad law of earth--may
carry with it grief, or fear of grief, to some. Three miles beyond Barnet,
we see approaching us another private carriage, nearly repeating the
circumstances of the former case. Here, also, the glasses are all
down--here, also, is an elderly lady seated; but the two amiable daughters
are missing; for the single young person, sitting by the lady's side, seems
to be an attendant--so I judge from her dress, and her air of respectful
reserve. The lady is in mourning; and her countenance expresses sorrow.
At first she does not look up; so that I believe she is not aware of our
approach, until she hears the measured beating of our horses' hoofs. Then
she raises her eyes to settle them painfully on our triumphal equipage.
Our decorations explain the case to her at once; but she beholds them with
apparent anxiety, or even with terror. Some time before this, I, finding it
difficult to hit a flying mark, when embarrassed by the coachman's person
and reins intervening, had given to the guard a _Courier_ evening paper,
containing the gazette, for the next carriage that might pass. Accordingly
he tossed it in so folded that the huge capitals expressing some such
legend as--GLORIOUS VICTORY, might catch the eye at once. To see the paper,
however, at all, interpreted as it was by our ensigns of triumph, explained
everything; and, if the guard were right in thinking the lady to have
received it with a gesture of horror, it could not be doubtful that she had
suffered some deep personal affliction in connection with this Spanish war.

Here now was the case of one, who, having formerly suffered, might,
erroneously perhaps, be distressing herself with anticipations of another
similar suffering. That same night, and hardly three hours later, occurred
the reverse case. A poor woman, who too probably would find herself, in a
day or two, to have suffered the heaviest of afflictions by the battle,
blindly allowed herself to express an exultation so unmeasured in the
news, and its details, as gave to her the appearance which amongst Celtic
Highlanders is called _fey_. This was at some little town, I forget what,
where we happened to change horses near midnight. Some fair or wake had
kept the people up out of their