in this place, which has
proved a grave to so many of my countrymen. Let me find my last
resting-place, dearest mother, at home, in our own little church-yard."

The lady wept as she promised her child to fulfill her last request, and
Mordant saw that Happiness had flown from the bed (around which she had
been hovering for some minutes) straight up to heaven, to await there the
spirit of the broken-hearted girl, who was breathing her last under the
clear and sunny sky of Madeira.

Mordant shuddered as he awoke, for he had been asleep for some time, and
the evening was closing in as he rose from the damp grass. It was to a
lonely hearth that he returned, and during the long night which followed,
as he thought of his dream and of an ill-spent life, he resolved to
revisit his early home, in the hope that amidst old scenes he might bring
back the days when he was happy. Was Edith still alive? He knew not. He
had heard she had gone abroad; she might be there still. He did not
confess it to himself, but it was Edith of whom he thought most; and it
was the hope of again seeing her which induced him to take a long journey
to the place where he had been born. The bells were ringing for some
merry-making as Mordant Lindsay left his traveling carriage, to walk up
the one street of which Bower's Gifford boasted. He must go through the
church-yard to gain the new inn, and passing (by one of the inhabitants'
directions) through the turnstile, he soon found himself amidst the
memorials of its dead. Mordant, as he pensively walked along, read the
names of those whose virtues were recorded on their grave-stones, and as
he read, reflected. And now he stops, for it is a well-known name which
attracts his attention, and as he parts the weeds which have grown high
over that grave, he sees inscribed on the broken pillar which marks the
spot, "Edith Graham, who died at Madeira, aged 21." And Mordant, as he
looks, sinks down upon the grass, and sheds the first tears which for
years have been wept by him, and in sorrow of heart, when too late,
acknowledges that it is not money or gratified ambition which brings
Happiness in this world, but a contented and cheerful mind; and from that
lonely grave he leaves an altered man, and a better one.

MAURICE TIERNAY, THE SOLDIER OF FORTUNE.(3)

Chapter LI. "Schoenbrunn" In 1809.

About two months afterward, on a warm evening of summer, I entered Vienna
in a litter, along with some twe