It is a mistake, sanctioned by the constant acceptance of historians, to suppose that it was this occasion that prompted Andre to abandon a commercial life.  The improbability of winning Honora’s hand, and the freedom with which she received the addresses of other men, undoubtedly went far to convince him of the folly of sticking to trade with but one motive; and so soon as he attained his majority, he left the desk and stool forever, and entered the army.  This was a long time before the Edgeworth marriage was undertaken, or even contemplated.

Lieutenant Andre of the Royal Fusileers had a very different line of duty to perform from Mr. Andre, merchant, of Warnford Court, Throgmorton Street; and the bustle of military life, doubtless, in some degree diverted his mind from the disagreeable contemplation of what was presently to occur at Lichfield.  Some months were spent on the Continent and among the smaller German courts about the Rhine.  After all was over, however, and the nuptial knot fairly tied that destroyed all his youthful hopes, he is related to have made a farewell expedition to the place of his former happiness.  There, at least, he was sure to find one sympathizing heart.  Miss Seward, who had to the very last minute contended with her friend against Mr. Edgeworth and in support of his less fortunate predecessor, now met him with open arms.  No pains were spared by her to alleviate, since she could not remove, the disappointment that evidently possessed him.  A legend is preserved in connection with this visit that is curious, though manifestly of very uncertain credibility.  It is said that an engagement had been made by Miss Seward to introduce her friend to two gentlemen of some note in the neighborhood, Mr. Cunningham and Mr. Newton.  On the appointed morning, while awaiting their expected guests, Cunningham related to his companion a vision—­or rather, a series of visions—­that had greatly disturbed his previous night’s repose.  He was alone in a wide forest, he said, when he perceived a rider approaching him.  The horseman’s countenance was plainly visible, and its lines were of a character too interesting to be readily forgotten.  Suddenly three men sprang forth from an ambush among the thickets, and, seizing the stranger, hauled him from his horse and bore him away.  To this succeeded another scene.  He stood with a great multitude near by some foreign town.  A bustle was heard, and he beheld the horseman of his earlier dream again led along a captive.  A gibbet was erected, and the prisoner was at once hanged.  In narrating this tale, Cunningham averred that the features of its hero were still fresh in his recollection; the door opened, and in the face of Andre, who at that moment presented himself, he professed to recognize that which had so troubled his slumbers.

Such is the tale that is recorded of the supernatural revelation of Andre’s fate.  If it rested on somewhat better evidence than any we are able to find in its favor, it would be at least more interesting.  But whether or no the young officer continued to linger in the spirit about the spires of Lichfield and the romantic shades of Derbyshire, it is certain that his fleshly part was moving in a very different direction.  In 1774, he embarked to join his regiment, then posted in Canada, and arrived at Philadelphia early in the autumn of the year.