as their own.  Raymond rose perpetually in their estimation; but one man held a superior command to him in their armies.  He was conspicuous for his conduct and choice of position in a battle fought in the plains of Thrace, on the banks of the Hebrus, which was to decide the fate of Islam.  The Mahometans were defeated, and driven entirely from the country west of this river.  The battle was sanguinary, the loss of the Turks apparently irreparable; the Greeks, in losing one man, forgot the nameless crowd strewed upon the bloody field, and they ceased to value themselves on a victory, which cost them—­ Raymond.

At the battle of Makri he had led the charge of cavalry, and pursued the fugitives even to the banks of the Hebrus.  His favourite horse was found grazing by the margin of the tranquil river.  It became a question whether he had fallen among the unrecognized; but no broken ornament or stained trapping betrayed his fate.  It was suspected that the Turks, finding themselves possessed of so illustrious a captive, resolved to satisfy their cruelty rather than their avarice, and fearful of the interference of England, had come to the determination of concealing for ever the cold-blooded murder of the soldier they most hated and feared in the squadrons of their enemy.

Raymond was not forgotten in England.  His abdication of the Protectorate had caused an unexampled sensation; and, when his magnificent and manly system was contrasted with the narrow views of succeeding politicians, the period of his elevation was referred to with sorrow.  The perpetual recurrence of his name, joined to most honourable testimonials, in the Greek gazettes, kept up the interest he had excited.  He seemed the favourite child of fortune, and his untimely loss eclipsed the world, and shewed forth the remnant of mankind with diminished lustre.  They clung with eagerness to the hope held out that he might yet be alive.  Their minister at Constantinople was urged to make the necessary perquisitions, and should his existence be ascertained, to demand his release.  It was to be hoped that their efforts would succeed, and that though now a prisoner, the sport of cruelty and the mark of hate, he would be rescued from danger and restored to the happiness, power, and honour which he deserved.

The effect of this intelligence upon my sister was striking.  She never for a moment credited the story of his death; she resolved instantly to go to Greece.  Reasoning and persuasion were thrown away upon her; she would endure no hindrance, no delay.  It may be advanced for a truth, that, if argument or entreaty can turn any one from a desperate purpose, whose motive and end depends on the strength of the affections only, then it is right so to turn them, since their docility shews, that neither the motive nor the end were of sufficient force to bear them through the obstacles attendant on their undertaking.  If, on the contrary, they are proof against expostulation,