“It is past nine,” said a servant entering the room; “shall I take the carriage for Miss Kamworth, sir?” This being the first time the name of the young lady was mentioned since my arrival, I felt somewhat anxious to hear more of her, in which laudable desire I was not however to be gratified, for the colonel, feeling considerably annoyed by the interruption, dismissed the servant by saying—­

“What do you mean, sirrah, by coming in at this moment; don’t you see I am preparing for the attack on the half moon?  Mr. Lorrequer, I beg your pardon for one moment, this fellow has completely put me out; and besides, I perceive, you have eaten the flying artillery, and in fact, my dear sir, I shall be obliged to lay down the position again.”

With this praiseworthy interest the colonel proceeded to arrange the “materiel” of our dessert in battle array, when the door was suddenly thrown open, and a very handsome girl, in a most becoming demi toilette, sprung into the room, and either not noticing, or not caring, that a stranger was present, threw herself into the old gentleman’s arms, with a degree of empressement, exceedingly vexatious for any third and unoccupied party to witness.

“Mary, my dear,” said the colonel, completely forgetting Java and Fort Cornelius at once, “you don’t perceive I have a gentleman to introduce to you, Mr. Lorrequer, my daughter, Miss Kamworth,” here the young lady courtesied somewhat stiffly, and I bowed reverently; and we all resumed places.  I now found out that Miss Kamworth had been spending the preceding four or five days at a friend’s in the neighbourhood; and had preferred coming home somewhat unexpectedly, to waiting for her own carriage.

My confessions, if recorded verbatim, from the notes of that four weeks’ sojourn, would only increase the already too prolix and uninteresting details of this chapter in my life; I need only say, that without falling in love with Mary Kamworth, I felt prodigiously disposed thereto; she was extremely pretty; had a foot and ancle to swear by, the most silvery toned voice I almost ever heard, and a certain witchery and archness of manner that by its very tantalizing uncertainty continually provoked attention, and by suggesting a difficulty in the road to success, imparted a more than common zest in the pursuit.  She was little, a very little blue, rather a dabbler in the “ologies,” than a real disciple.  Yet she made collections of minerals, and brown beetles, and cryptogamias, and various other homeopathic doses of the creation, infinitessimally small in their subdivision; in none of which I felt any interest, save in the excuse they gave for accompanying her in her pony-phaeton.  This was, however, a rare pleasure, for every morning for at least three or four hours I was obliged to sit opposite the colonel, engaged in the compilation of that narrative of his “res gestae,” which was to eclipse the career of Napoleon and leave Wellington’s laurels but a very faded lustre