clung to them. Owing to the inequality of the ground, the march was slow and tedious; and as he still kept his eyes turned towards the lessening speck he called his home, he was not aware for a few minutes of a circumstance that excited great curiosity among his comrades. By the side of the hill round which the file must pass, sat a female, wrapt in her basquina and mantilla, supporting on her arm a young girl; a boy was at her feet playing with a huge dog, while sundry packages lay round her. It was not till the serjeant asked him "if these wayfarers were not gipsies," that Pedro became aware of the group; then he strained his eyes, scarcely daring to trust the evidence of his senses; was it illusion, or was it indeed Blanca and his children that he saw ? His name was then shrilly uttered, so shrilly, that the rushing stream could not stifle its sounds Yes, she was there! yes, though uncalled, his wife was there with her family-He shouted in reply, and stretching his arms forward, exclaimed "My wife, my children, are ye there?-let me speak to

them; let me bid them a last farewell-if ye are men and not granite, like these rocks," added he, in an imploring tone, "permit me to take leave of these dear objects, from whom I am parting for ever," The serjeant spoke to the commander and the word "halt," was reiterated along the line. Blanca and her children descended to meet her husband, and in an instant was in his arms.

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Now blessings upon thee, Blanca, for coming thus to meet me," said the grateful husband, "to see thee again, to hear thy voice, and to embrace my children, was what I dared not even hope for. Yes, dearest, best of wives, this parting, bitter though it be, will cheer me to my last hour. It was kind thus to come to say farewell."

"Not to say farewell, my Pedro, am I come," replied Blanca, "but to share your exile and perils; nothing but death shall part us; our children, too, are here; even poor Rollo is not wanting."

Pedro folded his children to his heart, patted Rollo, then shook his head. "This must not be, dear Blanca; go leave me, bring up our family

virtuously, and let the babe thou bearest be born a Catalan. I cannot expose thee to the perils that surround the soldier's wife; return, my beloved, to thy home and to thy country, and leave me to my fate."

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My home is here," cried Blanca, throwing herself into her husband's arms, "I now know no other." Pedro then yielded, and with a heart lightened of all care, placed his family and his goods upon the baggage waggon, bade Rollo guard them, and resumed his march with a light springing step, and bounding bosom. Home, country, what were they now to him? his home, his world, were with him.

With the self-devotion that marked her character, Blanca, as soon as she received her husband's letter, resolved to share his dangers. She gave the flock into the charge of the under-shepherd, hastened to the Prior of Lerida, to whom they appertained, acquainted him with the misfortune that had befallen her husband, rendered up the stewardship, and received the wages due to

her husband, asked of him the rites of the church; then fortified with prayers and blessings, hurried back to her mountain home, to prepare herself and her children for their new mode of life. She had purchased warm clothing for them at Lerida; for though she knew not in what part of the world to look for Russia, the good prior had told her, that it was a far northern country, where the winters were long and cold. She then converted her simple household moveables into money, and having heard that the new raised troops would pass the frontier upon such a day, was upon the watch from early dawn, to meet her husband, as we have seen. Pious, self-devoted, and faithful, Blanca did not feel that she had made any sacrifice, yet as they descended the heights towards St. Jean de Luz, and quitted every familiar feature in the mountain landscape, tears filled her eyes, and wrapping her arms about her children, she wept while quitting her dear country for ever. They shed tears because her eyes were wet; but they were too young to share the deep

feelings that agitated her heart.-A new land was before them; another language was ringing in their ears; strange customs excited their curiosity and awoke their mirth, and they were laughing with the tears still undried upon their cheeks: for at that time of life, no impressions last very long, and then the stamp of care had not marked their young happy faces, nor darkened upon their brows. No cruel hand unrolled the dim and shadowy future; all was bright, glowing, and cheerful in the present day, without dangers and without clouds.

At St. Jean de Luz, the Spanish language was no longer spoken, and Teresa would have been sadly puzzled, if she had not been introduced there to the Serjeant Dubois' wife and daughter, who fortunately spoke a little Spanish. Nina was a smart girl, about fifteen, dressed in the Parisian fashion, with a short waist and immense bonnet. She was very good-natured, and undertook to instruct her in two important mattersthe reformation of her dress, and the acquirement