no doubt, to most of our readers, the very last excess of folly and absurdity. Seeing, however, that poor Barham was in that comfortable state of infatuation, which I should be tempted to call the "sophi-phobia," when the patient rejects all reasonable advice, with as much disgust and horror, as a mad dog turns from water, Lord E—— refrained from advising, in order to pity; and took much blame to himself for having been the means, though innocently, of imparting additional pain to his unfortunate and suffering friend. Conceiving himself to have injured that friend, the generous Irishman was unremitting and unwearied in his attempts to soothe, and, if possible, to eradicate the anguish of his mind. It was under these feelings, that he came into the desperate proposal, which we have spoken of, the moment it was suggested to him by Barham. This was no other than to return once more to the territory of Wolfenstein, incog, endeavour to see the Princess again, and take an everlasting farewell of her, before he finally retired to France, or to some more distant country, where he might end his days in solitary and silent obscurity. The resolutions of a lover are exceedingly despotic: they allow neither of delay, nor of dispute: and all revision is considered as an insult. They are, however, oftentimes extremely fickle: but the ardent temperament of the Colonel, whose element was exertion, and whose vital principle was energy, disdained all vacillation, of every kind. The movement was resolved; it was instantly adopted. Lord Ed

ward wrote to Ireland, whither he had intended to proceed in a day or two, to say that a few weeks must now necessarily intervene.—Barham took upon himself to supersede the travelling arrangements, and Wentworth was the bearer of Lord Edward's letter to the sister Kingdom, being charged with other and more extensive commissions. Now the travelling arrangements were made in the most extraordinary manner imaginable :-there were hats, and swords, and clothes, and papers, to be packed; which the general consent of the world has long been accustomed to place together; but Barham, not being in his right senses exactly, had put the writing" materiel," pens, ink, and paper, with the linen; the boots with the pistols; the razors, with the orders of knighthood: while the coats, and the waistcoats, and the "&c's," imprisoned separately in distant trunks, vainly sighed for each other's accustomed society. All this confusion might very easily have been prevented, had the packing been left, as usual, to Iverson, the Colonel's orderly; and a man extremely skilful in all these mysteries. But the Colonel was obstinate, that is, he was in love: and never doubted for a moment, but that the due stowing and disposition of his pantaloons, or of his toothbrushes, was as much an object of personal and secret care, as the arrangement of his private papers.

It was upon a beautiful morning, in the month of May, in the year 179- that the two friends had arranged to quit London; and even Barham, whose chief consideration was devoted

to an object of so much more importance to his happiness, sighed to think it was for the last time. The travelling chariot, with four horses, made its appearance at the door of his Lordship's house, by six o'clock upon that morning; for the Colonel had desired the grooms to be punctual to a minute. When they drove up, they found him pacing backwards and forwards before the door of the house, with fretful rapidity, and in extreme agitation;-" dire to tell," Lord Edward had not been home all night: nor had he dispatched any messenger to Grosvenor Square, to account for his absence. If we must tell the truth, Barham accounted for this delay in a way not creditable either to Lord Edward's morals, or to his punctuality. He concluded that-something had detained him; but as to what that something was, we, who well know what his Lordship was employed about, will only observe here, that the Colonel was quite wrong and in the words of a barbarous French motto, "Honi soit qui mal y pense." The clock of Saint George's, Hanover Square, had just struck seven, however, when Lord Edward joined his desponding friend; and, after making a few earnest apologies, which he was vexed to see Barham receive with a kind of half-suppressed laugh, (this is a polite way of intimating your disbelief,) they stept into their chariot, and got to Harwich, with all the expedition which relays of four post-horses each, short stages, and excellent roads, enabled them to do. On the road, it was apparent that a deep and entire melancholy had taken full possession of Bar

ham: he was silent and reserved. Now and then, indeed, when Lord Edward talked of a certain country which he loved, and expatiated upon wrongs which he rashly sought to revenge, the soul of his friend, kindling into enthusiasm, burst through the sorrows of the present hour, and revelled, with animated fervency, in bright visions of future glory. But speedily would it relapse into the same brooding and comfortless dejection, which all the vivacity and friendly attentions of Lord Edward could not chase away. After dinner, he proposed taking a walk through the town of Harwich, but this the Colonel declined. He then suggested a turn upon the beach; but Barham rejected that proposal in the same manner: and as he would neither visit the theatre, nor call for cards, nor drink his wine, Lord Edward was on the point of leaving the room, when he was arrested by the solemn tone in which Barham exclaimed

Stop, my dear F, I conjure you:-for heaven's sake, do not leave me !"

"I was fearful, Barham," replied his Lordship, that my company was irksome to you, and every proposition which I could devise in order to amuse you, being instantly rejected, I was just about relieving you from my own presence, thinking your spirits perhaps were unequal to conversation. You will readily believe," continued he, sitting down, "that I much more willingly remain."

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My best, my only friend," said B- -grasping his hand,-" your kindness almost over

whelms me. Do not leave me, for between this deep and evil boding sadness, and the wild confusion of my pain, I half mistrust myself."

"For God's sake, Barham, be composed. You know you may command me. Have I not proved this by sacrificing the dearest purposes of my soul for a while, in order to accompany you?"

"You have indeed;--you have;-I know, I feel it and how shall I ever repay you?-Well, well, I see you will not let me acknowledge the obligation; but hear me F. I have already told you the history of this fatal,—by heavens, I know that you yourself consider it, with me, -this absurd passion.-Do not, my dear F.-— attempt to deny it. Fatal, absurd, vain, presumptuous as it is, I say it can end only with my 1 existence! And oh! my friend, that existence which I trust I never yet was known too fondly to regard, in many a field where I have fought, however I may have spared it to others; that existence a firm and rooted presentiment tells me I shall soon lose."

I

"Psha! Barham, you have allowed your agitation to get the better of your spirits. never saw you so low before."

"I shall soon be lower, my friend,—and were I the next moment, to descend into my grave, I should be most happy. This weight, this intolerable burden, while the acuteness of the pain prolongs a miserable life, makes that life unendurable."

"Now, Barham, I think I see your case,-and