LETTER V.

Io, Io triumphe! I have kept the field of battle. Oswald has departed; he could not bear to play second fiddle any longer, and has left me in possession. His fate, indeed, was an unpleasant one, and his feeling it so strongly perhaps made my flirtation more piquant to me. Any one but such a raw youngster would have said, "Give love to the winds, I'll none of it." You will, perhaps, not believe me when I say I am now positively vexed at having spoilt the poor devil's game, for I do think he really loved the girl, and it would have been an excellent match for her, as I understand he has a good fortune, and had serious intentions of marrying her. I suspect that both parents and daughter regret him, and perhaps she would willingly retrograde, but it was her own fault, and now it must be too late to get him

back again, unless he is a greater oaf than I think him. Jessy shewed him during this week such decided indifference, or rather disinclination, that it cannot be rubbed out of a man's mortified soul. I find that Oswald disburthened his heart to Sandy before he went, and told him what his wishes had been; but would not consent, notwithstanding a broad hint given him, to transfer his regards to Rubina. He was determined to go, although much pressed to remain longer, and looked mournful, for the workings of his heart were evident. He took no leave of Jessy, neither asked for, nor looked towards her; for she was in the room when he bade adieu to the rest of

the party.

"But silently mounted his steed,
And set out alone with his sorrow."

A finer figure I never saw than he looked on horseback; there he shines, though out of his element in a country dance, and would make a distinguished appearance at the head of a

well-dressed mountain troop upon a stately charger. If Jessy had seen him thus accoutred, she would not have treated him so contemptuously as of late.

I declare I wish now I had not done it! Levity has the same effect as sleep-walking; one cannot when awake behold the mad things one has done without being shocked and becoming giddy; but it is of no use to think further on the subject, as it cannot be remedied. I was brought to my senses by the exclamations and remarks of one of my fellow guests, young Macleod, who came from Edinburgh with Sandy and myself. He speaks in the highest terms of Alan Oswald, whom he knew intimately at college, and declares that Jessy has lost the gros lot in losing him.

This Macleod is a pleasant good-humoured young fellow, and is very anxious to persuade me to take a trip with him for some shooting at his father's place somewhere on the western coast, not at a very great distance from hence.

I think I shall accept his offer, for I have no temptation for inducing me to go to Belmont Castle as yet, having just received a letter from Lady Stonor informing me that Flora will not be back this fortnight, as she is attending her sick aunt, who cannot bear to part with her; but she adds, that I am at liberty to come to Belmont, for she and Sir George mean to return thither directly, although the lady of my thoughts will remain absent for some time longer, and comforts me by the assurance that she is safe for me where she now is, for there is not a man there more dignified than a peasant.

I see no necessity for refusing Macleod's invitation in order to vegetate with my old aunt and her stupid lord and master, and he promises, after we have had some shooting chez lui, to cross the country with me into Perthshire, where he has some friends; this will be very convenient and agreeable to me, for I should not like going alone in those savage

climes and unknown lands; especially as I neither drink whisky nor speak Gaelic, a native will be an useful companion. Besides, I rather like him; he has never been in London, and has no intention of going thither; Edinburgh is the Ultima Thule for him. He is more genuine than poor Boyd, whose great object is to get on in the fashionable world: whatever one may be oneself it is impossible not to like artlessness in others. I think him shrewd and clever, as well as perfectly natural.

With regard to my flirtation with Jessy Boyd, it has no longer anything piquant in it, since all competition and rivalry is at an end -entrenous, la jolie coquette commence à m'ennuyer. The future is more in my thoughts than the present, for I long to see my charming Goddess of flowers, and to come to the point. What say you, Alfred, to a trip to Scotland when I am master of Belmont Castle?

Yours, C. S.