Rensselaer Union, Volume 8, Number 7, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 4 November 1875 — A STORY OF HUMBLE HEROISM. [ARTICLE]

A STORY OF HUMBLE HEROISM.

In a small village near the town of Honiton, in Devonshire, there lived a widow and her son. The old womtn had, till her sight failed her, not only earned a sufficient livelihood, but had saved a little money by making that kind of lace for the manufacture of ■which Honiton is Bo widely famed. When from the infirmities of age she could no longer ply her vocation successfully it happened, fortunately, that her son by his labor as a farm-servant was able to make up the deficiency. He was a fine, spirited young fellow, who went through his laborious occupations with a good-will and cheerfulness which was so satisfactory to his employer that he determined to advance, whenever opportunities offered, so assiduous a servant and good a son. Some two years before our story -opens it happened that a young woman, the daughter of a decayed farmer in the southern part of the county, came to superintend the'dairy of Luke Damerel’s master, ft was not unnatural that the buxom lass and the young man should form a mutual attachment. As they were both very well conducted persons their love passages were looked upon with a favorable eye both by Dame Damerel and by the farmer’s wife, Mrs. Modbury, though neither openly sanctioned it, for prudence sake. Luke and Lucy, however, loved on, as they thought, in secret, determining not to reveal their mutual affection till they should be placed in circumstances to get married. Things remained thus for, more than a year and a half, when Farmer Modbury’s wife died and other circumstances occurred which induced 7 him to promote Luke to a more lucrative and responsible situation on the farm'. Shortly after the demise of his wife also he found it expedient to give Lucy, in addition to her dairy duties, the sole charge of the housekeeping. With the rise in his fortunes, Luke’s thoughts were directed to the accomplishment of his dearest hope, and he revealed his passion to his mother, consulting her on the propriety of the step he wished to take; which was simply to marry Lucy and bring her to live in the cottage. The old dame was not surprised at the proposal, for she expected it to be made from the day Luke’s wages were increased. She had made up her mind what to advise, and did not shrinkfrom advising it, although it would not be agreeable to her son.

• “ Luke,” she said, “ you must still wait. Your earnings are not sufficient to keep Lucy comfortably; and she, you know, would have to give up her place, which is now a good one. So you would not only be injuring yourself, but her also.” Luke fired up at this, and unkindly hinted that his mother did not wish to have a companion to share their home. The old dame, though much hurt, denied that any such feeling swayed her, and advised him to consult Lucy herself. Dame Damerel had that confidence in the girl’s good sense and prudence, and she was sure even Lucy would not consent to marry so soon as Luke wished. In no very amiable mood the lover sought his mistress at the farm-house. He went into the kitchen and not finding Lucy there inquired of one of, the maids where she was. With a sly, ominous expression the girl replied “ that Jf iss Lucy was in the best parlor making tea for master." This information gave poor Luke a panic. He trembled, turned Sale and hastily retreated from the house. 'iscontented thoughts tilled his mind. “No doubt,” he said almost aloud, as he walked homeward—" no doubt she’ll not consent when I propose to marry her, though I can keep her. Farmer Modbury will be a better match for her thun a hard-working lad like me. But I’ll see about that—it shall bc'how or never. If she won’t marry me in a week she never shall!” In truth Luke had been feeling a pang of jealousy creep over him eyer since Lucy was promoted to be Modbury *s houst keeper; and that she should be admiUed alone with him into the best parlor to make his tea confirmed wuat were previously only suspicions. On entering the cottage bis wild looks almost frightened his mother; but he was silent as to the cause and Went sullenly to bed. Farmer Modbury kept up the good old Devonshiie custom of dining with all the people in hie employment; and the day after, when Luke with the rest of his Companions sat ai the table, he watched the actions and countenances of Lucy and her master to

catch new causes for the tormenting feeling which possessed him. The meal concluded he followed the girl to the dairy, as was his custom; for a short and sweet interview could always be snatched at that time. The present one was, however, the reverse. In a hard tone of voice, and with an abrupt manner, Luke inquired if she were ready to have him. The girl frankly answered: “Of course I am, Liike; but what should make you ask the question on such a sudden?” Luke’s jealousy was a little assuaged by Lucy’s open and confiding manner, and becoming more calm he told her his plans. “It will never do, Luke,” she replied. “ Besides, my father, whom I must send to about it,’would not consent. No, no; we must wait.” • “Wait! for what, I should like to kfiow? To give master, I suppose, a' chance of—of ” “Of what, Luke?” “ Why," said Lukfe, worked up into a sort of frenzy bythe very thought—" why, of asking you to take poor dead-and-gone missus’ place!” The color mounted to Lucy Fennel’s face. She cast a reproachful look on her lover and seemed ready to cry; but woman’s pride came to her aid, and she left the dairy, as if afraid to hear anotherof Luke’s terrible words. Had the young man not gone.out immediately he might have heard ill-suppressed sobs issue from the ,room into which the maiden had shut herself. “She is afraid to face me,” said Luke to himself as he crossed the court-yard. “ No, no, she can’t deceive, me, though she is trying.” J The directions Damerel gave to the workmen that afternoon were so injudicious that his master happening to overhear him tell a ditcher to fill up a drain which ought to have been opened gave him a severe reprimand. Luke received what was said with the worst feelings, continually repeating to himself: Ah, he has a spite against me now.- He did not make the girl his • housekeeper for nothing. I’m not wanted here, I can see.” When work was over it happened that as Luke was returning to his own cottage he met young Larkin, a neighboring farmer’s son, who asked him to accompany him to Honiton, where he was going to “ see the sodgers,” a regiment being about to pass through the town on its way to form part of Plymouth garrison. To beguile the care which tormented him he gladly consented, and having gone home to put on his Sunday clothes was soon equipped for the evening’s expedition. The two friends had to pass Modbury’s parlor window, and it was tea time. Luke cast an inquisitive glance toward it and trembled when he saw the blind being slowly pulled up. Presently it revealed the figure of Lucy, very nicely dressed with a new, handsome cap. Something having prevented the blind from being drawn quite to the top, Lucy mounted on the window-seat to adjust it, and, when about to descend, Luke plainly saw his master come forward, give her one hand, while with the other he assisted her down by the waist! Damerel grasped the tree he was resting against for support; a film came over his eyes; but a few rough jokes, from Larkin recovered him, and, hearing the military band in the distance, he endeavored to forget his cares, and trudged on toward Honiton. Meanwhile, the moment that Lucy had finished her duties at the tea-table, she hastened to Damerel’s cottage, in the hope, not of seeing her lover, but his mother alone. The old dame, perceiving her pale and in low spirits, thought she divined the cause by supposing the girl was sorrowing at the imprudence of the step Luke had proposed to her. “Well, well,” said the kind old woman, “things may not be so bad after all, Lucy. And since Luke has set his heart so much upon it, and you, I am sure, are nothing loth, we must try and maaage it. I’ll tell you what I’ve been thinking, girl: You see the great mischief will be your being obliged to give up your place at the farm; now, I Know a plan by which that loss may be mended. You are a quick, handy maid; and, suppose—suppose —” and here the good old woman took Lucy’s hand in hers—“ suppose I teach you lace-making?” These words poured a light into Lucy’s heart which seemed to banish all her grief. The means of rendering herself independent of her present situation was all she wished for. She loved Luke tenderly, dearly, and, with a fervent, virtuous desire, wished to become his wife. This wish had grown much stronger since her painful interview with, him, not only because she wished to prove she was ready to sacrifice everything for his sake, but for another and more perplexing reason. Her master had paid her attentions that evening which left no dpubL on her mind that he desired her for his wife. When Mrs. Damerel heard the news she was much distressed. “Oh, it is too bad!” she exclaimed, “to think that my Luke should be the means of preventing you from marrying so well—you who are worthy of any man.”—— —— *■

“Do not think of that. I could not be happy with one 1 do not low. So now, dear mother—for I will always call you so—let me hear what plan you propose.” “ Well, instead of talking idly, as we/f£P ways do when you come to see us, you shall let me teach you the lace-making. Come every night and in a month or two I shall re able to put you in a way to earn quite as much as you do now at Farmer Modbury’s. When this is the case we must see about getting yourself and Luke asked in church, for surely both your earnings put together will be enough to keep you comfortably.” “ But will not the farmer bear some enmity to poor Luke?” “ I will answer for him, girl. I have known him longer than he has known himself. I nursed him and I can say With truth that a better-hearted man does not live. Should he again offer you any civilities tell him the whole truth and I’ll warrant he will not repeat them.” That evening Lucy tripped home with a light heart. When she retired to rest she built many an air-castle of future happiness. The next morning, as the home-servants es Modbury’s farm were going to their daily toil, they found a crowd round Damerel’s cottage door. On inquiring into the cause they were told that Luke had in a fit of despair enlisted as a soldier and that the news had wrought so violently on the feelings of his mother that it was thought she could never recover! The scene inside of the cottage was painfully distressing. The old dame was lying on a bed with her clothes still about her, showing that she had not gone to rest the whole night. The village doctor was by her side, having just bled her, whilst everything strewed about the room indicated that the al-ways-revolting operation had but recently been performed. The neighbors, as they crowded round the door, denounced Luke’s conduct as rash and heartless. In the midst of their denunciations they were joined by another, to whom every word they uttered was as a death-wound. It was Lucy. Whoever had the misfortune of often seeing women Disced in sudden difficulties, or overtaken by an unforeseen misfortune, must have remarked that they occasionally act with unexpected firmness. They frequently show a calmness of manner and a directness of purpose forming quite an exception to their every-day demeanor. It is after the danger is over, or the first crisis past, that they break down, as Jt were, and show themselves to belong to the weaker sex. Thus it was with Lucy. When she entered the cottage she had a full knowledge of the deathblow which had been indicted on her hopes of future happiness. Still, she seemed calm and collected. When she took the basin from the surgeon to bathe Mrs. Damerel’s temples herself her hand shook not, and she performed the kindly office as neatly as if no misfortune had befallen her. When she went to the door ,to entreat the neighbors to stand away frohi it, that sufficient air might be admitted into the room, her voice, though rather deeper in tone than usual, was calm and firm. Had she not occasionally pressed her hand tigfrly against her brow, as if to cool its burning agony, you would have thought that she suffered no further anxiety than that which is usually felt whilst attending the sick. It was, however, when s'he was left alone with the exhausted, almost senseless, mother that the tile of grief took its full coarse. Lucy wept like one distraught. Through the

deep,, black future which lay before her she could see no gleam of hope or sunlight. She unjustly upbraided herself for having, however innocently, given Luke cause of suspicion. The weight of blame which she took to herself was almost insupportable, “[have been his ruin!” she exclaimed, burying her face in his mother’s bosom. When the old dame had strength to speak she whispered Lucy not to give way, but to bear up against it. The past, she wisely said, was incurable; “ we must keep our senses whole for the future. While we keep heart, there is no fear of our seeing him again yet.” The story reached Farmer Modbury as he was sitting down to breakfast. He was deeply shocked„even when he knew no more than that Luke had enlisted; but when, on visiting the cottage, the whole truth was explained to him by Lucy, he felt both grief and disappointment. He was, however, determined not to abandon his suit as hopeless, and, returning home, wrote to her father (he was a widower), explaining what had happened, and giving a frank exposition of his own honorable views as regarded Lucy. “No doubt,” he concluded his epistle, “ she will soon forget this early and unhappy attachment.” Modbury was a shrewd man and a clever farmer, but he knew very little about women’s heart's. From that day he was extremely kind and considerate to Lucy. Perceiving how much happier the girl was when she returned from visiting Mrs/Damerel than at any other times, Modbury diminished her labors by employing another dairy-maid, so that Lucy might have more leisure, which he had no objection should be spent with the invalid. One morning while Lucy was preparing the household dinner a message arrived from the cottage. Her presence was desired there immediately. Lucy lost no time, and was soon in her accustomed seat at the bed-head. Mrs. Damerel placed a letter in her hands. It was from her son. With beating heart Lucy opened it, and after time sufficient to master the emotions which the sight of Luke’s handwriting caused her she proceeded to read it aloud. It ran thus: “ Maidstone Barracks, Kbnt. “My Dearest Mother—l have at last found time enough to takeup my pen, hoping this will find you in good health, as it leaves me at present. I hope you have forgiven me for what I have done. I send you two pounds, part of the bounty I have received for eqlisting. Do not be afraid, my dear whilst I live you shall want. “ When I went to Honiton I was persuaded to enlist, after the soldiers had passed through, by a Sergeant of a horse regiment, and I took the King’s money; so 1 am now a, private in the —th Dragoons. lam roughriding every day, and expect to be passed as fit for regular duty soon, when I shall be drafted oil’to the Indies, where our headquarters are. I should be very comfortable if it was not for thinking about home so much. They have found out I am a good judge of horses, and know all about their complaints, so the Sergeant-Major told me yesterday. I shall get on very well in the Indies if I keep a sharp look-out. “ Dear mother, I shall see you again when I come back—l know I shall; ana we shall be happy together; for now I have, nobody else to care about upon the earth. I hope she will be happy, for she deserves all this world can afford, and I have always found Mr. Modbury a kind master, so I am sure he will make her a kind husband. Dear mother, there is Tom Larkin, who promised me, after 1 had listed, that he and his sister Sarah would look in upon you sometimes, and help you. May God bless you, my dear mother. My heart was well-nigh broken; but my comrades have been very kind to me, and I want for nothing. Good-by, mother, and believe me your ever affectionate son, “ Luke -Damerel. “ P.S.—I do not know when we shall sail for the Indies, but in any case please to direct to Private Damerel, —th Regiment, Light Dragoons, Maidstone, or elsewhere, and the letter will be sure to come to hand. Once more, God bless you, and may God bless her, too, dear mother.” To describe Lucy’s feelings while she read this simply-worded epistle would be impossible. All the love and tenderness which she had felt for Luke during the time she had known him seemed to be concentrated within her at that moment. At first she mourned the step he had taken as hopeless and irreparable; but, casting her eyes upon the lacework she had the day before been doing, a sudden thought seized her. By means of that Something might eventually be accomplished. With these thoughts she quietly folded the letter, placed it on the table beside the bed and resumed the lace-work, scarcely speaking a word. • Mrs. Damerel mistook this action for indifference and, in her sincere desire for the girl’s welfare, urged—not for the first time—plans and sentiments which, though well-meant, were utterly revolting to Luey. Luke had, she-argued, no doubt behaved very ill, by rashly, and without explanation, tearing himself 4ot only from her, but from every person to whom he was dear. On the other hand, Farmer advances were very flattering, and she could hardly blame a girl who had been so cruelly treated, even by her own son, were she to accept the good fortune that lay before her.

Still Lucy went on practicing her lace■work, her heart beating and her averted eyes swimming with tears. At length she exclaimed: “ Dame, you will break my heart if you ever talk in this way again. To you I look for comfort and strength in loving Luke, which I shall never cease to do. I, whether innocent or not, am the cause of depriving you of the comfort of his company, and I am determined to restore him to us both. You may think it impossible, but it is not. I have thought, and thought, and reckoned up everything, and am quite sure it can be done.” . “ I cannot make out what you mean,” said Mrs. Damerel. “ Why, that I intend, as soon as I am able to do it well enough to take work from the town, to leave Farmer Modbury, and come and be with you. We can live on very little, and every spare shilling we will put into the savings-bank, until it amounts to a sufficient sum to buy Luke off.” She then industriously resumed her work. It was some time before Mrs. Demerel could comprehend the full intent and meaning of the sacrifice the girl proposed. At first she thought it was a mere flighty resolution that would not hold long; and even when made to understand that it was unshaken she looked at the achievement as impossible; for at that tiihe the price for lace-work was falling in consequence of the recent introduction of machinery.

About a week after this all her doubts vanished, for on Michaelmas Day, when Lucy’s term of service with Farmer Modbury expired, sure enough she brought her box, and declared she had come to stay with her adopted mother. Sire had previously becu to a- mas-ter-manufacturer in Uoniton with a specimen of her lace, and it was so well approved that she obtained a commission for a large quantity entire spot. By this time the old dame had completely recovered from her illness, and was able to move about, so as to attend to the little domestic concerns of the cottage; Lucy could, therefore, give her undivided attention to her work. Her proceedings were by no means agreeable to her father or to Modbury. The' former wrote enjoining her 'by no means to leave the farmer’s bou=e; but the letter came too late, for she had already taken her departure. Modbury, however, in replying to an .epistle ip which Fennel had given him free consent to marry his daughter, expressed a thorough cbnviction of the firmness of the girl’s purpose, and that at present it was impossible to shake it. Though she had left his roof, he should continue to watch over her, and hoped by persevering kindness and attention eventually to win her affections. Under those circumstances Lucy quietly established herself in Mrs. Damerel’s cottage. At first she found it a hard matter to gain sufficient money for her labor to recompense the dame for her board and lodging, which she insisted on doing every time she was paid by her employers. Still she wrought on, although her savings were small, and at the end of several months they bore a hopeless proportion to the large sum which- was required. But time seemed a small object to 'her; she looked fufward to the end, aud in it she saw such a world of reward and happi-

ness that no toil would be too much to arrive at it. She had answered Luke’s letter with her own hand, assuring him of her unshaken attachment in spite of all that had happened, but unfortunately he had sailed for India, and it was sent thither after him in obedience to the vague “elsewhere” which had been added to the superscription, according to his wish. Slow progress was not the only trouble Lucy had to contend with. Modbury’s attentions pained her as much as Luke’s absence; the more so because they were so full of consideration for her welfare. She knew she never could return his kindness, and felt that she did not deserve it. She often told Dame Damerel that a show of hostility from the worthy farmer would not have pained her so mbeh as his unremitting attentions. # Then when the neighbors came in to gossip they sometimes spoke against Luke. They would tell her that a man who would suspect her on such slight grounds and act as he did could never be true to her; that he would see some other woman whom he would prefer and some day send home word that he was married; neither was it likely that he would ever come home alive from the Indies. These poisoned arrows, which were meant as comfort, glanced harmlessly from Lucy, whd 1 was invulnerably shielded by trusting love and hope. She would answer: “Very likely,” or “ It may be,” or “There is no knowing what may happen in this world of trouble,” and still rattle about her lace pegs over the pillow on which it was made with the quickness of magic. Amongst her visitors, however, there were two who invariably offered her better consolation; these were Larkin and his sister. Tom “ stuck up,” as. he expressed it, for his friend Luke and always put the blame of enlistment on the wiles and arts of the recruiting Sergeant, who regularly entrapped him into the deed. Many a happy winter evening was spent in that humble cottage by Lucy and her friends. Luke was never forgotten in their conversations; for there was the lace which was being unweariedly made for his release to remind them of him. When Modbury made his appearance (and this was very often) the subject was of course dropped. A year passed by. Neither Lucy nor Mod. bury had made much progress in their several aims; scarcely a tithe of the requisite sum for Luke’s discharge had been saved; neither could Modbury perceive that his suit advanced. Lucy’s conduct sorely perplexed him. She always seemed delighted when he came in, and received him with every mark of cordiality; but whenever he dropped the slightest plea in his behalf tears would come into her eyes, and she entreated him to desist. He began to remark, also, that besides the presence of the old dame, which was surely a sufficient safeguard against any warmth of manner he might be betrayed into, Lucy always contrived to have Susan Larkin with her. Should she be absent Lucy would be telling Modbury what a good, industrious, excellent girl she was; which, wes the truth. No letter came from Luke, and there was ‘no proof that he had received hers. Lucy began gradually todespond; for work became slack, anfikt Tinies she Only got enough to employ her half the day. Not to lose ground, however, she hired herself to the neighboring farmers’ wives to sew during her spare time, leaving Dame Damerel to the occasional care of Susan Larkin. While she was sitting at work during one of these engagements she compared her own cheerless lot with the happiness which surrounded her. The farmer was reading the newspaper, his wife and daughter assisting her in the work she wqs doing. As she made this comparison, and thought of Luke banished as it were from his home, and enduring perhaps severe hardships, she could scarcely refrain from weeping. Now and then the farmer read a paragraph from the paper, and presently exclaimed—" Ab, bur young squire has got safe to his regiment in India.” At these words Lucy trembled, but went on rapidly with her work, lest her emotion should be noticed. She had previously heard that the son of a neighboring proprietor had bought *a commission in Luke’s regiment, and this was almost like having news of Luke himself. Presently the reader went oh with the paragraph—“We understand there has been a fatal disease which has carried off many of the ” The farmer made a pause here, and Lucy’s heart sank within her. “ Oh, I see,” the old gentleman ejaculated; “ the corner is turned down” —“ has carried off many”—yes—- “ many of the horses.” This little incident produced such strong emotions in Lucy’s frame that though she felt, upon the whole, much gratified by merely hearing about Luke’s regiment and its horses, yet she became too ill to proceed with her work, and found it necessary to return to the cottage. Lucy soon altered her plan of engaging herself out; for the idea struck her that if she were to make lace on a sort of speculation, and keep it by her till it was wanted, she would in the end make a greater profit. Having, when her father was in good circumstances, been partly educated at an Exeter boarding-school, she had acquired there some knowledge of drawing, and by exercising her pencil she now invented some very pretty lace patterns. Lucy wrought and hoped on for another year. Still nothing was heard from Luke. A new calamity had Wien upon Lucy. Her father, a broken and decayed man, had come to live near her, and was now nearly dependent on her for support. Both Modbury and Farmer Larkin gave him little jobs to do for which they liberally recompensed him. The quantity of lace Lucy was employed to make was so small that it just sufficed to keep her and her father; while her little capital, instead of increasing, was gradually absorbed by the purchase of materials for the stock her industry accumulated. Susan Larkin frequently visited her, and Modbury was seldom absent.

No ill-fortune seemed to depress the persevering girl. Even though she was working almost night and day, she still kept up her spirits. Indeed, at every new misfortune a fresh accession of firmness and resolution seemed to nerve her. About this time her father died, invoking blessings on her for having been so good a daughter. After the first shock of grief had passed she continued her task amidst the most hopeless circumstances. The lace trade sunk lower and lower; still Lucy wrought on, under a strong presentiment that it would improve. She did not relax one hour’s labor, although she was now receiving much less for it than when she began. She accumulated so large a stock that at last every shilling of her savings was spent for materials. In exchange, however, she possessed a ( large quantity of beautiful lace, that, even if sold at the present low prices, would have yielded a small profit. At last things became so bad that a sale seemed unavoidable, disadvantageous as it might be. Lucy, now an object of eoiuffliseratiou among the neighbors, still retained her cheerfulness. That so much patience, modesty and firmness of purpose should not meet its reward seemed almost impossible; and fortune smiled on Lucy when nearly every hope seemed to have left her. It is well known by what trifles in the mercantile world fortunes are lost and won. The detention of a stftp, the non-arrival of a mail, has ruined hundreds; whilst some equally unforeseen caprice of fashion or simi- 4 lar accident has made as many fortunes. It' happened when Lucy had the greatest cause for despondency that, within a short period two members of the royal family died. Mourning was then much in request, and it happened that Lucy’S stock was of that kind. Buddeulv commissions from Honitqta flowed in, and Lucy was kept constantly at work, at wages much higher than before—her own. stoek acquiring fresh value while the pricescontinued to rise. Young Larkin, who was a shrewd fellow, advised her to hold it tilt the value increased still more. She took the advice, and at the proper moment sold it at a price she nevei-hoped to real tie. At the end of a week she found herself in possession of a sum which was, witniu a few pounds, sufilcient to procure her lover’s discharge troia the army. Poor Lucy could, hardly believe her eyes when the manufacturer down the banknotes before her. She pinned them carefully into the bosom y>f her frock and hastened to tell Dame D.tf nerel that all their troubles were over. £he old woman’s eyes glistened

as. Lucy unpinned her treasure and laid it on the table. It was counted, recounted and wondered over. What was to be done with it till the rest was procured ? Who would take care of it? This delight was, however, somewhat damped when they came to consider that, putting aside all uncertainty about his fate, it would be at least six months before Luke’s discharge could reach him; then an additional half year would elapse ere he could get back. It was a long time to 1 wait. “ Never mind, dear mother,” said Lucy, “the time that has passed since he left seems scarcely a year, although it is three. It is only because the twelvemonth is to come that it appears to be so long. Still,” she said, considering and heaving a deep sigh, “we have not got his discharge yet, and great as this sum is some must be earned to make up the rest.” “ Leave that to me,” returned Mrs. Damerel. Next day when Lucy returned from the Poetoffice where she had taken a letter for Luke she found another lying on the table, in Larkin’s handwriting. On reading the superscription she found it was addressed to the war-office. “ Yes,” said Mrs. Damerel, in answer to her inquiring glances, “ it is all done now, Lucy; and this letter is to be sent off to tell tlie great people that we have the money ready to buy our dear Luke off again.” Larkin had, in truth, gladly supplied the small sum which was deficient. The letter was sent, and in less than a week an immense dispatch found its way to the village, which excited universal wonderment. It was a great, oblong missive with the words “On His Majesty’s service” printed on the top. It had an enormous seal and was directed to “ Mr. Thomas Larkin.” A crowd of idlers followed the postman with this epistolary phenomenon, in the hope of getting some knowledge of its contents. Tom, however, when he read it, coolly put it into his pocket and walked to the cottage without saying a word to anybody. This letter seemed like a climax to Lucy’s gooff fortune, and “begged to inform Mr. Larkin that Corporal Farrier Damerel was on his way to England to superintend the selection of troop horses, and that his discharge would be made out when he had arrived and performed that duty.” Scarcely a month after the arrival of the official dispatch a Corporal of dragoons was seen trespassing on Farmer Modbury’s fields by crossing them in great haste without any regard to the footpaths. An old plowman roughly warned him off, threatening personal ejection. “ What, Roger Dart!” exclaimed the soldier, “is this the way you welcome a man home after a long absence ?” The plowman stared and said he did not know him. “Do you kndw,” rejoined the Corperal, with a trembling voice and anxious countenance—“ do you know Lucy Fennel?” “ Of course I do,” returned Roger, “ everybody knows her, and, if I may make so bold, loves her too ? Why, sure enough, there she Is sitting—don’t you see? there, sitting at Dame Damerel’s aoor making lace for the life’ of her.” . . , ' ■' * The stranger flew across the field, and the plowman saw him bound over the hedge, take Lucy into his arms, and drag her, bewildered andsenraptured, into the cottage. “Why, dang me if it bean’tLuke Damerel!” exclaimed the rustic, slapping the thighs of his leather breeches; “how main glad the folks will be to see ’un—l know what I’ll do.” Whereupon Roger trudged across the fields toward the church. He happened to be one of the parish ringers, and calling his mates from the fields they all trudged off to the c bell-tower and rang out as merry a peal as ever was heard. The whole country was in commotion; the news ran like wild-fire from lip to lip and ear to ear, till the cottage was beset with visitors within and without. But Luke heard no welcome, felt no grasp, but that of Lucy and his mother. As to Lucy, an intense happiness thrilled through her, which absorbed all her faculties, except that of feeling: the full extent of her bliss. This story of patience, endurance, and faith in humble life is almost ended. Luke’s furlough only extended to a week, which he spent as an inmate of the farm, at Modbury’s earnest entreaty; for he now gave up all hope of Lucy, and determined to help in rewarding her patience by ■ promoting the match with his rival. At the end of that time Luke was obliged to depart-for Yorkshire, to meet the veterinary surgeon and purchase horses, in which he was found of the utmost use; but this, together with his excellent character, operated most unfavorably for his discharge. The authorities were unwilling to lose so good a soldier. The interest of the “ ’Squire,” however, whose son was a cornet in Luke’s'troop, was set to work, the hard-earned money paid, and the discharge obtained. Damerel got a farm let to him on advantageous terms, close to his native village, and was married amidst most noisy demonstrations by Roger and his company of r igers. Modbury had taken to wife Lucy’s friend, Susan Larkin. The last time I was in Devonshire I called ou Mr. and Mrs. Damerel. 'They are an interesting old couple, who have brought up a large family in comfort and respectaoility.