The "enclosed" was an invitation to a grand ball given by the Trevors on the ensuing night.
After overwhelming his friend with anathemas, Bliffins rushed wildly from the Dog and Thistle, and enlisted in the second dragoons.
Jack Withers, who had never before looked out for number one, now became so "obliging" as to take care of that neglected personage. He became a praiseworthy clerk, and a steady man of business. He went to the ball and polked himself into the good graces of Miss Juliet Trevor. The old gentleman and lady smiled upon their loves, and in due time he was united to the object of his affections, securing thereby a handsome and amiable wife, and an independent fortune, which she insisted on settling upon her husband on the wedding day. There is no fear of Jack's relapsing into his old habits of extravagance; and while he is still as popular as ever, he never neglects his own affairs for those of other people.
THE SILVER HAMMER.
The sun was sinking in the west, and gilding with its slant beams a pastoral landscape, as a young soldier, weary and footsore, slowly toiled along a lonely road that ran parallel with the course of the bright and winding Seine. A dusty foraging cap rested on his dark locks, and his youthful form bent beneath the weight of a well-filled knapsack. Pierre Lacour had served with honor in that glorious little band of heroes, which, under the leadership of the youthful Bonaparte, had crossed the snow-clad Alps, and fallen like an avalanche upon the plains of Lombardy, sweeping before it the veteran troops of Austria, and astonishing all Europe by unparalleled audacity and unexampled success. Pierre had marched farther on that day than he had ever done while following the colors of his regiment—but he was on his way home, and he longed to see his mother, his fair young sister Maria, and a lovely maiden, named Estelle, dearer to his heart than all beside. They had news of his coming,—at least, Maria and his mother had,—and he had sent them in advance, by a sure hand, a large amount of money, his share of the spoils of battle honorably won—enough, in short, to give a dowry to his sister, and enable him to demand the reward of all his toils and dangers—the hand of his betrothed.
His heart beat quick as he climbed the last vine-clad hill which separated him from his native valley. A few steps more would bring him to the summit, whence his eye would rest on the neat whitewashed cottage, with its surrounding palings, and trim garden; and there, perhaps, at the rustic gate, he should see the well-known figures of his mother and sister. Far as he had travelled, he sprang up the ascent with a buoyant step, and soon gained the eminence. The cottage lay full in view, but though it was the usual hour for preparing the evening meal, no blue smoke wreath curled upward from the chimney. A vague presentiment of evil weighed upon his heart. Hastening to dispel the dark and chilling fears that came thick upon him, he hurried down the slope, and soon passed through the garden and stood within the cottage. He called aloud—no voice responded to his cry. He rushed into the little room, which served at once for kitchen and parlor. It was empty—no fire burned upon the hearth. The humble furniture was in strange disarray. The casement, which looked out upon the garden was shattered. The walls and floor were charred and blackened with smoke, as if the house had taken fire and been saved with difficulty. Pierre sprang up stairs. In neither of the chambers could he find the loved ones whom he sought—only the same scene of confusion and desolation. Turning in dismay from the spectacle, he rushed out of the cottage to make his way to the nearest neighbors, and inquire into this appalling mystery. As he hurried along—his brain whirling, his footsteps uncertain and unsteady—he stumbled against an aged man of venerable appearance, who was coming in the opposite direction. The young soldier halted, and touching his cap, begged pardon for his involuntary rudeness.
"My poor Pierre," said the old man, "I know too well the cause of your forgetfulness."
The soldier looked up and recognized the familiar and benevolent features of the good priest of the village, his old tutor and pastor.