"God knoweth whether the words I am now inditing will ever be seen by your own dear blue eyes. Nevertheless I write (on a drumhead for a desk), and in great haste, for the bearer of this starts for Versailles in an hour. A trench where the dead and dying lie among the blood-stained earth, piled, yea, chin-deep, and where the cannon-balls are rebounding every instant from the ramparts of Mons, is a very unpleasant place to compose love-speeches; but, believe me, that the heart of poor Dick Douglas in suffering and danger, poverty and exile, is still unchanged, my beloved Annie, and as much thine as ever. Here are we, a company of gallant Scottish gentlemen, in such a plight as you never could conceive; and the very appearance of our ragged attire, our emaciated forms and our exceeding misery, would melt your gentle heart with the softest compassion. My ancient signet ring, the last relic of the house of Finland, I bartered yesterday for a loaf of bread, and now I have nothing left save the lock of thy hair, which shall go with me to the grave. But more glorious by far are our Jacobite rags than the gay bravery we might have worn under that accursed usurper against whom we have sworn to fight to the last gasp.

"The mischances of war are fast reducing the faithful cavaliers of Dundee. Starvation or the bullet daily send some brave heart to its long repose, and the survivors are in such a plight that not even the Westland Whigs could wish them lower. From the frontiers of Spain we have travelled to Alsatia, and from thence to Mons. It was a march of horrors! We were utterly without the necessaries of life, and in the depth of a severe winter, marched nine hundred miles over a country covered with snow. Many of us were barefooted. For many weeks our food was nuts in the woods, roots in the fields, horsebeans and garlic, and thus it is that Louis XIV. rewards our loyalty, our patience, our fatigues and achievements.

"Our old friend Walter Fenton is well. Through all the campaigns under Monsieur le Mareschal Noailles and the noble Luxembourg, he hath shewed himself worthy of the knighthood King James' sword bestowed. Yesterday he volunteered, with sixty of our unhappy cavaliers, to plant the banner of King Louis on the Bastion de Sainte Wandree, and nobly did he redeem his word. Commend me to all our leal and right honourable friends, and to those who may think kindly of the poor cavaliers for the happy days that have passed away for ever. A time may come—adieu, dearest Annie—the call to arms is sounding along the lines, and we are about to march for Steinkirke, a duty from which few will return. On my mind there weighs a heavy presentiment of what I cannot name to thee. Farewell, my gentle Annie, and may God bless thee! for I fear we shall see the bonnie braes of Maxwelton together no more.

FINLAND,
"Late Lieut, in the Royall Scotts Ffoot."

There was a tone of sorrowful resignation to a hard and hopeless fate pervading this letter that struck a pang of deep remorse through the heart of Annie—but a pang for one moment only; the volatility of her sex aided her, and smiling through her tears, she said,

"My poor dear lighthearted Dick, would to Heaven I could lessen the miseries you endure!"

"Oh, Annie," said Lilian reproachfully, clasping her hands and weeping, "poor Walter and poor Finland!"

"Tush!" said Annie pettishly, her dark-blue eyes sparkling between shame and sorrow. "Gossip, tease me not."

"Stay, there is something more—oh, read it."

"A postscriptum"—