only fulfilled the promise which was then
latent in her character.

All this time, her husband had endeavoured
to forget that he was married. Shortly after
the ceremony, he went abroad with his
regiment; and after some time spent in active
service, he returned to England, and quitted
the army with the brevet rank of General.
He resided partly in London and partly in
Bath, leading the usual life of a man of
fashion in those days, and making himself
remarkable for his brilliant extravagances.

About that time a young and beautiful
actress appeared, who speedily became the
object of adoration to all the young men of
fashion about town.

General Pollexfen was one of her lovers,
and carried her off one night from the
theatre, when she came off the stage between
the acts. He allowed her to assume his
name, and lavished a fortune upon her
caprices; although her extravagance and
propensity to gambling involved him in debt.

Ten years had thus passed, when the cousin,
whose marriage was mentioned at the beginning
of this story, was ordered to Bath by
her physician. She entreated Mary to accompany
her, who, after some persuasion,
consented. It was a formidable journey in those
days, and they were to stay some months.
They found a pleasant lodging. Mary, with
some reluctance, was drawn into society, and
occasionally accompanied her cousin to the
Assemblies, which were then in high vogue.

General Pollexfen was absent from Bath
when his wife arrived there. He had been
called up to London by some lawyer's business,
and calculated upon being absent three weeks.

It so chanced, however, that the business
was concluded sooner than he expected, and
that he returned to Bath without announcing
his coming. He went at once to the
Assembly, and was walking through the rooms
in a chafed and irritable mood (having that
night discovered the treachery of the beautiful
actress, which had long been known to everybody
else), when a voice struck his ear which
caused him to turn suddenly. He saw, near
at hand, a dignified and beautiful woman, who
reminded him of some one he had seen before.
She turned away on perceiving him—it was
Mary. She had recognised her husband, and,
scarcely able to stand, she took the arm of her
cousin, and reached the nearest seat. Her
husband, forgetting everything else in his
impatience to learn who it was who had thus
startled vague recollections, went hastily up
to the Master of the Ceremonies, and desired
to be introduced to—his own wife !

By some fatality, the Master of the
Ceremonies blundered, and gave the name of
Mary's cousin. This mistake gave Mary
courage; for years she had dreamed of such
a meeting, and the fear of losing the
opportunity nerved her to profit by it. She exerted
herself to please him. He had been rudely
disenchanted from the graces of fine ladies,
and was in a humour to appreciate the
gentle home influence of Mary's manners ; he
was enchanted with her, and begged to be
allowed to follow up the acquaintance, and to
wait upon her the next morning. Permission
was of course given, and he handed Mary and
her cousin to their chairs.

Mary was cruelly agitated; she had not
suffered so much during the ten preceding
years; the suspense and anxiety were too
terrible to endure; it seemed as though
morning would never come. Her husband
was not much more to be envied. He had
discovered that she resembled the woman he
had once so much loved, and then so cruelly
hated—whom he married, and deserted; but
though tormented by a thousand fancied
resemblances, he scarcely dared to hope. that it
could be she. The next day, long before the
lawful hour for paying morning visits, he was
before her door, and obtained admittance.
The resemblance by day-light was more
striking than it had been on the previous
evening; and Mary's agitation was equal to
his own. His impetuous appeal was answered.
Overwhelmed with shame and repentance, and
at the same time happy beyond expression,
General Pollexfen passionately entreated his
wife's forgiveness. Mary not only won back
her husband, but regained, with a thousand-
fold intensity, the love which had once been
hers—regained it, never to lose it more!

The story soon became known, and created
an immense sensation. They quitted Bath
and retired to her husband's family seat in
Cornwall, where they continued chiefly to
reside. They had one son, an only child, who
died when he was about fifteen. It was an
overwhelming affliction, and was the one
mortal shadow on their happiness. They
died within a few weeks of each other;
their honours and estates passing to a distant
branch of the family.

THE STORY OF A NATION.

IN TWO CHAPTERS.—CHAPTER THE FIRST.

MORE than a thousand years ago, there
wandered through the heaths of Asia, between
the Irtish and the Volga, a rude Mongolian
nation, a section of that Ugrian race whose
wild ways in a conquered country gave the
name of Ogre to the cannibal monsters of
our nurseries. This nation of Ogres, living
among other nations of the same wandering,
quarrelling, and patriarchal character,
was divided, like its neighbours, into
seven tribes, each tribe including many
families. Among the kindred peoples who
surrounded this one nation, about which we
mean to speak, one only—the Chazars—had
converted its most powerful chief into a Khan,
and had, by so doing, knitted its resources
into the means of gaining an ascendant power.
Very much elbowed by their neighbours, our
Ogre nation, the Magyars, determined that
they also would knit themselves around a