The Lindsays made them a weekly allowance, for both were unfitted for any continuous exertion--they cumbered the earth. As soon as their pittance came in it was squandered in drink; and then they quarreled, and even fought. Rosa, the elegant, refined, graceful woman, fought with her husband for drink, and often bore evident traces of his violence. Her beauty had long since vanished; her features were red and bloated, her voice cracked, her person neglected; who would have believed that genius and high, noble, womanly feelings had once been hers! At last, in one of their furious encounters Walter struck her brutally; she fell bleeding at his feet. The sight sobered him and his cries raised their humble neighbors--(they had long since left their pleasant home, and were now in lodgings more suited to their circumstances). A crowd of screaming women filled the room, while he sat shivering in helpless imbecility. "Ah, poor dear, her troubles are over now!" said the women. "See what you've done, you wretch! you cowardly wretch!--you've killed your poor wife; and a lady, too, as she was. But you'll hang for it, if there's justice to be had for love or money!" The threat recalled his scattered senses: a razor lay near, its bright steel tempted him--one plunge, and all was over! A heavy fall disturbed the crowd around Rosa--her husband lay dead--a suicide. She was slowly recovering her consciousness when the exclamations of those around told her there was still more to be dreaded; she hurriedly looked around: "Walter!" she shrieked; "my husband dead?--dead? I am unforgiven--he was angry with me--tell him to give me but one word, one look. Walter, you can not die thus!" She saw the self-inflicted wound: "Oh, God! Oh, God! I have been his bane through life: will the curse follow him to the other world?" She is now mad, in an asylum. Thus ends the story of Rosa Lindsay. It may seem over-drawn: it is truth. [From the Dublin University Magazine.] MAURICE TIERNAY, THE SOLDIER OF FORTUNE. (_Continued from page_ 183.) CHAPTER XXI. OUR ALLIES. I have spent pleasanter, but I greatly doubt if I ever knew busier days, than those I passed at the Bishop's Palace at Killala; and now, as I look back upon the event, I can not help wondering that we could seriously have played out a farce so full of absurdity and nonsense! There was a gross mockery of all the usages of war, which, had it not been for the serious interest at stake, would have been highly laughable and amusing.