Within hearing of the ordnance in which the young gallants of the court delighted was an hospital, meagrely supplied with the comforts which its inmates required, where languished, in a crowded space, many of the soldiers and sailors who had been set up to be fired at while it was known in high quarters that there was such a deficiency of ammunition as must deprive the poor fellows of the power of effectual self-defence. This fact had become known, and it had sunk deep into the souls of the brave fellows who, maimed, feverish, and heart-sore,—in pain for want of the proper means of cure, and half suffocated from the number of their fellow-sufferers, listened with many a low-breathed curse to the peals of ordnance that shook their crazy place of refuge, and forswore mirth and allegiance together. Within hearing of the shouts and of a faint occasional breath of music from the royal band, were certain of the two thousand clergy, who were to resign their livings the next morning, and whose families were taking advantage of the neighbourhood being deserted for the day to remove their furniture, and betake themselves to whatever place they might have found wherein the righteous could lay his head. Dr. Reede was one of these. He had been toiling all day with his wife, demolishing the _tout ensemble_ of comfort which had been formed under her management. He was now, while she was engaged with her infants, sitting alone in his study for the last time. He was doing nothing; for his business in this place was closed. He let his eye be amused by the quick flickering in the breeze of the short, shining grass of his little court, which stretched up to his window. The dark formal shrubs, planted within the paling by his own hand, seemed to nod to him as the wind passed over their heads. The summer flowers in the lozenge-shaped parterres which answered to each other, danced and kissed unblamed beneath the Rev. Doctor’s gaze. All looked as if Nature’s heart were merry, however sad might be those of her thoughtful children. The Doctor stepped out upon the grass. There was yet more for him to do there. He had, with his own hands, mowed the plat, and clipped the borders; and the little hands of the elder of his two children had helped to pluck out the very few weeds that had sprung up. But the weather had been warm and dry, and, in order to leave the place in the beauty desired by its departing tenant, it was necessary to water the flower-court. It was not a very inspiriting thing to glance at doors and windows standing wide, displaying the nakedness of an empty dwelling within: so the Doctor hastened to the well to fill his bucket. Mrs. Reede heard the jingle of the chain, and showed herself at an upper window, while the child that could walk made her way down stairs with all speed to help papa, and wonder at her own round little face in the full bucket. Mrs. Reede was glad that her husband had turned out of his