I would give the world to know, as they {172} must be profoundly calculated, and far beyond any I could hit upon for myself in a sudden crisis. We are not personally intimate enough to allow me to ask or hint the question. What shall I do?" "Consult Alava," replied Vivian. "He is evidently more in the duke's confidence than any one else, and will perhaps undertake to speak to him." Lord Uxbridge followed the suggestion, rode over to head-quarters, and finding General Alava, stated the object of his visit. "I agree with you," said the Spaniard; "the question is serious; but honored as I am by the duke's confidence, _I_ dare not propose it to him. I think, however, that _you_ can and ought to do so. If you like, I will tell him you are here." Lord Uxbridge, not without reluctance, consented, and being introduced to the duke's apartments, with some hesitation stated, as delicately as he could, the matter which disturbed him. The duke listened until Lord Uxbridge ceased to speak; his features indicated no emotion; and when he replied, it was without impatience, surprise, or any alteration of his usual manner. After a short pause he said, "Who do you expect will attack to-morrow, I or Bonaparte?" "Bonaparte, I suppose," answered Lord Uxbridge. "Well, then," rejoined the duke, "he has not told me his plans; how then can I tell you mine, which must depend on his?" Lord Uxbridge said no more; he had nothing more to say. The duke seeing that he looked a little blank, laid his hand gently on his shoulder: "But one thing, Uxbridge," he observed, "is quite certain; come what may, _you and I will both do our duty_." And so, with a cordial pressure of the hand, they parted. -------- ORIGINAL. SAINT LUCY. The giving of my eyes In loving sacrifice Was my appointed way; No soft decline from the meridian day Through dusky twilight slowly into dark, But blackness, bloody, swift, and stark From hands unkind. And I was blind. Thus reads the story, writ on sacred scroll, Of Lucy, virgin martyr: that sharp dole Won heaven's eternal brightness for her soul;-- The blotting out of sunshine, the recoil From utter blackness, the heart's gasp and spasm Before the unseen void, the imagined chasm Of untried darkness, was the martyr toil Whose moment's agony surpasses years-- The love, long years of patience and of tears Allotted unto others. "All for all;" Not doling out with a reluctant hand, But in one holocaustal offering grand, Will, senses, mind, responding to heaven's call. {173}