A tender-hearted sympathetic soul, by name Captain Rogers of the Grenadiers, watched the fair Charlotte's steps (for she had told him she would go and seek her Jenkins) and gently led her from the sickening scene. Poor Jenkins was not found; but dead, no doubt he was, for there were several witnesses of his fall. He had fallen upon his face—the Sergeant lifted him from the earth, but he did not speak—life was no longer there; so the Sergeant left him lying on the field, for he had yet to knock some others down. The truth struck strong upon fair Charlotte's heart; her bursting bosom was saved from rending by a well-timed flood of tears, which the Captain politely wiped away. “Cease, lady, cease this useless, unavailing grief,” sighed the sympathetic Rogers; “if thou hast lost a husband, still are a thousand left for thy choice;—and though one Jenkins may be gone, another Jenkins may supply his place.” Oh! to be thus addressed amidst romantic war! and by a Captain, too, of Grenadiers!—I cannot, will not further— Draw, draw the veil upon her weakness! But stay, I must—I must reveal it—she was comforted; and not many nights passed o'er her widowed bed, till ... married was Charlotte to her Rogers—as well as in the field they _could_ be married, where parsons are but rare as all who know allow. In joyous honeymoon the pair repaired to Lisbon (for Rogers was detached upon a special duty), mayhap because the blushing bride wished for retirement from a scene which must have ever reminded her of Ensign Jenkins. But be that as it may, a month had scarcely told its thirty days (or thirty-one, I know not which), when one dark night, such as the wolf delights in, a solemn knock was heard at the outer door of the house where rested Rogers and his lady, “Who comes?” The door is opened—a figure stands at the threshold.—It is Ensign Jenkins!!! O appalling sight! “A ghost, a ghost! my husband's ghost!” the frighted Mrs. Rogers cries; “Oh, take him from my sight!” “No, thank you, Ma'am,” replies the visitor; “I am no ghost, but Ensign Jenkins of the 48th!!!” No more; I'll say no more, and wherefore should I? Family affairs I leave as I find them; but this I must relate. The Ensign was not dead, but speechless when the Sergeant lifted him from off the turf; he had received a knock-down blow, but soon recovered and was taken prisoner on the field. From French captivity he then escaped; but ah! not time enough to save his lady love. Oh cursed chance! that Sergeant's false and deadly report should thus put virtuous woman's love to proof! REMARK. If there be any romantic lady attached to the army, who sees in herself a close resemblance to the Ephesian matron, or my heroine, the Author beseeches she will not make it known; but let the tale and its allusions, and its moral, sink into “the tomb of all the _Jenkinses_.”