"The mischances of war are fast reducing the faithful cavaliers of Dundee. Starvation or the bullet daily send some brave heart to its long repose, and the survivors are in such a plight that not even the Westland Whigs could wish them lower. From the frontiers of Spain we have travelled to Alsatia, and from thence to Mons. It was a march of horrors! We were utterly without the necessaries of life, and in the depth of a severe winter, marched nine hundred miles over a country covered with snow. Many of us were barefooted. For many weeks our food was nuts in the woods, roots in the fields, horsebeans and garlic, and thus it is that Louis XIV. rewards our loyalty, our patience, our fatigues and achievements. "Our old friend Walter Fenton is well. Through all the campaigns under Monsieur le Mareschal Noailles and the noble Luxembourg, he hath shewed himself worthy of the knighthood King James' sword bestowed. Yesterday he volunteered, with sixty of our unhappy cavaliers, to plant the banner of King Louis on the Bastion de Sainte Wandree, and nobly did he redeem his word. Commend me to all our leal and right honourable friends, and to those who may think kindly of the poor cavaliers for the happy days that have passed away for ever. A time may come--adieu, dearest Annie--the call to arms is sounding along the lines, and we are about to march for Steinkirke, a duty from which few will return. On my mind there weighs a heavy presentiment of what I cannot name to thee. Farewell, my gentle Annie, and may God bless thee! for I fear we shall see the bonnie braes of Maxwelton together no more. FINLAND, "Late Lieut, in the Royall Scotts Ffoot." There was a tone of sorrowful resignation to a hard and hopeless fate pervading this letter that struck a pang of deep remorse through the heart of Annie--but a pang for one moment only; the volatility of her sex aided her, and smiling through her tears, she said, "My poor dear lighthearted Dick, would to Heaven I could lessen the miseries you endure!" "Oh, Annie," said Lilian reproachfully, clasping her hands and weeping, "poor Walter and poor Finland!" "Tush!" said Annie pettishly, her dark-blue eyes sparkling between shame and sorrow. "Gossip, tease me not." "Stay, there is something more--oh, read it." "A postscriptum"-- "It will grieve you much to hear that Walter Fenton hath broken his plighted troth to your fair friend Napier, and married a French woman, a mere camp follower, of evil repute. Right heavy tidings this will be for the heiress of Bruntisfield, but I ever deemed her spark a fool; again I kiss your hand--adieu."