ters—for does it not give a certain zest to life when we are thus turned at random on the wide world, without any definite aim or purpose, and with only hope and curiosity to bear us on? So it seems to me now, if not at that time.
I once knew a man who, in the enjoyment of a full share of worldly goods, was cruelly afflicted with ennui. He despised, aye, even loathed the existence which had never given him any real cause of anxiety, and, at times, actually meditated suicide. But what alone prevented him, day by day, from rudely snapping off the brittle thread of life? The reading of the Gazette—the wishing to know what would be the next news—and so he postponed from morning to morning, until, at length, a certain honest merchant, a friend of his, embezzled the greatest part of his wealth, and by a pious act of fraud, reduced him almost to bankruptcy. Now there was necessity for exertion, and that necessity drove away ennui. Hunger is never so voracious as when it knows not where to find food, nor life so alluring as when it is exposed to some imminent peril. These reflections fully engaged me as I traced my weary course through the murmuring pine forest, curious to know for what new adventures my fate had reserved me. Just now the barking of dogs was heard, lights gleamed from a distant window, and I presently found myself in an obscure village, while before the door of its only inn stood a neat chaise drawn by two fine horses, whose faces turned to the road I was about to take.
The stand-board of this said chaise was not furnished, as they frequently are, with iron-guards to keep off weary passengers, who are willing to be carried through the world at other people’s expense, and therefore I determined to seize on a fair opportunity for resting my aching limbs, and yet making progress in my journey. A fumble in my pockets, in the hope of finding some stray penny to buy a crust of bread, brought me no success, and accordingly, trusting to chance, I took my way into the house. On a corn-bin in the corner lay a peasant’s felt hat, round frock and whip, and with a blessing on the faculty of ready wit, I quickly exchanged my handsome chapeau for the dirty felt, relinquished my handsome uniform coat for the dusty, broad-backed frock, and had I possessed a sword, would have certainly left it in exchange for the whip, which, however, I took possession of, thinking it might serve to defend me from the village curs if from nothing worse. I could not act the thief so far as to seek for a gratuitous meal, but heartily thanking the good Providence which afforded me means of continuing my journey in a less conspicuous garb than that of the adjutant-general of the Prussian troops, I returned to the street, where I stood a moment viewing the chaise, behind which I hoped soon to take an unobserved station. Suddenly the door opened behind me, a stentorian voice thundered out, in French, “Let us be off—let us be off!” A violent blow on the back threw me prostrate in the dust, and ere I could recover my position, the assailant seized me by the collar, placed me on the front seat of the conveyance, and then springing in, ordered me to drive on immediately.
Mistaken as I probably was for the postillion, I cheerfully submitted to my fate, and with a free use of the whip, succeeded in driving at full gallop from the village, ensconced in the seat of honour in front, instead of sneaking stealthily behind the chaise, and leaving my apparell of adjutant-general to the unknown, whose office I now probably usurped.
CHAPTER FIFTEENTH.
CONFLICT AND BLOOD.
My rapid driving won repeated encomiums from my new master, who seemed to be in as great a hurry as myself. From what I could gather from his half-uttered soliloquy, his conscience was no cleaner than my own; and as far as could be seen in the cloudy night, he appeared to be one of those personages who, in the French army, are denominated attachès. Our conversation was necessarily monosyllabic, for he spoke not a word of German, and I, in conformity to my supposed origin, no French; yet, with some difficulty, by means of signs and gestures, I gave him to understand that I was hungry and desirous of something to eat: so on that hint he produced a huge roll of bread.
And now behold me, seated on my bench, as happy as a king on his throne, perfectly reconciled to my situation, and looking with hope to some bright future—for whether as curate, postillion, adjutant, or field-chaplain, it mattered not to me, the man dignifies the station, and not the station the man.
We took the direct road to Poland, and as we trotted along the dim pathway, various conjectures flitted through my mind. “Who knows,” thought I, “but that I may be rolling to the command of some army on the bank of the Vistula, or to some high office of state, such as I never dreamt of? Who knows! Let no one despond. There is a Providence that rules above; and although the clouds look dark, there are yet gleams of light, and the sunshine will certainly break through.”
Suddenly I was startled from my pleasant reverie by the flash of fire-arms in the moonlight, and my companion, who must have perceived it at the same moment, drew his sword, and cocked his pistol so near my ear that the snapping of the weapons actually brought on a cold sweat. “Faster! drive faster!” he shouted aloud, as he himself slapped his sheath on the horses’ backs.
“Halt! for your lives, halt!” was the command of the party of soldiers, who now sprang to the side of the chaise and held their bayonets in alarming proximity to my ribs.
Whom was I to obey? My situation was, in-
