The Child of Waterloo, or, The Horrors of the Battle-Field — page 112: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE CHILD OF WATERLOO, 109 of fortune. There are several considerations which make this pilgrimage upon which you are going a most holy one. ‘‘In the first place, with all the will to do so, this English off- cer may not have had the power to be to that child ali that he might wish. In the second place, he may, from the very nature of ‘his profession, have been compelled to depute to others the duty, which having himself undertaken, he otherwise would gladly and honorably himself bave superintended. And in the third place, as a very remote supposition indeed, he may possi- bly have tired of his charge. “‘T say this is a very remote possibility; for the man who, under such sad and distressful circumstances as he was in upon that sanguinary field of battle would, in the manner he did, make the generous promise he did, is not a likely man to tire in its performance. | ‘Therefore, you will understand, my dear F., why it is that I regard this as a very remote eupposition indeed, and do not allow it for one moment to vex me, or cause me a pang of un- easiness, ‘‘There is one other state of things which may have ensued, and which, of course, would be an answer to all inquiries—she may be dead! The lives of young creatures such as she was are precarious; and how long she had to remain on the field of battle in charge of that wounded man, who could not help him- self, T know not; or what accidents she may have been exposed to ‘'When these thoughts press upon me, I feel all the sadness of a situation. Then it is that I feel that depression of the heart which you have so often noticed in me, and retire to shed those tears in secret, the traces of which you tell me you have fre- quently seen upon my cheeks. ‘* And now, dear F., understand me. It is not death that ap- palls me; it is not the fear that she may be dead that strikes such a chill to my heart. Oh, no! it is the uncertainty whether she be so or not. It is the agony of suspense which unmans me, If I knew the worst, I should be calm. ‘‘And now, dear F., I think you know nearly all that I can tell you, to guide you in your search. When she was given into the charge of that generous Englishman, she had a small pelisse trimmed with white fur on her, and around her neck was the little locket you have so often heard me describe to you. JI think she will have her dear mother’s eyes. I have pleased myself with the hope that she will, dear F. ‘‘And now Heaven prosper you on this pilgrimage you have, for my sake, undertaken. My prayers will always be with you, and if you find her very happy, leave her so, and come and tell me. I will then visit her, and hold her to my heart and bless her; but she shall not find my affection selfish. I will not tear her from thore she loves to those whom she knows not, let them a her ever so tenderly. Heaven bless all who bave been kind to her. **Remember, the nameI think is Morton. May the blessing of Meaven always attend yeu, and that you may return to me comicbooks. com