no help for this domestic dissension, which ended only with the
day of separation.

I am sorry I cannot tell, with precision, the year in which Sir
Philip Forester went over to Flanders; but it was one of those in
which the campaign opened with extraordinary fury, and many
bloody, though indecisive, skirmishes were fought between the
French on the one side and the Allies on the other. In all our
modern improvements, there are none, perhaps, greater than in the
accuracy and speed with which intelligence is transmitted from
any scene of action to those in this country whom it may concern.
During Marlborough's campaigns, the sufferings of the many who
had relations in, or along with, the army were greatly augmented
by the suspense in which they were detained for weeks after they
had heard of bloody battles, in which, in all probability, those
for whom their bosoms throbbed with anxiety had been personally
engaged. Amongst those who were most agonized by this state of
uncertainty was the--I had almost said deserted--wife of the gay
Sir Philip Forester. A single letter had informed her of his
arrival on the Continent; no others were received. One notice
occurred in the newspapers, in which Volunteer Sir Philip
Forester was mentioned as having been entrusted with a dangerous
reconnaissance, which he had executed with the greatest courage,
dexterity, and intelligence, and received the thanks of the
commanding officer. The sense of his having acquired distinction
brought a momentary glow into the lady's pale cheek; but it was
instantly lost in ashen whiteness at the recollection of his
danger. After this, they had no news whatever, neither from Sir
Philip, nor even from their brother Falconer. The case of Lady
Forester was not indeed different from that of hundreds in the