One glance-a last-he sought, Woman's soft heart may trembling sink But her lofty soul knows not to shrink She snatch'd her lover's hand- And with an air that spoke command Through tangling brier and thorn she press'd Till she reached where in its secret breast "Now the foe may prowl in vain, When the rolling night-mist shades the glen, Day lagg'd along its lingering hours. Night came, and a darker hue With light foot skimming the heathbell's dew In vain around their vengeful snare The mountain maid leads on She paus'd; she cast her softening eye And all her childhood's grief and joy But Love's soft spell is strong- Soon clansman's shout and minstrel's song W. M. H. AN EARLY ACQUAINTANCE. A SKETCH. THOUGH not a native of the west of Scotland, I had occasion to spend several years in the earlier period of my life, in that district of the country. During my residence there, which extended from my eighteenth to my twenty-fourth year, I formed an intimacy with several individuals whose age, circumstances, and habits, were similar to my own. But of these there were none for whom I felt so strong an attachment, as for a young man of the name of Robert M'William. He was one of the best principled and most amiable individuals with whom it has ever been my lot, before or since, to have been acquainted. His father, though only a member of the working classes of society, had, by means of his own industry, and a small reversion left him by a deceased relation, been able to give to him the advantages of an education much superior to what is characteristic of the generality of the children of our operatives. Robert, when he had attained his sixteenth year, was articled for four years to a Solicitor of eminence, in his native place. Through the influence of his employer, who, from his propriety of conduct and professional acquirements evinced a marked partiality for him, Robert, immediately on the expiration of his apprenticeship, procured a superior situation in India; and having suitably equipped himself for so long a voyage, he set out for that distant part of the world in the year 1800. His father accompanied him part of the way to Greenock, whence he shipped for London, and from thence to Calcutta. The separation between Robert and his father was, as might be expected, of any affecting nature: but both consoled themselves with the hope that they should meet again under happy circumstances. Robert duly arrived at his destined place; and for several years thereafter occasionally corresponded with his parents and with me. But about this time, circumstances called me to the Continent, and as during my sojourn there, I was not any length of time in one place, I heard no more of my old and esteemed acquaintance. After an absence of six years I returned to the west of Scotland, and while passing through the wood of Maners, on my way to the village of Drumanan, I heard at a little distance before me, in an indistinct sort of tone, as if the speaker had been desirous of disguising his voice, the words uttered, "Your money or your life, Sir!" "Neither, Sir!" responded a second party, in a perfectly audible and courageous tone. By this time I was within forty yards, and though from the darkness of the night-it was about eight o'clock in the evening, in the month of October,-I could not recognize the speaker,—I heard sounds of feet and voices, which indicated that a violent scuffle had commenced. I hastened to the spot, and found one man, apparently midle-aged, lying on another who seemed to be rather young-the stronger party threatning to shoot the weaker if any further resistance to rifling his pockets was offered. I rushed to the aid of him whose life was in danger; and while attempting to drag the other off the person below him, he presented a pistol to my breast. I wrenched the weapon from him, and threw it among the adjacent trees. By this time the weaker party regained his feet; and betwixt us we speedily succeeded in completely vanquishing the assailant. Notwithstanding the resistance he made, we dragged him to the nearest house, which was but little more than a quarter of a mile distant. In this abode, which was a very humble one, we found a glimmering light, with a woman of a very weak and sickly-like appearance, sitting at the fire-side. The female invalid was greatly alarmed at our singular and unexpected appearance; but scarcely had we been a minute in the house, when looking the young man in the face whose life had been in such eminent danger, she exclaimed, "O, my Robert! My Robert!" and with a supernatural effort, rose to embrace him. The truth instantly flashed on my mind, that this was none other than my old acquaintance, and on that of our prisoner, that it was none other than his own son in whose blood but half-an-hour before, he was about to imbrue his hands. The young man recognized the voice of his mother, although her feature had been sadly changed by sickness. But no one can form any conception of the surprise which all of us at first felt on recognizing each other under such strange circum stances. A full explanation soon followed. Robert's father experienced a rapid transition from competence to absolute penury, in consequence of a sudden and extensive depression which some time before had taken place in the branch of business in which he was engaged; and to add to his misfortunes, his wife had become indisposed. They left the town in which the greater part of their past life had been spent, and removed to the little solitary house adjacent to the eastward of the wood of Maners, in the hope that the husband might procure as much employment in the country as would at least supply their more urgent wants. In this he was disappointed; and goaded almost to desperation by his own privations, as well as by those of his sickly wife, he had that evening May, 1845.-VOL. XLIII.-NO. CLXIX. I for the first time, resolved on the desperate expedient of committing highway robbery. His son, Robert, had newly arrived in this country from India, for the purpose of transacting business in London, and naturally, when so near his parents, resolved on a visit to them. He had been unconscious of the reverse in life they had encountered within the last eighteen months; but as he had been successful in the world himself, he administered to their present exigencies, and before he departed again, he settled upon them the annual sum of sixty pounds, and had the satisfaction, before he left their roof, of seeing his mother completely convalescent. LITERATURE. NOTICES OF NEW WORK S. Mary Aston; or, the Events of a Year. Books are, like society, of a varied character: one grave, another gay: one carrying us into scenes of cheerfulness, another into those of sorrow and suffering. Sometimes we are amused and cheered, sometimes instructed and elevated; and in all these cases we enjoy the advantage of an infinite variety. "Mary Aston" may be considered as a union, a sort of alternation, of these different species of literary society. A happy talent of description, and a buoyant cheerfulness of spirit, are the merits which strike us on our first introduction. In a world so full of sadness, we would be the first to hail every glimpse of an innocent hilarity; we would welcome every gleam of sunshine in the moral as well as the physical world, that might help to send us on our way rejoicing; and in truth our author seems to have caught the dancing epidemic, for he opens to the time of the Polka, and closes to the same measure. But not to be carried away with the light graces of our author's cheerful tone, from allowing due praise to his more sterling qualities, we must acknowledge that in this tale, laid among the higher classes of society, we have the life of the true English gentleman painted in most happy colours. The author appears to have enjoyed with the utmost zest the scenes which he has described. The substantial country landed proprietor, patriotic, energetic, hospitable, stands out upon his canvass, surrounded by all the auxiliaries which fill in the fair picture of a peaceful, happy, and honourable country life. The tale is singularly one of domestic manners, polished indeed, but abounding in all the rejoicing liberality which so happily distinguishes the character of the country gentleman. There is so much individuality, so much reality, in the assemblage gathered together for country enjoyment, that the reader is constrained to feel himself located among them, partaking of their festivities, and enjoying the same abundant hospitality. Thus domiciled we are carried through all the variety of field sports, and rural occupations; the chase abroad, and the chase at home, mirth and music, sweetened by the soft influence of female society, these constitute scenes faithful to life, and which well depict the cheerfulness of so enjoyable an existence. In all this we have spoken chiefly of the scenes, because there is a tone of freshness and feeling thrown over them peculiarly reviving to the heart, and which seem at once to recal those agreeable country-relaxations which most of us have, at some time or other enjoyed, and which, being distinguished by an honesty and freedom, seem to relieve us from the shackles of an artificial and every day ex |