About the farm the farmer raged,

And cursed the dog that did not bark,
As many a theft was brought to light,
When from the plundered roost the night
Withdrew its curtain dark.

Fish had they from the freshest streams;
The goodliest pheasant from his perch;
Where'er above, beneath, around,
Aught worth the seeking might be found,
They had not shunned the search.

Wine had they from old cellars, rich;

That was not brought by Mab the fairy; Nor witch upon her broomstick fleet: To which was added many a treat

From many a farmer's dairy.

The dawn had met them open-eyed,

Had love and wine not conquered numbers: Some fell, and made the heath their bed, With nothing but the stars o'er head, To centinel their slumbers.

At break of day they took their way

By various tracks throughout the nation, Past park, and farm, and mill, and wood, Laying their hands on all they could, All following their vocation.

To pleasant meads of freshest grass,

To fields of rich luxuriant clover, Well knew they how their way to win; And nightly turn their asses in,

All merry England over.

The peasants feared them: not for nought:
Often their king received a bribe,
That fruits and fowls untouched might be ;
Well-known the veriest knave was he
Of all the wandering tribe.

And lucky was the farmer thought

Who had the fortune to compound:

Nabal's good hap did he possess,
When David in the wilderness

With safety hedged him round.

Henceforth what of their king became ?
He had the fate of other kings;
To his last gasp his power he kept,
He reigned his time, then soundly slept
Amongst forgotten things.

Yet was not totally forgot,

Amongst his tribe he left a name,
With stains of deepest dye defaced,
Yet with some traits that would have graced
The greatest in their fame.

THE YOUNG PRETENDER.

A TALE.

BY MRS. CRAWFORD.

So many circumstances govern and control the actions of men to whom the adventitious advantages of birth, fortune, and education belong, that, even to themselves, they may hoodwink the motives of those actions that carry a sounding trumpet to the world; but the simple, unlettered child of nature, without any of the leaven of pride or ambition, that sets the passions in a ferment, goes straight forward in the path love points out, never seeking to enter the dark labyrinth in which selfishness loses sight of all but the golden clue.

Donald, proud of the trust reposed in him, and no less happy in the knowledge that the person he was to oblige was the identical Charlie Stuart, grandson of " King Jamie, o' blessed memory," soon got everything arranged for the prince's accommodation in the place of concealment, which a fifty years' servitude at the castle had made him better acquainted with than his lord. Thus far all was well. Donald's next step was to visit the servants' hall, and there, with the authority of an old confidential favourite, inform them, under the rose, as it would seem, that the stranger who came from England brought dispatches with him of so important a nature, that the earl sent him back again without allowing him time to rest. ""Tis mair than probable, ye ken," added Donald, with a significant nod," that the Pretender, as they ca' young Charlie, hae gotten footing in England, whilk the troops joost sent over by King Geordie ken naething o', rinning a' the country round on a gowk's hunt, he! he he! like sae mony daft boys, to put saut on a birdie's tail."

Having lulled all suspicion about the visit of the stranger, and plied the servants well with genuine mountain-dew, Donald had the satisfaction of seeing them all depart to their beds, when he hastened to conduct the prince to his concealed dormitory.

Left alone with his sister, the earl was silent for some time, pacing backward and forward with the air of one much disturbed.

"This

has happened most unfortunately," said he at last, striking his forehead.

"It has, indeed," answered Lady Jane mildly, "but I hope no evil will arise to you from an action so natural and praiseworthy as saving the life of a fellow-creature."

"That is nothing to the purpose, Jane," said the earl somewhat testily, "we are not bound to save all that fly to us, at the risk of our own life, or, what is yet dearer, our good name."

"But, as he put himself into your power," said Lady Jane, remonstratively

"I could not well give him up to his enemies, you would say," re

I Concluded from p. 56.

joined her brother. "No: but I need not have found him a hiding corner in this castle, of all places; there are plenty of cottages on the island where he might have found shelter for a night: however, the thing's done, and cannot be undone; but mind me, sister, to-morrow morning I depart for Edinburgh, where Argyle expects me."

"So soon as to-morrow," said Lady Jane, affectionately.

"Yes," replied the earl; "as matters stand, it would be impolitic to prolong my stay here. All I have to request of you is, that you do not suffer your pity for Charles Stuart to get the better of your good sense, which will point out the madness of harbouring in this castle the sworn enemy of my king: be careful then, or my life may pay the forfeit of your romantic generosity to a stranger. Say not one word to oppose the Chevalier's departure on the morrow."

My grandmother promised obedience, and the earl, lighting a taper, kissed the cheek of his sister and left the apartment.

Donald having seen the prince comfortably settled in the chamber, returned to the sitting-room, where he found Lady Jane standing by the fire meditating upon the conversation she had just had with the earl.

“Well, Donald, do you think the prince is safe from all hazard of discovery if the English troops should come?"

"Ye'll see, ye'll see," said Donald, rubbing his hands with glee; "diel a southern o' them can track the puir laddie, wha lees snug as ae chick under the wing o' the auld hen."

"And did you leave him the things I mentioned to you, Donald ?" "Ye needna fash for that he'll want a gude tass o' the primest wine in a' the cellar, or ony ither refrashment whilk auld Donald can fin for Charlie Stuart; gude troth, but he's a braw-looking mon, wi' a bonnie face o' his ain, and for speech can crack wi' ony ane, gentle or simple. Weel, weel, it maun a' be right, I suppose, whilk the Southrons do naethless; to my min' its unco straunge that the rightfu' king o' Scotland maun be hunted down by his ain subjects, like the puir hart whilk the arrows o' the huntsmen kills on its ain proper hills."

"Well, Donald," said my grandmother, willing to put an end to the old domestic's loquacity, "we have nothing to do with these things; ours is an office of mere humanity and Christian feeling."

"Troth is it," muttered Donald, "and sham to a' the staney hearts that wad turn tail o' the princely laddie sin the jade Gude Luck hae turned awa frae him."

"Good night, Donald," said Lady Jane, as she laid her hand upon the handle of the door.

"Gude night, my bonnie leddy," said the old man as he hobbled after his young mistress into the hall, whence each departed on their separate way, Lady Jane to her chamber in a remote part of the building, and Donald (whistling as he went the favourite air of the rebel army, "The king shall enjoy his own again,") to a new dormitory which he had chosen for his night's repose near the hidingplace of the fugitive prince, that he might be on the alert in case of intruders.

On retiring to her chamber, Lady Jane threw off her travelling

dress, and combed down her long redundant tresses, whose dark hue, as they swept almost to her delicate feet, formed a beautiful contrast to the virgin snow of her loose wrapping gown of fine lawn. She opened the antique casement and looked out upon the sky. The moon shone faintly through a dense atmosphere of mist; the night winds swept in loud gusts over the old battlements, and ever and anon she fancied voices mingling with the gale: it was a night when the genius of romance loves to be abroad, and to people the rolling clouds with spirits once of earth.

Lady Jane's mind was but little tinctured with those feelings of the supernatural common to youth, and more particularly the youth of Scotland, whose infant senses are lulled to sleep by the wild songs setting forth the wonders of fairy land and the fearful tales of witches and goblins. Yet, the solemn hour and passing events gave a more sombre colouring than of wont to her thoughts. The circumstance of the prince's concealment at Bute, where his noble progenitor once held lordly sway, produced a train of melancholy reflections upon the instability of human greatness, from which starting at times, she listened to some of those strange sounds so often heard in old buildings, though so rarely, if ever, reasonably accounted for.

66

Her lute lay upon the window-seat; she took it up, and sought to calm her spirits by playing one of those exquisite airs, which have immortalized Scotland as the land of song. Mary's Dream" was one of her most favourite strains, and with a voice subdued she sung to it the following words :—

Thou wakeful star o' silent night,

That guidest my Donald far frae me,

I envy thee, serenely bright,

That look'st on him I canna see.
'Tis past-'tis gane-my dream o' bliss,
Like gather'd roses crowning death,
That mock the brow they coldly kiss,
Wi' mortal bloom and simmer breath.

Oh! dinna let the worldling say

That woman's heart can faithless prove;
Her love is but a stolen ray

Frae glowing shrines that burn above:
And when the tender heart is cold

To a' that fann'd its earthly fire,
'Twill breathe again in purer mould,
To wake love's unforgotten lyre!

As she concluded the last stanza, a sound, not loud but continuous, broke upon her ear. Lady Jane's chamber, as I before stated, was in à remote part of the castle, and the sound came broken by long passages and strong doors. The noise increased in loudness as of many persons speaking together; it came nearer and nearer, and now, more fully displayed, step after step, seemed ascending the stair leading to her chamber. Voices of men now distinctly sounded near her door. Who these midnight intruders were she could not for a moment doubt. "Oh !" said she, "if they should discover the prince's place of concealment, and drag him forth! Merciful God! save him from his

foes." Her gentle heart sickened at the thought of his danger; the next instant a loud knocking at her door blanched her cheek, but determined to say something if possible to blind his pursuers, she, though with trembling hand, unbolted the door, when a party of English soldiers rushed into the chamber. At sight of the young beauty in her night gear, with her rich flowing hair almost covering her person, they halted, and one who appeared to be their chief, stepped forward, and apologized for their unseasonable intrusion.

66

It grieves me, lady, that our unhallowed feet should profane the sanctuary of beauty," said he, gallantly bowing to my grandmother; "but our duty imposes a painful task, and we cannot leave this castle till we have searched every part of it, for the Chevalier Charles Stuart, whose steps have been traced to Bute. Not," said he, smiling, "that I suspect he is hidden in this chamber."

"Indeed he is not," answered Lady Jane quickly, and blushing beneath the ardent gaze of the young soldier," nor will you find him, be assured, under this roof. My brother, the earl, is too staunch to the King of England to be the friend of the unfortunate prince, and without the earl's approbation he could never have found shelter within these walls."

The beauty and address of Lady Jane acted like magic upon the hearts of all, and after a slight survey of the apartment and dressing closet adjoining, the captain withdrew with his men.

Lady Jane, when they had all descended again, taking up a taper, followed softly on tip-toe down the stairs, and having reached as far as she deemed she could prudently venture, stood with suppressed breath to listen, but the beatings of her heart almost prevented her hearing distinctly. The murmur of voices sounded at intervals, but far off, and blended with the shrill bleatings of the wind: her hope was now strong that the troops, after an unsuccessful search, were departing. Footsteps approached, it was Donald, “ Hist, leddy, is that you?"

"Yes, Donald, are they gone? Is the prince safe?"

"Thanks to the gude God, Charlie Stuart's safe enough," said the old man; "the maundering deevils past clase to his hiding place, and niver kenn'd o' it; but I maun rin, my lord's wi' them in the cedar chamber waiting for samthing to gie the hungry loons, diel tak them. I'd fin' heart to loot them a' gang back the gate they cam wi' naething to fill their empty bellies but the whistling wind, or a little saut water. I'd refrash them wi' a witness for hunting down royal Charlie; but I maun rin, sae be o' gude cheer, leddy;" and away hobbled Donald to the cellar and buttery to get most grudgingly the best he could find to feast the Southrons, whom in his soul he detested.

Comforted by the news old Donald had given, Lady Jane tripped lightly up the stairs to her own chamber again, but without any intention of going to bed. The night was far spent, in another hour or two day would be dawning. As she sate at the casement watching the grey clouds that herald the infant dawn, Donald tapped at her door. "Well, Donald, when will they depart?"

"Weel, they are a' on the wing, ye'll see them gin ye like the sight o' their Southron backs as weel as mysel'."