"Sergeant Browne," cried he, "here is Hewson's wife, who went out in the 'Boyne.' Do the best you can for her, she can take Hetty Brennan's place." Joyfully did Kitty Hewson step into the boat, beckoning to a lad who was holding a small deal box, which he placed beside her; but she seemed as if she could hardly believe herself about to follow her husband, till actually on board.

The worthy Captain was, indeed, to be envied such a disposition to lessen the aggregate of human misery, by entering into their feelings.

In how very short a s.p.a.ce (three hours) had he the power of cheering the desponding hearts of several fellow creatures, without either detriment to the service, or swerving, in the least, from his duty.

THE EXECUTION OF MONTROSE.

This Narrative is supposed to be addressed by an aged Highlander to his Grandson shortly before the battle of Killiecrankie.

Come hither, Evan Cameron,-- Come stand beside my knee; I hear the river roaring down Towards the wintry sea.

There's shouting on the mountain side; There's war within the blast; Old faces look upon me, Old forms go riding past.

I hear the pibrock wailing Amidst the din of fight, And my dim spirit wakes again Upon the verge of night.

'Twas I, that led the Highland host Through wild Lochaber's snows, What time the plaided clans came down To battle with Montrose.

I've told thee how the South'rons fell Beneath his broad claymore, And how he smote the Campbell clan By Inverlocky's sh.o.r.e.

I've told thee how we swept Dundee And tamed the Lindsay's pride; But never have I told thee yet How the great Marquis died.

A traitor sold him to his foes: Oh, deed of deathless shame!

I charge thee, boy, if e'er thou meet With one of a.s.synt's name, Be it upon the mountain side, Or yet within the glen, Stand he in martial gear alone, Or backed by armed men; Face him as thou wouldst face a man That wronged thy sire's renown; Remember of what blood thou art, And strike the caitiff down

They brought him to the watergate Hard bound, with hempen span.

As though they held a lion there, And not a 'fenceless man: They set him high upon a cart, The hangman rode below, They drew his hands behind his back And bared his n.o.ble brow.

Then as a hound is slipped from leash They cheered the common throng, And blew the note with yell and shout And bade him pa.s.s along.

It would have made a brave man's heart Grow sad and sick that day, To watch the keen malignant eyes Bent down on that array.

There stood the whig west country lord In Balcony and Bow; There sat three gaunt and withered Dames And daughters in a row, And every open window Was full, as full might be, With black robed covenanting carles, That goodly sport to see.

And when he came, so pale and wan He looked, so great and High, So n.o.ble was his manly front, So calm his steadfast eye, The rabble rout, forbore to shout, And each man held his breath, For well they knew the hero's soul Was face to face with death.

And then a mournful shuddering Through all the people crept, And some that came to scoff at him Now turned aside and wept.

But onward, always onward, In silence and in gloom, The dreary pageant labored Till it reached the house of doom.

Then first a woman's voice was heard In jeer and laughter loud, An angry cry and hiss arose, From the lips of the angry crowd.

Then as the Graeme looked upward He saw the bitter smile Of him who sold his king for gold, The master fiend Argyle.

The Marquis gazed a moment And nothing did he say; But Argyle's cheek grew deadly pale, And he turned his eyes away.

The painted frail one by his side, She shook through every limb, For warlike thunder swept the streets, And hands were clenched at him, And a Saxon soldier cried, aloud, Back coward, from thy place!

For seven long years thou hast not dared To look him in the face!

Had I been there with sword in hand And fifty Cameron's by, That day, through high Dunadin's streets, Had pealed the Slogan cry Not all their troops of trampling horse, Nor might of mailed men; Nor all the rebels of the South Had borne us backward then.

Once more his, foot on highland heath Had trod, as free as air, Or I and all who bore my name, Been laid around him there.

It might not be! they placed him next, Within the solemn hall, Where once the Scottish kings were throned Amidst their n.o.bles all.

But there was dust of vulgar feet On that polluted floor And perjured traitors filled the place, Where good men sat before.

With savage glee came there, To read the murderous doom And then up rose the great Montrose In the middle of the room,--

Now by my faith as belted knight, And by the name I bear, And by the bright St. Andrew's Cross, That waves above us there; Yea, by a greater mightier oath, And oh! that such should be-- By that dark stream of royal blood, That lies 'twixt you and me, I have not sought in battle field A wreath of such renown, Or dared to hope my dying day Would win a martyr's crown.

There is a chamber far away, Where sleeps the good and brave But a better place ye have named for me Than by my fathers grave, For truth and right 'gainst treason's might This hand has always striven, And ye raise it up for a witness still For the eye of earth and heaven.

Then nail my heart on yonder tower, Give every town a limb And G.o.d who made, shall gather them;-- I go from you to him!

The morning dawned full darkly, The rain came flashing down And the forky streak of lightning's bolt, Lit up the gloomy town.

The thunders' crashed across the heaven, The fatal hour was come; Yet aye broke in with m.u.f.fled beat The 'larum of the drum: There was madness on the earth below, And anger in the sky, And young and old and rich and poor Came forth to see him die.

Oh G.o.d! that ghastly gibbet, How dismal 't is to see, The great spectral skeleton-- The ladder and the tree.

Hark! hark! the clash of arms The bells begin to toll,-- He is coming! He is coming!

G.o.d have mercy on his soul!

One last long peal of thunder,-- The clouds are cleared away And the glorious sun once more look'd down Upon the dazzling day.

He is coming! he is coming!-- Like a bridegroom from his room, Came the hero, from his prison To the scaffold and the doom.

There was glory on his forehead,-- There was l.u.s.tre in his eye, And he never walked to battle More proudly than to'die.

There was colour in _his_ visage, Though the cheeks of all were wan, And they marvelled as he pa.s.sed them, That great and goodly man.

He mounted up the scaffold, And he turned him to the crowd; But they dared not trust the people, So he might not speak aloud.

But he look'd up toward heaven, And it all was clear and blue, And in the liquid ether The eye of G.o.d shone through.

Yet a black and murky battlement Lay resting on the hill, As though the thunder slept therein, All else was calm and still.

Then radiant and serene he rose, And cast his cloak away; For he had taken his latest look Of earth and sun and day.

A beam of light fell o'er him, Like a glory round the shriven, And he climbed the lofty ladder, As it were a path to heaven.

Then came a flash from out the cloud, And a stunning thunder's roll, And no man dared to look aloft, Fear was on every soul.

There was another heavy sound, A hush!--and then--a groan, And darkness swept across the sky,-- The work of death was done!

A GHOST STORY, FOR THE YOUNG.

MY DEAR CHARLES--

When I promised to write to you during the holidays, I little thought I should have so much to put in my letter. I actually fancied it would be difficult to find enough to fill one sheet; and now I do really believe two will not be sufficient for all I have to say: but to commence my story, which you must know, is a real Ghost Story! But to begin:--

While we were at breakfast the other morning, papa showed mamma an advertis.e.m.e.nt in the "Times" newspaper, remarking, at the same time, that it appeared just the thing he had long wanted; and that he would go to the Solicitor's and make enquiries, and if it seemed still eligible, would go immediately and see about it. Upon asking what it was;

I was told it was an estate in South Wales to be disposed of; on which was a large commodious dwelling house, which at a trifling expence, might be converted into a family mansion. It commanded, the paper said, a picturesque view, with plenty of shooting and fishing.--It further stated, that on one part of the grounds, were the ruins of a castle, and a great deal more, in its favor, but you know the glowing descriptions with which these great London auctioneers always set off any property they have to dispose of.

Papa had every reason to be satisfied, that it was what he desired; so it was settled he should start by railway that very evening. And you may judge how delighted I was when he asked if I should like to accompany him. You may be sure I did not refuse; so we got ready, and started by the eight o'clock train.

We travelled all night and arrived at our destination about four next day. Papa thought I should sleep during the night, but I found it impossible, for a gentleman, whom we met in the cars, knew the place, and said so much in favour of it, that I could think of nothing else, but he admitted there was a drawback, and that a great prejudice existed against it, which caused no little difficulty in the disposal of. It was reported to be haunted, and one or two people, who had bought it, had actually paid money to get off the bargain. Of course, hearing this, my mind dwelt much on it, though I said nothing, lest I might be suspected of being afraid. Now, you know, it is not a little, frightens me at school, but I was greatly puzzled at all I heard, and determined I would rally my courage. After dinner, we strolled out to take a look at the proposed purchase. Papa was very much pleased with all he saw. House, grounds, and prospect were, he said, all he could wish, and not even the report of a ghost, did he consider, any disadvantage, but quite the contrary, as he certainly would never else be able to buy it for double the sum they now asked for it.

By the time we got back to the inn, Mrs. Davis, our landlady, had learnt the purport of our visit, and we, consequently, found her in great consternation. We had hardly entered, than she exclaimed:--

"Why surely, Sir, you are not going to buy Castle Hill? Why it is haunted, as sure as my name is Peggy Davis!"

"Well, my dear madam," said Papa, "haunted or not, such is my present intention."