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VOLUME I. |
BY C. R. HANLEITER.
IF © E “If U Y □
“ Much yet remains unsung'’
From.the Christloii World.
VIOLA.
AY MRS. AMELIA B. WELBY'.
She hath phsscd like a l.ird from the minstrel throng,
She has gone to the land vvhere the lovely belong !
Her place is hushed by her lover's side,
Yet itis heart is full of the fair young bride i
The hopes of bis spirit are crushed and bowed,
As he thinks of his l ve in her long white shroud ;
For the fragrant sighs of her perfumed breath,
Were kissed from Iter lips by his rival —Death.
Cold is her bosom, her thin white arms,
All mutely crossed o’er its icy charms,
As she lies, like a statue of Grecian art,
With a marble brow and a cold hushed heart.
Her locks were bright, but their gloss is hid,
Her eye is sunk ‘neatlt its waxen lid :
And thus she lies in her narrow hall—
Our fair young minstrel —the loved of all.
Light as a bird’s were her springing feet,
Her heart as joyous—her song as sweet.
Yet never again shall that heart be stirr'd,
With its glad wild songs like a singing bird.
Never again shall the strains be sung.
That in sweetness dropped from her silver tongue;
The music is over, and Death’s cold dart
Hath broke the spell of that free glad heart.
Often at eve when the breeze is still,
And the moon floats np by the distant hill.
As I wander alone ‘mid the summer bowers,
And wreath iny locks with the sweet wild flowers,
1 will think of the time when she lingered there,
With her mild blue eyes, and her long fair hair;
I will treasure her name in my bosom-core —
Bot my heart is sad—l can sing no more.
|, fc.i ■■H —WI ■ I I
©EILtE© TIE® YALI@o
THE BELLE OF THE BELFRY,
Or the Daring Lover.
nv N. P. WILLIS.
A grisette is something else beside a
” mean girl” or a •* gray gown,” the French
dictionary to the contrary notwithstanding.
Bless me! you should see the grisettes of
Rocliepot! And if you wished to take a
lesson in political compacts, you should un
derstand the grisette confederacy of Roclie
pot! They were working-girls, it is true —
dress-makers, milliners, shoe-binders, tailor
esses, flower-makers, embroideress —and
they never expected to be any thing more
aristocratic. And in that content lay their
power.
The grisettes of Rocliepot were a good
fourth of the female population. They had
their jealousies, and lilllescandals.and heart
burnings, and plottings, and counterplottings
(for they were women) among themselves.
But they made common cause against the
enemy. They would hear no disparage
ment. They knew exactly what was due
to their superiors, and they paid and gave
credit in the coin of good manners, as can
not be done in countries of “ liberty and
equality.” Still there were little shades of
difference in the attention shown them by
their employers, and they worked twice as
much in a day when sewing for Madame
Durozel, who took her dinner with them,
sans facon in the workroom, as for old Mad
ame Chiquelte, who dined all alone in her
grand saloon, and left them to eat by them
selves among their shreds and scissors. But
these were not slights which they seriously
resented. Wo only to the incautious dame
who dared to scandalize one of their num
ber, or dispute her dues, or encroach upon
her privileges ! They would make Roche
pot as uncomfortable for her, parb/eu ! as a
kettle to a slow-boiled lobster.
But the prettiest grisette of Rocliepot
was not often permitted to join her compan
ions in their self-chaperoned excursions on
the holidays. Old Dame Pomponney vVas
the sexton’s widow, and she had the care of
the great clock of St. Roch, and of one only
daughter; and excellent care she took of
both her charges. They lived all three in
the Belfry—dame, clock and daughter—and
it was a bright day for Thenais when she
got out of hearing of that 41 tick, tick, tick,
and of the thumping of her mother’s cane
on the long staircase, which always kept
time with it.
Not that old Dame Pomponney had any
objection to have her daughter convenably
married. She had been deceived in her
youth (or so it was whisdered) by a lover
above her condition, and she vowed, by the
cross on her cane, that her daughter should
have no sweetheart above a journeyman me
chanic. Now the romance of the grisettos
(parlous las!) was to have one charming
little flirtation with a gentleman before they
married the leather-apron—just to show
that, had they by chance been born ladies,
they could have played their part to the
taste of their lords. But it was at this game
that Dame Pomponney had burnt her fin
gers, and she had this one subject for the
exercise of her powers of mortal aversion.
When I have added that, four miles from
Rochepot, stood the chateau de Brevannc,
and that the old Count de Brevanne was a
proud aristocrat of the aneicn regime, with
one son, the young Count 1’ elix, whom he
had educated at Paris, I think I have pre
pared you tolerably for the little romance I
have to tell you.
It was a fine Sunday morning that a
mounted hussar appeared iu the street of
a jFamflg iLeUi&jmgcr: BcOotcXr to Hiteratuvc, Agriculture, JHecnawicss, 22ftucatfou, Jforeisu aufc Domestic KutelUgrucr, &*c.
Rocepot. The grisettes were all abroad in
their holiday parvre, and the gay soldier soon
made an acquaintance witli one of them at
the door of the inn, and informed her that
lie had been sent on to prepare the old bar
racks for his troop. The hussars were to
be quartered a month at Rochepot. Ah !
what a joyous bit of news! And six offi
cers beside the colonel! And the trumpet
ers were miracles at playing quadrilles and
wallzes 1 And not a plain man in the regi
ment—except always the speaker. And
none, except the old colonel, had ever been
in love in his life. But as this last fact re
quired to he sworn to, of course he was
ready to kiss the hook—or, in the absence
of the book, the next most sacred object of
bis adoration.
Finisscz done, Monsieur!” exclaimed
his pretty listener, and away she ran to
spread the welcome intelligence with its de
lightful particulars.
‘i he next day the troop rode into Roclie
pot, and formed in the great square in front
of St. Roch; and by the time the trumpet
ers* had played themselves red in the face,
the hussars were all appropriated, to a man
—for the grisettes knew enough of a march
ing regiment to lose no time. They all
found leisure to pity poor Thenais, howev
er, for there she stood in one of the high
windows of the belfry, looking down on the
gay crowd below, and they knew’ very well
that old Dame Pomponney had declared all
soldiers to be gay deceivers, and forbidden
her daughter to stir into the street wdiile
they were quartered at Rocliepot.
Os course the grisettes managed to agree
as to eacli othei’s selection of a sweetheart
from the troop, and of course each hussar
thankfully accepted the pair of eyes that
fell toll im. For, aside from the limited du
ration of their stay, soldiers are philoso
phers, and know’ that “ life is short,” and it
is better to “ take the goods the gods pro
vide.” But “ after every body was help
ed,” as they say at a feast, there appeared
another short jacket and foraging cap, very
much to the relief of red-headed Susette,
the shoe-binder, who bad been left out in the
previous allotment. And Susette made the
amiable accordingly, but to no purpose, for
tbe lad seemed an idiot with but one idea—
looking forever at St. Roch’s clock to know
the time of day 1 The grisettes laughed and
asked their sweethearts his name, hut they
significantly pointed to their foreheads and
whispered something about poor Robertin’s
being a privileged follower of the regiment
and a protege of the colonel.
Well, the grisettes flirted, and the old
clock of St. Roch ticked on, and Susette and
Thenais, the plainest and the prettiest girls
in the village, seemed the only two who
were left out in this extra dispensation of
lovers. And poor Robertin still persisted
in occupying most of his leisure with watch
ing the time of day.
It was on the Sunday morning after the
arrival of the troop that old Dame Porr.pon
ney went up, as usual, to do her Sunday’s
duty in winding up the clock. She had
previously locked the belfry door to be sure
that no one entered below while she was
above; but—the Virgin help us! —on the
top stair, gazing into the machinery of the
clock with absorbed attention, sat one of
those devils of hussars! “Thief,” “vaga
bond,” and “house-breaker,” were the most
moderate epithets with which Dame Pom
ponney accompanied the enraged beating of
her stick on the resounding platform. She
was almost beside herself with rage. And
Thenais bad been up to dust the wheels of
the clock 1 And how did she know that
that teelerat of a trooper was not there all
the time !
But the intruder, whose face had been
concealed till now, turned suddenly touiid
and began to gibber and grin like a possess
ed monkey. lie pointed at the clock, imi
tated the “ tick, tick, tick,” laughed tilt the
big bell gave out an echo like it groan, and
then suddenly jumped over the old dame’s
stick and ran down stairs.
“ Eh, Suintc, Merge !” exclaimed the old
dame, it’s a poor idiot after all 1 And he
has stolen up to see what made the clock
tick! Ha! ha! ha! Well!—well! 1
cannot come up these weary stairs twice a
day, and I must wind up the clock before I
go down to let him out. “ Tick, tick, tick 1
poor lad 1 poor iud 1 They must have dress
ed him up to make fun ofhim—those vicious
troopers 1 Well—well 1”
And with pity in her heart, Dame Pom
ponney hobbled down, stair after stair, to
her chamber in the square turret of the bel
fry, and there she found tbe poor idiot on
bis knees before Thenais, and Thenais was
just preparing to put a skein of thread over
his thumbs, for she thought she might make
him useful and amuse him with the winding
of it till her mother came down. But as the
thread got vexatiously entangled, and the
poor lad sat as patiently as a wooden reel,
and it was time to go below to mass, the
dame thought she might as well leave him
there till she came back, and down she
stumped, locking the door very safely be
hind her.
Poor Thenais was very lonely in the bel
fry, and Dame Pomponney, who had a ten
der heart where her duty w’as not involved,
rather tejoiced when she returned, to find
an unusual glow of delight on her daughter’s
cheek; and if Thenais could find so much
pleasure in the society of a poor idiot lad, it
was a sign, too, that her heart was not gone
altogether after those abominable troopers.
MADISON, MORGAN COUNTY, GEORGIA, SATURDAY MORNING, FEBRUARY 25, 1843.
It was time to send the innocent youth ibout
his business, however, so she gave him a
holiday cake and led him down stairs atid
dismissed him with a pat on the hack and a
strict injunction never to venture again up
to the “tick, tick, tick.” But as she had
had a lesson as to the accessibility of her
bird’s nest, she determined thenceforth to
lock the door invariably and carry the key
in her pocket.
While poor Robertin was occupied with
his researches into the “tick, tick, tick,”
never absent a day from the neighborhood
of the tower, the more fortunate hussars
were planning to give the grisettes a fete
champetre. One of the saints’ days was
coming round, and, the weather permitting,
all the vehicle of the villages were to be lev
ied, and, with the troop-horses in harness,
they were to drive to a small wooded valley
in the neighborhood of the chateau de Brev
anne, where seclusion and a
of grass were combined in a little paradise
for such enjoyment.
The morning of this merry day dawned,
at least, and the grisettes and their admirers
were stirring betimes, for they were to
In eakfast :;vr V ho le, and they were not the
people to turn breakfast into dinner. The
sky was clear, and the dew vva3 not very
heavy on the grass, and merrily the vehicles
rattled about the town, picking up their fair
freights from its obscurest corners. But
poor Thenais looked out, a sad prisoner,
from her high window in the belfry.
It was a half hour after sunrise and Dame
Pomponney was creeping up stairs after her
matins, thanking Heaven that she had been
firm in her refusals—at least twenty of the
grisettes having gathered about her, and
pleaded for a day’s freedom for her impris
oned daughter. She rested on the last land
ing hut cue to take a little breath—hut hark !
—a man’s voice talking in the belfry ! She
listened again, and quietly slipped her feet
out of her high-heeled shoes. The voice
was again audible—yet how could it be!—
She knew that no one could have passed up
the stair, for the key had been kept in her
pocket more carefully than usual, and, save
by the wings of one of her own pigeons, the
belfry window was inaccessible, she was
sure. Still the voice went on in a kind of
pleading murmur, and the dame stole softly
up in her stockings, and noiselessly opened
the door. There stood Thenais at the win
dow, but she was alone in the room. At
the same instant the voice was heard again,
and sure now that one of those desperate
hussars had climbed the tower, and unable
to control her rage at the audacity of the at
tempt, Dame Pomponney clutched her catie
and rushed forward to aim a blow sit the
military cap now visible at the sill of the
window. But at the same instant, the head
of the intruder was thrown back, and the
gibbering and idiotic smile of poor Robertin
checked her blow in its descent, aud turned
all her anger into pity. Poor, sillyjlad !he
had contrived to draw up the garden ladder
and place it upon the roof of the stone porch
below, to climb and offer n flower to The
ii si is ! Not unwilling to have her daughter’s
mind occupied with some other thought than
the forbidden excursion, the dame offered
her hand to Robertin and drew him gently
in at the window. Anti as it was now mar
ket time she bid Thenais be kind to tlx? poor
boy, and locking the door behind her,trudg
ed contentedly off” with her stick and oasket.
I am sorry to he obliged to record an act
of filial disobedience in the heroine of my
story. An hour after, Thenais wis wel
comed with acclamations as she suddenly
appeared with Rolieitin in the midst of the
merry party of grisettes. With Robertin—
not as lie had hitherto been seen, his cap on
the hack of his head and Iris under lip hang
ing loose like an idiot’s—but with Robertin,
gallant, spirited and gay', the handsomest of
hussars, and the most joyous of companions.
And Thenais, spite of her hasty toilet and
the cloud of conscious disobedience which
now and then shaded her sweet smile, was,
by many degrees, the belle of the hour; and
the palm of beauty, for once in the world at
least, was yielded without envy. The gris
ettes dearly love a bit of romance, too, and
the circumventing ot old Dame Ponponney
by his ruse of idiocy, and the safe extrica
tion of the prettiest girl of the village from
that gloomy old tower, was quite enough to
make Robertin a hero, and his sweetheart
Thenais more interesting than a persecuted
princess.
And, seated on the ground wliilt their
glittering cavaliers served them with break
fast, the light-hearted grisettes of Rojliepot
wete happy enough to he envied b their
betters. But suddenly the sky darkened,
and a slight gust murmuring among the
trees, announced the coining tip of a sum- |
mer storm. Sauve quipeut ! The soldiers
were used to emergencies, and they had
packed up aud re-loaded their cars and were
under way for shelter almost as soon as the
grisettes, and away they all fled toward the
nearest grange —one of the dependencies of
the chateau de Brevanne.
But Robertin, now, had suddenly become
tbe director and ruling spirit ot the festivi
ties. Theßoldierstreatedhim with instinctive
deference, the old farmer of the grange hur
ried out with his keys and unlocked the
great store-house, and disposed of the horses
under shelter ; and by the time the big drops
began to fall, the party were dancing gayly
and securely on the dry and saiootli thresh
ing-floor, and the merry harmony of tbo
martial trumpets and horns rang out far and
wide through the gathering tempest.
The rain began to come down very heav
ily, and the clatter of a horse’s feet in a rap
id gallop was heard in one of the pauses in
the waltz. Someone seeking shelter, no
doubt. On went the bewitching music a
gaiu, and at this moment two or three cou
ples ceased waltzing, and the floor was left
to Robertin and Thenais, whose graceful
motions drew all eyes upon them in admi
ration. Smiling in each other’s faces, and
wholly unconscious of any other presence
than theirown, they whirled blissfully around
—hut there was now another spectator. —
The horseman who had been iieard to ap
proach, had silently joined the party, and
making a courteous gesture to signify that
the dancing was not to he interrupted, he
smiled back the curtseys of the pretty gris
ettes—f:*r, aristocratic as he was, he was a
polite man to the sex, was the Count de
Brevanne.
“ Felix 1” he suddenly cried out, in a tone
of surprise and anger.
The music stopped at that imperative call,
and Robertin turned his eyes, astonished,
in tbe direction from which it came.
The name was repeated from lip to lip
among the grisettes, “ Felix 1 “ Count Fe
lix de Brevanne 1”
But without deigning another word, the
old man pointed with his riding-whip to the
farm-house. The disguised count respect
fully bowed his head, but held Thenais by
the hand and dtew her gently with him.
“ Leave her 1 disobedient boy 1” exclaim
ed the father.
But as count Felix tightened his hold up
on the small hand he held, and Thenais tri
ed to shrink back from the advancing old
man, old Dame Pomponney, streaming with
rain, broke in unexpectedly upon the scene.
“ Disgrace not your blood,” said the
Count de Brevanne at that moment.
The offending couple stood alone in the
centre of the floor, and the dame compre
hended that her daughter was disparaged.
“ And who is disgraced by dancing with
my daughter 1” she screamed with furious
gesticulation.
‘l iie old noble made no answer, hut the
grisettes, in an under lone, murmured the
name of Count Felix 1
“Is it he—the changeling 1 the son of a
poor gardener, that is disgraced by the touch
of my daughter 1”
A dead silence followed this astounding
exclamation. The old dame had forgotten
herself in her rage, and she looked about
with a terrified bewilderment—hut the mis
chief was done. The old man stood aghast.
Count Felix clung still closer to Thenais,
hut his face expressed the most eager in
qu is i five ness. The grisettes gathered a
round Dame Pomponney, and the old count,
left standing and alone, suddenly drew his
cloak about him and stepped forth into the
rain; and in another moment his horse’s
feet were heard clattering away in the di
rectimof the chateau de Brevanne.
We have but to tell the sequel.
The incautious revelation of the old dame
turned out to be true. The dying infant
daughter of the Marchioness de Btevanne
had been changed for the healthy son of the
count's gardener, to secure an heir to the
name and estates of the nearly extinct fam
ily of de Brevanne. Dame Pomponney
had assisted in this secret, and but for her
heart full of rage at the moment, to which
the old count’s taunt was hut the last drop,
the secret would probably have never been
revealed. Count Felix, who had played
truant from his college at Paris, to come
and hunt up some of bis childish playfel
lows, in disguise, had remembeied and dis
closed himself to the little Thenais, who was
not sorry to recognise him, while he played
tlie idiot in the belfry. But of course there
was now no obstacle to their union, and uni
te! they were. The old count pardoned
him, and gave the new couple a portion of
his estate, and they named their first child
Robertin, as was natural enough.
TOO LATE.
BV JOSEPH K. CHANDLER, ESQ.
“ It is well,” said the venerable man to
his wife, as they sat together late one even
ing in July, IS4O. “It is well that we dis
covered the character and habits of the
young man, before he had advanced farther
in our esteem ; he might else have invei
gled our only daughter into marriage, and
brought disgrace upon us, as well as misery
upon our child.”
“ Which would have been misery to us,
too, surely,” said the wife.
” It would have been insupportable mise
ry. But, thank God,” continued he, raising
his eyes in heartfelt gratitude, “ I was in
formed in season to prevent my child from
the disgrace of a connection with a
Willi a what 1” said a good-looking
young man, bowing to the venerable pair,
“with a what, sir! speak out now! 1 am
your daughter’s husband ; and it seems not
unfit that thete should be so much confidence
b?tween father and son, as that the latter
should know the opinion of the former up
on his pursuits, when the former knows the
relation in which each stands to tlie other.”
“ If it is too late to prevent the marriage,”
said the father—
“ It is too late.”
“ Then, at least, though my rights as a
father may lurse ceased, those of a husband
and a man are unimpaired ; anil if I cannot
rule those in my house, I can, at least, say
who shall be its inmates.”
“ Father,” said the bride, kneeling, with
clasped hands, “ do not cast me from you ;
give my—give him time, at least, to prove
that you have not done him justice. Moth
er, dear mother!”
The closing of the door at the other side
of the room drew the attention of the sup
pliant, and she found that her husband was
the only one left with her. It was too late.
Hand in hand, the newly-married pair
left, what had been to the wife, an Eden of
quiet happiness.
The stern commands of a father were
there, at least, to be obeyed; and she was
yet to learn whether a serious act of dis
obedience on her part, would ever be for
given by one who had seemed wrapped up
in her affections—whose life was apparent
ly entwined with her obedience.
She left that Eden then. Hand in hand
the banished pair took their departure; and
as the offending daughter, and confiding
wife, turned back to look at the closing door
of her parental mansion, it seemed to her,
indeed, as if some angel, severe in awful
beauty, guarded the portal against her en
trance to the place which she had desecra
ted by filial disobedience.
The pride of the new husband was just
too much for his situation. He was anxious,
not only to maintain his wife independently
of her family, but to give her many of those
comforts to which she had been accustomed.
He could easily have attained the former,
and have met all her wishes in that respect;
but his pride induced him to neglect rational
means of acquiring ordinary comforts, and
led him to resoit to what he deemed chances
of sudden wealth. He had, before bis mar
riage, suffered in the estimation of many
respectable persons, by bis associating with
certain dashing young men, who, to their
other social qualities, were supposed to add
that of fondness for games of hazard. He
had amused himself in that way without pe
cuuiarv profits, and by observation bad learn
ed the’ tricks of tbe art without practising
them upon others.
Time passed onward, and tlie young wife
became a mother, and saw, in the birth of
her boy, a renewal of the attentions of her
husband, which, without apparent lapse of
affection, certainly without any other evi
dences of unkindness, had been of late pre
tern.itted. He hail absented himself from
his house until a late hour at night, and had
appeared haggard and care-worn. It was
also obvious, that the means of support wore
diminished, and the wife began to feel ma
ny, very many, of her comforts curtailed.
The descent was rapid, and with it, the re
newal of absence of the husband at night;
hut no open unkindr.ess was exhibited, nor
was there reproach on her part, unless the
pale cheek, the emaciated frame, and the
heart-broken sigh could he so construed.
Misery, wretchedness, absolute want, be
set the family ; and the husband tore him
self away from the bed of bis wife and child
early in the morning, with the determination
to bring back to them some means of com
fort. He met an old friend, who informed
him that a place was vacant in an office,
which, with security for fidelity, would be
his.
“ And who will be that security!”
“ Who ? Any ot:e —I will. I told you so
two years ago.”
“ Will you now, indeed 1”
“ Present yourself to me to-morrow, free
of debt, and I will insure the place.”
He was not free from debt, luita few bun
dled dollars would make him so. He felt
assured that a few hours at the gaming table,
the last time he would ever darken the ac
cursed doors, would supply him with means
to pay those debts —mote than that he would
not receive.
He hastened to the place, and paused nt
the last step of the door. “ Why should I
go in 1 The few hundred dollars which 1
owe, I can soon save ; and lie who, know
ing my poverty, would he security for fidel
ity, would not think worse of my character,
if I confess my indebtedness, and my deter
mination never to place myself within the
chance of such dangers again.”
The resolution so excellent relieved his
heart, and he turned with new feelings to
adopt a course of virtue. It was then “ too
late.”
He saw within a few yards of him, one
of the officers of the institution in which he
was to have a place of trust. To have turn
ed from the door would be to expose him
self, and he could not stand where he was.
He entered, he played, and at midnight had
won a few dollars. His “ luck had turned,”
he said; lie “ followed up the luck,” and
daylight saw hint possessed of more than
the desired sum.
He left the gambling room a man of bet
ter resolves than lie had been, though he
had always resolved well. He thought of
the pleasure in store, of the good he would
yet do, anil the delights he could yet enjoy.
The outer door of the house in which he
lived was open. He stole quietly up the
stairs, and gently lifted the latch of his room
door. It was dink and still. The child, at
length, moved. He felt that his wife had
occasion to complain of his long absence,
but the joy of his heart was to make her
understand the new resolution he had form
ed, and the means he now possessed of car
rying it into effect. He called her by name
ahe did not ouswer. He fcdtthat his new
j NUMBER 48.
WM. T. THOMPSON, EDITOR.
intentions deserved more kindness. He
called again, but in vain. He then opened
a window shutter, and the light of the morn
ing poured full upon the face of his infant.
He went to the bed to awaken his wife.—
He laid his hand upon her arm, and its icy
dullness struck to his heatt. He threw
himself upon the bed, and groaned in an
guish. The crying of the child called some
of the tenants of the house to the room.
The Coroner's aid was demanded over
the dead body of the wife. /The verdict of
the jury was, “Died of the visitation of
God.” But one or two thought that distress
had weakened her frame so much, that the
anxiety and cates, the feeling of suspicion,
or the sense of utter abandonment that
night, had been too much. Her heart broke
with its over-freight.
The pride of the injured father at length
yielded, and with quiet efforts, he traced out
the efforts of his daughter.
Determined to meet her at more than
half way towards reconciliation, he came
just as the husband had awakened to a sense
of his misery. “It is too late,” said the
latter, and pointed to the bed.
The pomp of a funeral did not insult the
wretchedness of the living, or the emacia
ted form of the dead.
The grave is on the very verge of the
western declivity of Laurel Hill. There is
no stone to tell whose heart moulders there.
Why should there be 1 What lesson could
it teacli 1
He whose reformation was almost begun
before her death, tried the path of virtue
afterwards, but it was “ too late.”
He had resolved to reform for the sake
of his ii'ifc, and not for the sake of virtue.
THE SHEPHERD’S DOG.
The valleys, or glens as they are called,
amongst the Grampian mountains, are chief
ly inhabited by shepherds. There are no
fences or boundaries in these wild parts,
bnt every shepherd has his own range,
which reaches so far that he never sees the
whole Hock together, except when they are
collected together for shearing. Everyday
he has to go to the distant parts of his range,
and with his faithful dog to turn back any
straggling sheep that might wander beyond
his own bounds, into his neighbor’s land.
In one of these rambles a shepherd took his
little hoy, about thiee years old as it is the
custom with the Highlanders, to season them
to the cold of the climate. After going
about the pastures some time, tire shepherd
with his dog climbed a very steep hill, that
he might gain a wider view of his scattered
flock. But fearing to tire the child, he left
him in a sheltered spot, charging him not to
stir till he came back. But hardly had he
reached the top of the hill when the sky was
suddenly darkened by one of the very thick
mists which often come down suddenly on
these mountains, and shut out every object
from the eye. The father, feeling anxious
for his child, hastened down ; but owing to
the darkness, and his own fright, he lost his
way.
He wandeied lung among the dangerous
hogs and waterfalls which abound in these
desert places, till night came on ; still he
went on and ori till he came to the edge of
the mist, and then he saw by the light of the
moon that he had reached his own valley,
and was a short distance from his cottage,
ll was impossible to renew the search for
the poor child that, night, hut as soon as
morning began to dawn, he set out with a
party of his neighbors. All that day lie cros
sed the mountain to and fro, locking into
every dark hollow and cleft; but to no pur
pose. The dog. had returned home, and
after receiving his usual allowance of cake,
had run off, end was absent. Day after day
the heartbroken father renewed his search,
and the neighboring shepherds left the cate
of their flocks to seek for the lost child in
evety pait of their different ranges; hut still
in vain. There was not the least matk ofa
small footstep on the damp grass. The fa
ther strained his eai to listen; but there was
no feeble ciy mixed with the loud roar of the
waterfalls and the bleating of the flocks.
Yet still when lie came back to the cottage
at night, he found that the dog had been
for his allowance of food, and then gone off
again. Being struck with this, lie stayed at
home till the dog set offagaiii with his cake,
and followed him. The faithful creature
led him to a wild waterfall, at some distance
from the spot where the child hdßhcen left.
It was a dreadful place. The high cliffs on
each aide almost met together at the top, hut
below it was a fearful dark hollow. The
dog began instantly to make his way down
one of these steep cliffs, and at last went in
to a cave neatly close to the roaring water
fall. The shepherd followed w ith difficulty.
You may guess what be felt when he saw
his boy there safe, eating the cake which the
dog had brought, while the faithful animal
stood by,watching him withlooksof pleasure.
From the child’s own account, and the
place in which he was found, it appeared
that lie had wandered to the edge of the cliff,
and then either fallen or scrambled down,
till he reached the cave —when there, “the
fear of the waterfall prevented his leaving it.
The dog, by means of his scent, had tracked
him to the spot, and then had hindered him
from starving by giving up to him his daily
allowance. He seemed never to have left
the child, night or day, except when he
went home for his food, and then he was seen
running at full speed to utid front the cot
ta^-