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WEsmim* B StiubJHoutijlt) journal, actjotca to Dolttc attcratuir, Vlsrtul JmMHcjrnct, anO tfje ants. THREE DOLLARS A YEAR. J SUBSCRIPTIONS RECEIVED AT THE PUBLICATION OFFICE ON MclN'K SlI STREET, DIRECTLY OPPOSITE THE POST OFFICE. f PAYABLE IN ADVANCE. volume three. From Blackwood’s Magazine. | HOME IN THE SKIES. When up to nightly skies we gaze, Where stars pursue their endless ways, We think we see from earth’s low clod The wide and shining home of God. But coald we rise to moon or sun, Or path where planneU duly run, Slill heaven would spread above us far, And earth remote would seem a star. ’Tis vain to dream, those tracts of space, With all their worlds approach his face : One glory fills each wheeling ball— One love has shaped and moved them all. This earth, with all its dust and tears, Is his no less than yonder spheres: And rain drops weak, and grains of sand, Are stamped by his immediate hand. The rock, the wave, the little flower, All led by streams of living power, That spring from one Almighty will, Whate’er his thoughts conceive, fulfil. And is this all that man can claim 1 Is this our longing’s final aim 1 To be like all things round—no more Than pebbles cast on Time s gray shore 1 Can man, no more than beast, aspire 1 To know bis being’s awful Sire 1 And, born and lost on Nature’s breast, No blessing seek but thereto rest 1 Not this our doom, our God benign l Whose rays on us unclouded shine: Thy breath sustains yon fiery dome, But Man is most thy favored home. We view those halls of painted air, And own thy presence makes them fair; But dearer still to thee, O Lord ! Is he whose thoughts to thine accord. StltctcO smscrUaitj). _j EDITH OP GLENGYLE. BY ROBERT HAMILTON. * i CHAPTER I. Night was oil the waters. The blue sails of the star-studded heavens occasionUy mottled by white clouds, which, rising in the boundless horizon, and careering on the wings of the in visible winds, seemed like angel visitants, soar* j ing upward, again, from earth, to the regions of the beautiful. ~ The bosom of the ocean lay as placid as the sweet face of a sinless, sleeping b a be—not a ripple broke its mirrored surface, or if there did, it looked as a dream ruffling the slumber of a mighty beauty. Peace had spread her mantle over all. N-t a sound disturbed the holy silence, nor could creation have looked more lovely on the first night of its virgin birth. Prom the broad blue waters rose ab ruptly the high and rocky island of Canna, in the western highlands of Scotland, formed of rough and precipitous crags, with scarcely a vestige of verdure on their frowning fronts, but thickly inhabited by the gannet and other AUGUSTA, GA., SATURDAY,. OCTOBER 17, 1840. I sea fowls that sojourn there in the security of ! i nature’s fastnesses. Oil the summit of the! j island are still to be seen the remains of ail an | cicnt castle which tradition informs us, in early ; times, belonged to the family of Glengyle. It was thus, as nature lay in the arms of mid night, that a small speck was seen to rise on the distant verge of the horizon, and gardually | increasing in size, at length assumed the form of a boat or pinnace. Nearer and nearer it ap proached,'till the figures of two men were dis tinctly visible. The first, who, from the sound of his voice, seemed to direct the movements of the other, was a young man of about twenty years of age. His lace was perfect in every lin eament, that betokened manhood’s make yet ; commingled, with those traits of beauty that arise from the virtuous spirit that lights its fire within. His hair was dark and glossy, and fell in matted ringlets down his broad and manly shoulders, over which was thrown a dark green Tartan plaid, the folds were fastened on the left shoulder with a massive gold broach, while; his lower garments displayed the kelt or pliila beg so peculiar to the Celtic character in days of yore—from his waist were suspended two silver inlade pistols, while a short dirk, most richly mounted, completed his warlike equip ments. On his brow was placed the peaked Highland bonnet, surmounted by a heron fea ther. Such was the personage who guided the rudder of the boat, and in a tone that de picted him a man of superior grade, directed the efforts of the other. “To the left Fergus,” shouted he. “See, yonder the pine branch blazes brightly.” The Highlander looked askance to where a j bright ruddy flame rose on the peak of a crag I that towered high into the heavens, then plied his oar with* a stronger energy, while, with a voice of jocularity, quaintly remarked, “Is it her eyes, or the pine, that burnetii brightest?” j “ Both, both, my cunning vassal,” replied the young chieftain, Ronald, as the boat bounded against the bank ot the island. Like a wild deer he leaped ashore, and the next instant was lost in the gloom of a mountain corrie. Was it to join his brother chieftains in the hour of battle? Was it to hunt the eagle in his mountain eyry, that thus so eagerly sped the youthful Ronald? No ! but to meet the; blue-eyed Edith, the sun burst of his soul.; Opposed to the father by the most inveterate bonds of batered—for the younger brother of. Ronald had fallen in a feudal skirmish with! the clansmen of Glengyle, who a proud andj powerful chieftain, was strongly incensed j against the house of Ronald, which disputed his title to The Lord of the Isles, it was only: by stealth he could obtain an interview with! the object of his affections, the daughter of ! his implacable enemy. Such was the time I selected for the scene we have just narrated. I We will not delain the reader by a useless de ; rail of the secrecy and danger with which the youthful chieftain stole to the society of his ove. Suffice it, they, met. On the very sum mit of a rugged rock were the lovers seated. O In the exuberance of their joy, they dreamed not of danger. The still hour of midnight seemed to hallow with its breath of silence, their words and vows of endearment. Earth and its sordid feelings were forgotten, the stars of the cloudless skies beamed as in brighter brilliance on their meeting, and life was, to them, one garden of bloom and blossom. “And you will be mine, my Edith; through weal and through woe, through danger and pe ril, ’till the chill hand of death shall sever us?” exclaimed the impassioned youth, as he pressed to his bosom the true and blushing girl. “Can you ask it, Ronald ?” replied she. “Have I not plighted my faith before the pre sence of my God—before him unto whom all secrets are known ? Yes, my Ronald, thine ’till mine eyes are dim in death.” And as she uttered these words she extended her right hand to Heaven, and looking upwards, seemed to call to witness, the spirits of the just, who look ed smilingly, as it were, from every star that gemmed the floor of the eternal paradise. “I do believe thee!” fervently rejoined Ron ald, “and look here,” he added, “receive this as the symbol of our eternal faith,” at the same moment unclasping the broach that bound the folds of his Tartan. The maiden received the token, and placing it in her bosom—fell in tears —but tears of joy, in the arms of her lover. Suddenly a black cloud shot across the disk of the moon—vivid streaks of flame chequered the horizon. The sullen sound ot distant thunder was heard—the wind swept past with mournful moan—big drops, the precursors of the coming tempest, fell heavily around, and gloom usurp ed, in nn instant, midnight’s reign of glory. “All!” exclaimed Edith, “’tis an evil omen. Take it, take it back, my Ronald ; the heavens frown in anger upon the gift.” “Foolish girl,” lie exclaimed, “is it for us, alone, think you, that the ruler of the storms seeks now to show his anger? In truth, Edith, I deemed you a maiden of a clearer soul. Old Duncan, the seer of second sight, should only be guilty of such superstition. Farewell, my loved one; to-morrow, at the accustomed hour, 1 shall again be with you. Go ! the night breeze will chill thy tender form,” and he drew her mantle closer around her, and imprinted a : burning kiss upon her ruby lips. “ Villain!” exclaimed a voice from some un seen figure that had been a witness to their meeting, and the next moment the crack of a i rifle, followed by a deep groan, told that Ronald : was the victim. Like a panther from his am | bush, sprung forward the father of Edith ; he i rushed furiously to the body of the bleeding i youth, seized it with Herculean strength, and ! dragging it to the brink of the precipice, hurled ! it to the depths of the dark deep ocean. CHAPTER 11. Three years had rolled away, and all traces of Ronald were effaced, and although suspicion hung heavily on Glengyle, still no distinct proof had been found to fix upon him the crime of murder. The young Edith refusing all con- number three.