aboot saxteen year since Sir Davit Winram deet doon by at Whinside hoose there, leavin' behind him only one bairn, a boy of nine years of age, to the inheritance of his title and estate. The burial a' bein' over, and the funeral sermon deliver't, wha should gang suddenly amissin' but young Sir George himsell? I should hae said, that the present man, the auld Baronet's brither, had been appointed to the guardianship of his nephew. He caus't a power of search to be made through the kintra, as I have good reason to remember, havin' been myself employ't to ride athort wi' the laive. Muckle seekin there was, to little purpose. At the lang and the last we war obleeged to come hame wi' oor fingers in oor mooths, scarcely daurin' to face the young laud's bereav't, and, as we thocht, disconsolate relatives. When we had time however, to think ower the case, we lookit upon't in a verra different point o' view, and a' body concludet at last that murder had been committet for the sake of Sir Davit's property. There the maitter stood, and there it staun's till this verra day-but its beleev't a secret wull be oot or lang. It happen't that a wheen lauddies lookin' for nits and such as that, aboot the glen, last harvest, got sicht o' the pentit shield, which was mostly grown ower with fug, as weel as hidden by the brush-wud. Some o' the folk here, that had been at service with Sir Davit, when they heard tell o' the shield, begud to repeat an auld rhyme that had been haundit doon in the faimily. 'When a shield is seen in the Bogle glen, The heir o' Whinside will come back again.' And certainly it is a most curious coincidence, as Mr MacTear the schuil-maister observ't, come o't what may. A weel, ye see, the present faimily bein' ony thing but liket i' the place, nothing wud serve the folk but cuttin' awa the brush-wud, and such as that, which hinder't ony body gaun by frae seein' the shield. Ye may be shuir this disna please doon by; but as ony opposition openly, wud be like a confession of guilt, it has been alloo't to remain as it is; though, if ye speer as ye did the day, at the shepherd or ony o' the Whinside servants, they'll gie ye the same kin' a' pit aff answer. Be the truth what it wull, it has caust a great stir amang us here awa, and what adds till't is, that it's reported the present man has no richts to show for the holding of the property." "It is a wonderful fulfilment !" cried one of a group of strangers who occupied another part of the public room, in which the landlord had disclosed the particulars we have set down, and who had hitherto preserved a listening silence. "It is a wonderful fulfilment." The landlord started and looked round.-"If," said he, "Sir Davit Winram had been to the fore, I wud hae thocht that was his voice." The stranger rushed forward and exclaimed-" You see before you the long lost heir of Sir David, whom a base and trusted relation doomed to imprisonment in the dungeon of a foreign land, and had not one of my father's confidential friends secured the papers which he feared, from a knowledge of his character, my uncle might illegally appropriate, and, by means of them, transfer the estate into the hands of a purchaser; and had that friend not discovered the circumstances of the treachery, practised upon me, in vain would the shield and the rhyme have come together. It was in reference to the words that, when a boy, half-musing, half in sport, I sketched the armorial bearings of my family, on the rock where they have been found.-To you, as one of the very oldest companions of my boyish wanderings, I need make no hesitation in declaring myself. But I am yet weak and bewildered from long imprisonment. Perhaps I should have kept silent, though, under providence, there is now only the barrier of a few days between me and my rightful possessions." CŒUR DE LION AT THE BIER OF HIS FATHER, BY MRS HEMANS. The body of Henry the Second lay in state in the Abbey-church of Fontevrand, where it was visited by Richard Cœur de Lion, who, on beholding it, was struck with horror and remorse, and reproached himself bitterly for that rebellious conduct which had been the means of bringing his father to an untimely grave. TORCHES were blazing clear, hymns pealing deep and slow, Where a king lay stately on his bier, in the church of Fontevraud. Banners of battle o'er him hung, and warriors slept beneath, And light, as noon's broad light, was flung on the settled face of death. On the settled face of death a strong and ruddy glare, Though dimmed at times by the censer's breath, yet it fell still brightest there; As if each deeply-furrowed trace of earthly years to show, Alas! that sceptred mortal's race had surely closed in woe! The marble floor was swept by many a long dark stole, As the kneeling priests, round him that slept, sang mass for the parted soul; And solemn were the strains they poured through the stillness of the night, With the cross above, and the crown and sword, and the silent king in sight. CŒUR DE LION AT THE BIER OF HIS FATHER. 47 There was heard a heavy clang, as of steel-girt men the tread, And the tombs and the hollow pavement rang with a sounding thrill of dread; And the holy chant was hushed awhile, as, by the torches' flame, A gleam of arms, up the sweeping aisle, with a mail-clad leader came. He came with haughty look, an eagle-glance and clear, But his proud heart through his breast-plate shook, when he stood beside the bier! He stood there still, with a drooping brow, and clasped hands o'er it raised; For his father lay before him low-it was Coeur-de-Lion gazed! And silently he strove with the workings of his breast; But there's more in late repentant love than steel may keep suppressed! And his tears brake forth, at last, like rain,-men held their breath in awe For his face was seen by his warrior train, and he recked not that they saw He looked upon the dead, and sorrow seemed to lie, A weight of sorrow, even like lead, pale on the fast-shut eye. He stooped-and kissed the frozen cheek, and the heavy hand of clay, "Oh, father! is it vain, this late remorse and deep! "Speak to me :-mighty grief ere now the dust hath stirred; Hear me, "Thy silver hairs I see-so still, so sadly bright! And, father, father! but for me they had not been so white! I bore thee down, high heart, at last; no longer couldst thou strive ;— Oh! for one moment of the past, to kneel and say 'forgive!' "Thou wert the noblest king, on a royal throne e'er seen, And thou didst wear, in knightly ring, of all, the stateliest mien; And thou didst prove, where spears are proved, in war the bravest heartOh! ever the renowned and loved thou wert-and there thou art! 'Thou that my boyhood's guide didst take fond joy to be !- ODE TO A STEAM-BOAT. BY T. DOUBLEDAY, ESQ. ON such an eve, perchance, as this, The languid ocean scarce at all Amongst the sparkling pebbles hissing,The lucid wavelets, as they fall, The sunny beach in whispers kissing, Leave not a furrow,-as they say Oft haps, when pleasure ebbs away. Full many a broad, but delicate tint Is spread upon the liquid plain; Hues, rich as aught from fancy's mint, Enamelled meads, or golden grain ;Flowers sub-marine, or purple heath, Are mirrored from the world beneath. One tiny star-beam, faintly trembling, Gems the still waters' tranquil breast; Mark the dim sparklet, so resembling Its parent in the shadowing east ;It seems-so pure, so bright the trace,As sea and sky had changed their place. Hushed is the loud tongue of the deep :- Oh! such an eve is sorrow's balm, Or cast a cloud o'er such a scene! Wast thou a grampus,-nay, a whale,- Still wouldst thou not so outrage gusto! |