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VOL. V.

THE DAWN OF TRUTH

SWIFT rides the moon o'er tower and deep,
The city, like a child asleep,

Basks in that tender light;

And o'er steep streets and winding ways,
And o'er the silence of the quays,

Broods the cool shade of night.

One watcher watcheth with the moon,
Watcher for whom day comes too soon,
Pale student of the skies;

Who with his compass fain would span—
Defiant of the priesthood's ban-
Great Nature's mysteries.

Through years of solitude and care,
With that they will not credit-prayer-
Has this man sought to teach

The meaning of that perfect scheme,
Grander than Pagan's wildest dream,
Nor set beyond man's reach.

For He whose hand the stars can bind
Gave man his far-aspiring mind,

His fever-thirst to know;

Not sweet to Him the bigot's curse
On eyes that read the universe,
And mark stars come and go.

O, not by Him is set the line
That shall our mental range confine
Within appointed space;

Not high enough man's soul can soar,
Till all the heav'ns he shall explore,
And see God face to face.

Each new star tracked by mortal ken,
Each new link in creation's chain,

Is one step nearer home;

Obscure the maze through which we grope,
But bright above our star of hope,

Our watchword, "Lo, we come!"

M

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Sir Alk Meyonn, or the Seben against the Elector.

(Adapted from the "Thebais" and the " Alcmaonis.")

IN TWO PARTS: PART II.

SIR ANDREW McMEYONN's wife came to meet him as he crossed the hall, but he passed her by with fixed unseeing eyes.

"Andrew," she pleaded, "will you not forgive me?"

"Nay, madam, you have your jewels; let them stand you instead of my forgiveness, and of me. I am going to bid farewell to my sons." "Farewell!" echoed the wretched wife.

"Yes, madam, farewell!"

He slowly ascended the winding staircase till he came to an upper turret-chamber, where his two sons spent the greater part of their lives in the care of an old Scottish nurse, more distinguished for a fond and feudal affection to the race of the chief than for wisdom or polish of

manner.

The father loved his two sons with a tender devotion; but the numerous duties of a Highland chieftain-head of an important clan, and captain of one of those volunteer companies which had been organised by the English Government since 1715, under the denomination of the Black Watch-left him little leisure in which to instruct or reprove them, and the boys had for the most part run wild among the rough, faithful hangers-on of the castle. The elder, a lad of some twelve years, had but of late begun to accompany his father in those expeditions by sea and land which varied the chief's existence. Between this lad and Sir Andrew there existed an affection as enthusiastic as it was profound.

The boy was tall for his age, and of a manly and noble aspect. The gravity of premature thought overshadowed his somewhat pallid countenance, and in his deep-set eyes there shone a suppressed fire which kindled into flame anon as his father spoke to him.

"Were those strangers who came to the castle within this hour, father?" he asked. "I heard a boat's keel grate upon the beach, and after a space the splash of oars, as of a boat's crew pushing off to the

mainland."

"Your ears heard aright, Alk," answered the chieftain. "We

your mother and I—have had visitors. The lady is the richer for the coming of her guests."

And then, in sharp, brief sentences, Sir Andrew told the story of Charles Edward's coming-the gift of that diamond necklace which had bought the wife and rewarded her perfidy.

The pale cheek of Alk M Meyonn changed from pale to livid as he heard the story, and his long sinewy fingers groped with an involuntary movement among the folds of his kilt, until they closed with a fierce grip upon the handle of his dirk.

"Alk," said the father earnestly, "I think you know me well enough to believe that I am the last of men to spare the spilling of my heart's blood in a just cause. If I believed in the divine right of that young Prince whose hereditary royalty I am fain to acknowledge, I would give him my life and the lives of my clan as freely as a cup of water from the castle-well; but I cannot approve an expedition which will carry war and ruin into the mother country of the Prince who leads it. Boldly, as I speak to you now, have I spoken to this most mistaken adventurer. 'Surely this is a noble cause,' I said to him'a work worthy to please the King of kings-a work that will be a byword upon the lips of men, and memorable to the end of time. What! you would bring ruin and desolation to the city in which your forefathers reigned-you would pour your death-dealing cannonade against the temples and shrines of your mother country? launch against London an army of foreign hirelings? since only by the aid of French soldiers can you hope to carry your enterprise across the Scottish border. And if you could succeed in this wicked attempt, which I know you cannot, how could your soul be cleansed from the blood of your fellow-countrymen shed in civil war?-how would your country, delivered to your ambition by the sword of rebellion, learn to submit to your laws, and to fight under your banner?' 'Twas but wasted wisdom, Alk; the Prince is bent upon his own undoing, and he won my promise to follow him. I know that my bones will bleach upon a lowland battle-field, and my flesh find a living sepulchre in a vulture's maw. Let me hope some faint ray of glory may brighten my doom." "Father!" cried the lad, with a choking sob.

"Nay, Alk, no tears for me. If you must weep, weep for Scotland, and teach yourself how you may avenge her."

The boy's fingers had not slackened their hold of his dirk. He received his father's counsel in silence, but he gave a little nod of assent, more significant than many words.

"You are but a boy, Alk; and you will be matched against those who repay trust with falsehood, confidence with treachery. From your ancestors you inherited the courage of the lion; I would have you learn the wisdom of the serpent. Meet falsehood with falsehood; match cunning with cunning. In a nest of traitors, wear the smooth face of treachery. Wait and watch for the appointed hour of God's wrath

against perjury; and when the hour comes, strike, and strike home, though the blood upon your dirk shall be the same that warms your own heart. Your mother has bartered the best blood of the Highlands for a bauble to hang upon her neck. Sooner or later she must pay the price of her gewgaws, and I would have you see she escapes not the reckoning."

"She shall not," answered the lad in a hoarse whisper; "I will set a circlet upon her neck that shall outwear her diamonds, and yet be less costly. But, father, must you go-must the M Meyonns and their following perish in this fatal endeavour?"

"Ay, lad, the word has been spoken-the pledge has been given. I cannot go back from it."

The father opened his arms wide, and the boy leapt upon his breast. Passionate, close was the clasp of that embrace; and both knew that it was the last. They had shared each other's sports; watched side by side breathless, motionless, upon the silent hill-tops as the kingly stag climbed the tall crag from which their guns were doomed to send him headlong to his death; alone in the depths of the forest they had slept beneath the midnight stars, the boy pillowed against his father's brawny shoulder. It was no common love that bound them to each other; it was no common pang which rent their hearts as they tore themselves asunder.

At break of day, while the summer mist yet slept upon the rugged line of the mainland, M Meyonn and his followers, amounting to some hundreds, left the isle in their little fleet of open boats; and as the oars dipped into the placid water, mournful as the wail of the banshee rose the cry of the clansmen :

"Ha til, ha til, ha til, mi tulidh!"-"We return, we return, we return-no more!"

Sad and prophetic sounded that cry to the ears of the boy Alk, who stood on the beach watching the boats glide landwards, while his mother yet slumbered, with Mary of Modena's necklace under her pillow.

The shrill music of that Gaelic cry pierced her slumbers, and mixed its wailing notes with her dream.

She dreamed that she was dead, and that the clan was singing a dirge above her coffin.

"Ha til, ha til, ha til, mi tulidh!”

She woke with a sudden fear, and saw her son standing in the open doorway opposite her bed, looking at her with a strange fixity of gaze. From that hour she feared the boy, and plotted his banishment from the home of his fathers.

Triumphant was the march of the Chevalier's army southward. From that August afternoon when the young adventurer found himself alone in the valley awaiting the raising of his standard, when, after two hours of watching, he saw the six hundred Cameron men cresting

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