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“And cruel Graham, and merciless Dalyell,”
“In nightly rendezvous enacted Hell.
“Sad day, indeed, oh much detested day,
“When man was snatch'd from kindred man away;
“When Wives stood weeping by, whilst Husbands bled,
“And screaming children bent the knee, and pled;
“When neither age nor sex the heart could pierce,
“Of savage Windram, t feelingless and fierce;
“Who look’d unpitying on, though Woman stood,
“And scorn'd his irony amidst the flood,
“Invoked the swelling tide more swift to flow,
“And pray'd some friendly hand to ‘let her go.”

“Sad years indeed; oh, years of dire alarm;
“Dread times of trustless treachery and harm;
“When seeming friends were council-pension'd foes,
“Subborn’d each glen to search, each cave disclose;
“When blood-hounds did the work of savage men,
“And track'd the wounded victim to his den ;
“And torture follow'd up these deeds of hell,
“With stifled groan, and anguish-breathing yell.”

My country much I love; my native land
Shall my last pulse and “benison” command ;
I prize my charter'd rights, nor would forego
My British liberty for Gallic shew:
No airy plans I hatch of Government,
Nor stickle for an annual Parliament;
Of Ministers, the topic of the day,
Or good or bad, I’m seldom heard to say.— -
I pity much, despise, and ever shall, * *
The guilty and misguided “Radical.” * ... -
But should I ere forget this Shepherd's tale, *
Oh let not aught on earth my peace avail! -
May I be doom'd, my children in my train,
To dree eternal vassalage and pain,
Our “freedom” to exchange for pelf or place,
And live to latest times—a “trodden race.”

Juven Alis JUNIoR.

* These strenuous supporters of the most unjust and oppressive administration, with which any nation on earth was ever cursed, are reported, and the report, whether well founded or not, evinces, at least, the opinion which obtained of their character, occasionally to have varied their nightly “Orgies” with an enactment of Hell punishments' + See the narrative of this savage transaction in Woodrow's history, Vol. 2. Chap. 9. p. 506, which, if any one can read unmoved, his heart must be strangely constituted : “When Margaret Wilson (we quote only the concluding passages of this narrative) was at the stake, she sang the 25th psalm, from v. 7, downward a good way, and read the 8th chapter to the Romans, with a great deal of cheerfulness, and then prayed. While at rayer, the water covered her, but before she was quite dead, they pulled her up, and held her out of the water till she was recovered .# able to speak, and then, by Major Windram's orders, she was asked if she would pray for the King. . She answered, she wished the salvation of all men, and the damnation of none. One deeply affected with the death of the other (who had been previously drowned) and her case, said, ‘Dear Margaret say, God save the King.” She answered in the greatest steadiness and composure, God save him if he so will, for it is his salvation I desire: Whereupon some of her relations nearby, desirous to have her lifespared, called to Major Windram, “Sir, she has said it, she hath said it.” Whereupon the Major came near, and offered her the abjuration oath, charging her instantly to swear it, otherwise return to the water. Most deliberately she replied, ‘ I will not, I am one of Christ's children, let me go.”. U which she was thrust down again into the water, where she finished her course with joy!

NOTES T0 ADAM HARKNESS.

It is not unknown to those who are in any degree conversant about, or interested in the subject, that many instances of extreme cruelty, and even perhaps of murder, which occurred during the “eight and twenty years” persecution, in the west and south of Scotland in particular, have never yet, in any shape, been committed to writing; and have consequently fallen, and are every day falling, into total oblivion. To effect a pilgrimage through the mountainous districts of Galloway, Dumfries, and Selkirk shires, and to collect from the few “Adam Harknesses,” which still remain, those traditionary notices, of which such aged individuals alone are in possession, would be a task worthy of “Old Mortality” himself. In the mean time, and in the absence of more ample information, we shall state a few facts and circumstances, of which we happen to be in possession :- At the head of the “Well-path,” in the parish of Durisdeer, Dumfries-shire, just at the point where “wind and water shears;” and standing out from amidst a tuft of long grass, there appears a “ headstone,” evidently sunk deep into the earth by the hand of man, but without hieroglyphic, or any kind of inscription whatever. The popular belief is, that a young man, supposed by his pursuers to have been, what, however, he actually was not, a “Covenanter,” was here shot dead by a detachment of Dalzel's company, and that then having discovered their error, they instantly buried the body, and concealed their unfortunate mistake. In the neighbourhood of “Auchincairn," a farm town," in the eastern and more mountainous district of the parish of Closeburn, there is a deep ravine or linn, where one of two brothers (Gibsons), was shot at, and severely wounded by a detachment, under the immediate command of Clavers. The stone, upon which the mark of the blood, of course, still remains, we have often inspected. There is likewise in the neighbourhood of the farm town of Locherben, in the same parish, the present residence of Adam Harkness himself—a stone similarly encrusted with the blood of a “non-conformist." Here too, is “Red Rob's gutter,” as it is called, which derived its present designation from the following circumstance, as related to us by Adam. Adam's grandfather, William Harkness—the brother of Thomas, who was executed, as formerly stated, at the Gallowlee, had been surprised one morning, by a party of Clavers' Dragoons, under the command of a zealous persecutor, and then well known character “Red Rob,” (so called probably from the marked colour of his uniform),—and after arming himself with a blunderbuss, had been compelled to take to his heels, in the direction of a steep, and, to cavalry, altogether inaccessible rock, in the neighbourhood. William was seen, and closely pursued, and the zeal of Red Rob, who was besides always well mounted, had urged him forward, so that the balls which he from time to time fired from his carabine began to whiz in the ears of the Covenanter. The rock was at hand—but Red Rob was still nearer, so William, finding no other way left of effecting his escape, to use the words of his grandson Adam, “just faced about, raised up the blunderbuss to his cheek, and wised half a score o' slugs through the callant's shoulder-blade.” Rob immediately came down, “like a winged gled,” into the forementioned “gutter,” destined, like the Simois and Scamander, to future notoriety. One other story, which Adam has often related in our hearing, and which, in every material circumstance, can yet be confirmed by the traditionary lore of many persons alive, –we shall give as nearly as possible in Adam's own words:— “My grandmother's maiden name was Meg MacCaig ; she was ane o’ the MacCaigs o' the Newton, a set o' as creditable folk as war to be fun' atWixt Corsincon and Carlaverock; and she had na been but just about saxteen or seventeen months William Harkness's married wife—it was the same William that laid Red Rob in the gutter, ye ken—and the auldest bairn hadna been twenty-four hours or aboon't in the warl, whan o'er the Glass Rig, and plash through the “Caple Water,’ came a hale troop o' Clavers’ Dragoons, under the command o' this same Red Rob, my grandfather afterwards had occasion to settle accounts wi'. They searched in the house, and they searched out o' the house, an’ they passed neither barn nor byre, kist nor pantry. But my grandfather, warned by the singing o' the bird—for there was a wee bird that sang aye sweetly on the rowan-tree bush in the corner o' the kail-yard the night or the troopers cam— had ta'en to the bent, an’ was snugly lodged in the Cave at Capple Yetts; sae him they could na' fin' ony where; which put Red Rob, wha was aye formost and maist active in a mischief, as ye may weel suppose, into an aufu'tantrum; and he stamped, and

* A farm-stedding is called a town in the south of Scotland; many mistakes have originated in an ignorance of this fact, -e.g. Wodrow speaks in his history; of the “Village." of Magus, where Archbishop Sharp was murdered. In the documents which lay before him, it was termed a “town," and he

conjectured, of course, that a small village was what was meant.

rampaged through the house and through the house, like a person red-wud-mad. My grandmother had been ‘lying-in' in Mitchelslacks aul’ ‘Chamer'ye ken—that's aye stan'ing yet, ayont the closs—an' had nae will, as ye may guess, to mak them ony wiser than they were about the gudeman; sae whan Red Rob cam in, and spierd for the d–d covenanting psalm-singing hypocrite her husband, she had nae wils to hear her bairn's father that way spoken o', and raising hersel’ up on her elbow, and stretching out frae aneath the blankets her arm, “A set o' unhaly an’ blood-thirsty villains,” says she, “are ye a',' (for the MacCaigs, as weel as the MacChains, war aye feckfu” and fearless) “the rod wi' whilk it has pleased the Lord to chastise this backsliding and covenant-breaking land. But bide a wee—bide a wee, my bairns, an’ the switch will be broken, and the sap that's in't een now will be fizzing in the fire yet—My husband, in troth !—an' d'ye think I wad betray into the hands o' them that never knew mercy my ain guidman?–Gae wa, gae wa–ye may seek him whar ye saw him last, though that war at the Back-o'-Beyont, whar the mare foaled the fiddler.”— Whereupon, without ony mair ado, an' without uttering a single word, Rob gaed up to the bed-side, and tearing the infant frae its mither's breast, dashed it down upon the hard stane floor. “Let the whelp lye there,' quo' he, “an’ the b– will soon fol1ow.’ My grandmother sprang frae her bed in an instant, lifted up her infant, and examined it carefully all over; then turning roun’ to the Troopers, some o' wham by this time had begun to show symptoms o' pity, -“Now,’ added she, “ that my wean's ance mair in my power, ye may e'en do y're warst; stab away—stab away;’— (for now they were piercing the bed, where she had been lying, through and through wi' their swords,)—‘An' my guidman had been there, a the dragoons out o' the pit should na hae raised me.”—“ March f" exclaimed the leader ; “and let the hag be tied down to a horse's back, and her brat beside her.” This was no sooner said than done, and in a caul’ frosty night, and through a hantle o’ new fa’en snaw, was this poor helpless woman an' her wean carried a' the way to the Gateside, four gude lang miles, I trow. There was a public-house there, and in the villains gaed, about twal at night, to carouse and to drink. I canna weel tell ye how it happened, but so it was, that whan they began to tak’ wi' the liquor, Isbel crap cannily out at the door, and down amang the bushes in the Gateside Slack she clappet—The wean was sleeping in her arms.Sair, an’ lang, an’ wi' mony a fearfu' aith was she sought for. They fired their carbines" through the bushes—they hurled stanes o'er the brae—an’ mony a ane o' them gaed stenning o'er her head; but they had nae commission to hurt her. They proggit the hazels wi' their swords, and the very flaps o' the dragoons cloaks came o'er her face; but her they saw na, or, may be, ---for there war some no that just sae douns bad amang them,---her they didna care to see.—Sae on they marched to Clavers, at LagCastle; and ye may be sure my grandmither let naegirse grow to her heels till she was safe at her ain ingle cheek again.-But, oh callans ! the war awful times.”

SONNET,
Written off the Dutch Coast,

August 1st, 1820.

Let him not say ‘ I love my country'—he
Who ne'er has left it;-but, what time one hears
The yell of waters ringing in his ears,
And views around him nought but sky and sea,
And sea and sky interminable, then-
Then comes the longing for soft hills, and dales,
And trees, and rivulets, and bloomy vales,
And the green twilight of the shady glen,
And sweet birds welcoming the summer!—Now
Swells the full feeling in my heart, while slow
I sail upon the ocean's shudd'ring breast.—
O Erin—O my country—let me see
But once, once more, thy cherish'd scenery—
Then let me lowly in thy bosom rest

Dublin, 8th Feb. 1821.

rh ANS HEILING's Rocks. A BohemiAN LEGEND.

Translated from the German of KöRNER.

THERE lived many ages ago, in a little village on the Eger, a rich farmer. The name of the village, tradition has not handed down to us, but it is generally believed to have been situated on the left bank of the Eger, opposite the village of Alch, which is well known to all the invalids of Carlsbad. VEIT, such was the name of the farmer, had a pretty and amiable daughter, the joy and pride of the surrounding country. EisbETH was really very handsome; and, besides that, so good and well educated, that it would not have been then easy to find her equal. Near Veit's house stood a little cottage, which belonged to the young ARNoLD, whose father had lately died. He had learned the trade of a mason, and was just returned home for the first time after a long absence, at the period of his father's death. Like an affectionate son, he dropped tears of unfeigned grief upon the old man's grave, for he had received as his patrimony nothing but a miserable cottage. Arnold, however, enjoyed, in the stillness of his own bosom, a most valuable inheritance—truth and probity, and a lively sense of every thing good and beautiful. The elder Arnold was already in a declining state of health, when his son arrived at the village, and his physical strength was not sufficient for the joy of again beholding him. The young man sedulously attended him, and in fact never stirred from his side, so that, previously to his father's decease, he saw none of his early friends and companions, except those who visited him as he sat by the bed of sick

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upon the new-made grave, when he heard a light step entering the churchyard behind him. He looked up, and saw a lovely girl gliding among the grave-hillocks with a basket of flowers upon her arm. An elder-bush concealed him from the eyes of Elsbeth, for it was she who was coming to adorn with garlands the resting-place of her venerable neighbour. She bent in tears over the turf, and spoke in a low tone as she folded her hands together: “Rest in peace, virtuous man may the earth be less burthensome to #: than thy life!— though no flowers were strewed along thy path, yet shall thy # wo at least be bedecked with them "-Here Armoldsprang forward through the bushes —“Elsbeth !” cried he, as he pressed the terrified maiden in his arms, “Elsbeth, do you know me?”—“Ah! Armold ! is it you?” stammered she, blushing; “it is very, very long since we have seen one another.”—“And you are so handsome, so mild, so amiable—and you loved my father, and still cherish such an affectionate remembrance of him. Dear, delightful girl!”—“Yes, worthy Arnold, I loved him with all my heart,” said she, gently disengaging herself from hisembrace; “we have often conversed together about you—the only joy he knew was the possession of such a son.”—“Was I really a source of joy to him?” interrupted Arnold, hastily; “ then do I thank thee, God, for having preserved me in probity and virtue ! But, Elsbeth, only think how every thing is altered. Formerly we were little, and, as my father sat before the door, we played about his knees—you were so fond of me—and we could not live asunder—and now the good old man slumbers beneath us—we are grown up; and, though I have not had it in my power to be with you, yet have I often thought of you.”—“And I also of you,” whispered Elsbeth, softly, as she tenderly azed upon him with her large friend. eyes. Then Arnold exclaimed with animation:-‘‘Elsbeth, we already loved in childhood —I was obliged to quit you—but here, on the grave of my father, where I once more behold you, where we both came to meditate in silence upon him, I feel as if we had never been separated. The sentiment of a child awakens within me, fostered into the passion of a man.-Elsbeth, I love you—here, on this sacred spot, I declare it to you for the first time, I love you ! and you?”—But Elsbeth hid her glowing face in his breast, and wept heartily—“And you?” repeated Arnold, in a mournful and imploring tone. She gently raised her head, and looked full upon him through her tears, but with an expression of satisfaction. “Arnold, from the bottom of my heart, I am your's—I have ever, ever loved you!” He again pressed her to his bosom, and they sealed with kisses the confession of their hearts. When the first transport of reciprocal affection was over, they sat in an ecstasy of bliss upon the grave. Armold related his adventures, and longings for his home, while Elsbeth again dwelt upon his father, and their early childhood, those days of unclouded enjoyment. The sun was already a con#. time below the horizon, but they had not observed it. At last a bustle in the adjoining street awoke them from their reverie, and Elsbeth, after a hasty parting kiss, flew from the arms of Arnold, towards her father's house. At the dead of the night, Arnold was still sitting upon the old man's grave, sunk in blissful recollections; and the morning was already dawning, when, with an overflowing and thankful heart, he entered his par ternal cottage. On the morrow, as Elsbeth was preparing her father's morning repast, the old Veit began to speak of Arnold. “I pity the poor youth,” said he, “from my heart—you must certainly remember him, Elsbeth, for ye have often played together.”—“How should I not P’’ stammered she, reddening. “I should be sorry if it were the case—it would appear as if you were too proud to think of the poor lad. It is true, I have become rich, and the Arnolds have always continued poor creatures, —but they have always been honest, at least the father, and I also hear very favourable accounts of the son.” -“Really, father,” interrupted Elsbeth, hastily, “he is an excellent young man.”—“Ho, Elsbeth,” retorted the father, “how have you learned that with such certainty P*-* They say so

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conversation, during which her cheeks exhibited one continued blush, set about some of her household affairs, and thus escaped the scrutinizing glances of the suspicious oldman, Be. fore mid-day, Arnold met his beloved by appointment in the garden behind Veit's house. She related to him the entire conversation, which inspired him with the most favourable expectations. “Yes,” said he in conclusion, “I have been considering all night what is best to be done. I shall go this very day to our father, openly declare to him our ove, and desire to be united. I shall acquaint him with my pursuits, produce the testimonials which I have obtained from my master, and implore his blessing. He will be pleased with. my candour, and consent; I shall then. cheerfully depart on my travels, amass a little competence, return a faithful and joyous lover, and we shall then be happy: Is it not true, sweet good Elsbeth P”—“Yes,” cried the transported maid, as she hung upon his neck, “yes, my father will certainly give his consent—he is so fond of me!” They separated, full of the most sanguine hopes. In the evening Arnold put on his bestattire, once morevisited his father's grave, fervently invoked his blessing, and then, with a beating heart, took the way to Veit's house. Elsbeth, trembling with joy, welcomed him, and forthwith introduced him to her father. “Neighbour Arnold,” cried the old man, anticipating him, “what have you to offer me?”—“Myself,” answered he. “ That means ?”— inquired Veit. “Sir,” began Arnold, with a voice tremulous at first, but afterwards more resolute and animated, “Sir, let me recover myself a little, and you will then understand me better. I am poor, but have been regularly brought up to business, as these .. o certify. The whole world lies open before me; for it is not my intention to confine myself to the mechanical part of my profession, but to pursue the theory of it: I shall one day become a skilful architectthis promise I have given to my deceased father. But, sir, all human efforts must centre in some object, and

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