however, there was no mistaking "the brave band of Highlanders," with their plaids and broadswords. The assault of St. Sebastian was most desperate, and called forth stronger proofs of resistless intrepidity and perseverance, in an almost desperate enterprise, than almost any other achievements in the Peninsular Campaigns. On that occasion there were (besides the commander, General Graham of Balgowan, Generals James Leith, John Oswald, Andrew Hay, and Colin Campbell, who led the forlorn hope, and many others) three times the number of Scotch officers and soldiers belonging to the different regiments engaged, than there was at Arroyos de Molines, where the Gordon Highlanders were engaged, and where a detachment of the French army was surprised and dispersed. This was a mere skirmish in comparison with the assault at St. Sebastian, in which Scotland was never mentioned, yet the men distinguished by the Highland garb are introduced into the ballads of the country, and the tune of "Hey, Johnnie Cope," has gained additional celebrity by being played that morning, when the piper struck up the advance, in quick time, to the attack. It is well known that no regiment was more distinguished in the Duke of Welling ton's campaigns than the late 94th, or Scotch Brigade, a great proportion of the men, and two-thirds of the officers of which were Scotch, and yet that courage, of which the French saw so many examples, never furnished them with one idea favourable or unfavourable to Scotland; because the Scotchmen had not a distinguishing mark. Neither the enemy nor our allies could know from what country they came. In short, if there was no Highland uniform, we should hear no more of the military character than we do of the naval exploits of Scotlaud. There might be, as there always have been, many individual instances of distinguished merit, but there would be no national character. "Few regiments are more purely Scotch than the Greys have ever been; and it is a curious fact that in no part of Scotland is the broad Scotch dialect spoken in greater purity than by the soldiers of this regiment, which has now for 141 years reflected honour on the south, as the Highland corps have more recently on the north, of Scotland. When the invincible charges made by this regiment at Waterloo called forth the admiration of Buonaparte, who exclaimed, "Qu'ils sont terribles ces Chevaux Gris," he knew not of what country they were. But when he saw the Gordon Highlanders, in their kilts and bonnets, charge his solid columns, he at one glance discovered their country, and while they contributed so much to blast his earthly glory, he could not suppress his admiration of Les braves Eccosias." Were chivalrous feeling and sound judgment consulted, Highlanders, Scotch, Irish, Welsh, and English, should be separately embodied and clothed. A rivalry as to which should be the most noble in bearing, as well as the most glorious in action, might thus be excited that could not fail to elevate the character, both of the navy and the army. BORROWDALE. Ah me! And so farewell, sweet vale, once more adieu- F. A. THE LOCH AND THE CITY. BY ALFRED LESLIE. CHAPTER VI. A SENTIMENTAL JOURNEY. "Wooded Winandermere, the river-lake." "Towards the head of these dales was found a perfect Republic of shepherds and agriculturists, amongst whom the plough of each man was confined to the maintenance of his own family, or for the occasional accommodation of his neighbour. The chapel was the only edifice that presided over these dwellings the supreme head of this pure commonwealth; the members of which existed, in the midst of a powerful empire, like an ideal society whose constitution had been imposed and regulated by the mountains which had protected it. Neither high-born noblemen, knight, nor squire was here; but many of these humble sons of the hills had a consciousness that the land which they walked over and tilled had for more than five hundred years been possessed by men of their name and blood; and striking was the transition, when a curious traveller, descending from the head of the mountain, had come to some ancient manorial residence in the more open parts of the vales, which, through rights, attached to the proprietors, connected the almost visionary mountain Republic he had been contemplating, with the substantial form of society as arising in the laws and conditions of a mighty empire."— Wordsworth. Ir is now time that we should return to the Camerons. It is of course remembered that they have flitted down to Lochlomond, all of them except Douglas. He had gone there, indeed, for a week, and now and then ran down for a day or two. But he liked the city better. The cottage had not quite the same attraction for him. Agnes Dunbar was on a visit to her Edinburgh cousins. Not that he was altogether sorry for this; he felt that he had been going on a little too far, and that it would be as well for him to retreat a little, and so he stayed on at Glasgow, and being now absolute master of his own time, for the college lectures had now come to an end, he thought he could enjoy himself very much, though the advancing season was every day thinning his circle of friends. And yet there was something lonely, something dull about the big house in Blythswood Square. He was young and ignorant of the real elements of real bliss, and was not without an idea that there would be a world of enjoyment in being absolute master of the domain, in being free from every possible rule and restraint. Yet it was not so very lively after all. The closed shutters, the damask covered up, the plate stowed away, the single domestic, the solitary breakfast, made him imagine sometimes that he should be happier down at the Loch though there was no billiard table, little excitement, little society. He minded his mother's kind sedulous care; his sister's happy face and brilliant laugh, even his little brother's intense admiration for him, which was a little pleasing and flattering to his vanity; all the words and glances of full-hearted affection. He was positively glad when his father was obliged by business to stay a few days, and when he went down on Saturday to the cottage he accompanied him. It was rather a relief. He was getting tired of his idle life in Glasgow. That stupid Athenæum, how many hours had he wasted there, reading miles of newspaper columns that filled his mind with a farrago of the world's prattle and nonsense, and guilt and meanness, accidents and offences that might have been stereotyped for a hundred years; dreary law cases, civil and criminal; dead-lively leaders in the Times; spasmodic efforts to be witty in Punch, except when Leach's young ladies and little boys might provoke a genuine laugh, and Foreign Intelligence, which he invariably flung aside with an exclamation of disgust. The new works were stupid, the new poetry absurd; travels and history looked very heavy, not that he had given them more than a look; the weather was too hot for his mind to grasp anything beyond a comic story. Then he met the same faces, only gradually fewer of them at every turn; in the billiard rooms, lunching rooms, Buchanan Street, theatre, and all the old haunts. Not that these things in a large city like Glasgow, were not quite enough for many people, just as men about town in London are satisfied with their counterpart on a larger and more diversified scale. Yet there was a feeling of discontent, a vague notion of unhappiness; he wanted something more satisfying, and settled in his own mind that it was novelty. He went down to the cottage on Saturday evening. Little Ensign Baird of the Militia was on board the steamer. The gallant officer took a seat in the same railway carriage, and was going on to Tarbet. He wanted a little change and a little fishing, and had obtained leave of absence from his regiment on sanitary considerations. This was a thing that happened pretty often to Mr. Baird this memorable summer, and in a miscellaneous sort of way he used to hang a great deal about that part of the country. They had a merry evening that night at the cottage. The ladies had not been quite pleased with Douglas for absenting himself so much, and, after the manner of womankind, could not make enough of him now that he was actually down. Little Baird was an honoured guest that evening, and worked himself into a very complicated state of mind as Marion sung his favourite song and quizzed him about his official duties. Late in the evening Douglas and Marion strolled out with him for a part of his way home, on the wild mountain road that led to his inn. The little man insisted on accompanying them back till they came within sight of the cottage once again, and then at last he tore himself away in a very spasmodic manAnd then Marion insisted that her brother should light a cigar --she had a whole world of things to talk to him about. ner. Why had he not come down before? He had missed a great deal by not doing so. She had never been in better voice, she could assure him. She had nearly mastered that last opera, and had missed him very much, as she had no one to take his part. Sir James Jamieson had been over the evening before. She was sorry he had not seen Sir James. He was such an amusing man, had travelled everywhere, and talked so very well about everything. Oh, he did not care to know Sir James Jamieson; he was quite contented with his own friends, and was not ambitious of the society of baronets. But she was sure he would like the Baronet's dogs and horses, and his fine place, and the sport on his moors. At all events, she had had letters from one or two young ladies that might interest him. She had made up her mind, however, very nearly that he should not see them. Who were they from, from Agnes Dunbar, he supposed? Yes, there was one from Agnes, and one from Louisa Codrington. If he was very good, and would not again treat her with such shameful neglect, she would tell him the news. Which would he have first? Oh, Louisa's! He was quite slighting Agnes, his old friend and favourite. Louisa wrote from Eaton Place. She was very gay, very amusing, very busy. Marion did not like her letter quite so well as she used to do. She thought the phraseology was a little too affected, her endearing epithets a little too conventional. She was always talking about herself, her parties, and her beaux. That was something very different to Agnes Dunbar's letters. She talked so very nicely, with so much sense and kindness, was really witty and amusing, and then she could be so grave and thoughtful. Douglas said Agnes was a Superior Being. Defend him from superior beings! young ladies were not fair judges of young ladies. He remembered a time when Marion used to rave about Louisa. deserting her former favourite with all the fickleness of her sex. She was Marion, according to her wont, flushed, and grew emphatic, and charmingly defended herself. She always loved her dear cousin, Louisa: she always should. But she thought one was not obliged to be deaf and blind to the faults even of one's dearest friends. (Had Marion known a little more of the world, she would have known that the principal occupation of dearest friends is to tear each other to pieces.) At all events, he was the last person to speak of estranged feelings. He had behaved almost rudely to Agnes, and though Agnes had not mentioned it, she was sure that it must have been felt. Those who live in crystal palaces ought not to fling stones. Would Marion be so good as to continue her account of Louisa's letter? But Certainly there was no chance of Louisa's coming to Scotland. They were going on the Continent when the London season was over, to the south of France. After that they were going down to their country place, where dearest Marion must come and spend two or three months with them. They had had such a splendid dinner at Richmond the other day. The tall guardsmen were their entertainers. Marion said the tall guardsmen were not talked about so much now as they used to be. There was somebody found upon the stage, whom she supposed her brother would call "a great swell," a Mr. Delamere, an Oxford man, whom her papa was going to help to bring into Parliament. Louisa did nothing but talk about this Mr. Delamere. He was the grandson of a lord, and secretary to a Cabinet Minister. He would doubtless be one day himself a Lord and a Cabinet Minister. Douglas felt greatly discomforted; a lord was just one degree more odious than a baronet. He detested the whole set. He especially detested this conceited, interfering Mr. Delamere. Marion could not help sensibly enjoying her brother's chagrin. Then for Agnes. Agnes was staying in Edinburgh with her cousins the Dennistouns. She had gone with them for a few days to the Bridge-of-Allan. She had enjoyed herself very much. Marion had this letter in her pocket, and before they went in they leaned over the balustrade, and by the light of the pale moon on the waters Marion read it to her brother. It was a clever, clever letter. Agnes hit off to the life the motley group of health-seekers and pleasure-seekers in the hotel. Douglas' hearty laughter startled the loch. Then she sent a sketch, a sketch Douglas owned to be of great breadth, boldness, and even genius, which she had taken a few days before from the battlements of Stirling Castle. Then in a pleasant way she talked about the new books she had been reading, and Douglas was obliged to confess to himself that the young lady had made a far better use of her time and opportunities than he had been doing for the last few weeks. Agnes talked of returning to Arrochar before long. Then they went in. Little Charley had long since gone to bed. Mrs. Cameron gently chid them for being out so late. It was not so very far from midnight, and Mr. Cameron was sitting up with ledgers, and day-books, and great heaps of papers. Perhaps a momentary pain shot through his mind that his son had no share, and little sympathy with his toil. He mildly wished his children good night, and though Douglas did not go to bed for a long time, he did not hear the tread of his father's step up stairs. He awoke the next morning with a thorough happy feeling of freedom and enjoyment. The air was so pure and exhilarating; the mountains seemed so peacefully grand and immoveable; the silvery waters of the Loch had such a cheery smile upon them. It was the Sabbath-day. The full song of the birds rose more free and unconstrained, and the morning wore a peculiar and solemn beauty. His father read out a chapter from one of the Gospels. He had often heard the words before, but they struck him this morning in a new light; they appeared to have more freshness, and meaning, and beauty than he had ever dreamed of before. In a word, the pure blessed home influence was upon him; around him was an Eden immense and calm: but he voted it very slow before evening, and finally made a night of it with Ensign Baird, drinking toddy, and discussing divers matters in the vast Coffee-room of the Tarbet Hotel. He went to church, though, twice with the family. It was a quiet primitive little place among the hills, attended by a thin congregation of rustics in the winter, but even gaily filled in the summer by those who found a brief residence in the neighbourhood for the season. Douglas noticed with great amusement that on each occasion Mr. Baird was present. The Ensign's usual pride and boast was that he scarcely ever went to church, and that if he did, he always slept tranquilly through the sermon. He attended, however, twice to-day with great punctuality, and was laudably attentive to the services. I daresay Marion might have divined the reason, but her brother was obtuse on the subject. In a retired corner of the little church might be observed the intellectual features of Mr MacIntyre. Mr MacIntyre would cheerfully have surrendered his best worldly prospect for a walk of half an . hour by Marion's side; but Mr. MacIntyre was blind and stupid, and utterly without courage and afraid of betraying his secret, and therefore when they came out of church, he merely gave a hurried bow which was the very perfection of mauvaise honte. Little Baird lingered about and longed to be asked to dinner. But it was the Sabbath, and |