blessing to his injured son, should he yet survive. His will was found to have left his estate in trust to two friends, one of whom was Elliot of Braidislee, to be held for some years in behalf of his absent son, until it should be discovered what his fate had been; failing his appearance, it went to a relation of his own name. Phemy Herries, now of age and in possession of her own property, relaxed not in her efforts to trace out her cousin. The laird of Braidislee accompanied her to Edinburgh for that purpose; and just when they were beginning to despair, and Phemy recurred with anguish to the belief that the mangled corpse among the hills must indeed have been that of the lover of her youth, a letter from a gentleman at Paris, one of the Prince's suite, furnished them with the long-sought information. No time was lost in procuring a pardon for Kerr, with permission to enter upon his estate; and this, as Government began to be somewhat weary of its severity, was by no means the difficult negociation anticipated by Braidislee. The faithful Phemy only awaited its arrival, to put herself under the protection of her venerable friend, and with him to seek out her long-lost cousin. She would entrust to no other hands than her own, the mandate which restored him to his country and his home. More The reader will readily anticipate the sequel. fortunate than many of his fellow-exiles, Patrick Kerr returned to the house of his fathers, and to the enjoy ment of her constant affection who had clung to him through evil report and through good report; and even when he imagined that all the world had forsaken him. The companion of his banishment and his sorrow, the faithful Comhal, accompanied his master home, and closed a long life beneath the shades which had witnessed its commencement. His ashes repose near the door of Braeside; nor were Patrick and Phemy Kerr ashamed of the tears which they shed over the grave of one whose mute fidelity might have put many of man's lordly race to silence and confusion. Let him who scoffs at the grief which mourns a hound, go and learn a lesson from that hound's unwavering attachment and unshaken constancy to his human friend. TO THE DEPARTING YEAR. WRITTEN AT MIDNIGHT. DEC. 31ST, 182-. I. FARE thee well, thou fitful dream! Yet an hour, and all is o'er-- Shall light thy path no more. My blessing home with thee. II. Yes, my blessing! By my tears, Ne'er can bring again. And though 'neath the glorious flowers, Lurked the sting that pierced my breast, Yet, oh! yet, thy vanished hours I will call them blest. III. Calm and peaceful were they neverTheirs was many an anguish sore; Theirs it was a tie to sever What earth unites no more. Yet through mists of gloom and tears, Dwelt ONE Sunbeam on my breastOh! beyond all other years, I will call thee blest. IV. Words can never, never tell Half the feelings bound to theeHalf the thrilling dreams that dwell With thy deathless memory. Thine has been the power to raise Burning spells to break my rest Yet, oh! yet, thy parted days I WILL call them blest. V. Hark! a sound! thou vanished year! Now thy brief career is o'er : Take, oh! take, my parting tear, We shall meet no more. Sleep in dust, mid ages gone— There it rang, thy funeral knell ! But in my heart, while time moves on, Shall live our last Farewell. STANZAS. BY CAROLINE BOWLES. 1. Он! never, never hand of mine, Will wake the harp again,— II. Oh! never, never heart of mine, Throughout its inmost core, With thrilling tones and symphonies, III. On hand and heart, and spirit now, The stream of fancy stopt. IV. "T was thus I mused, when suddenly A strain of music stole,— Like perfume on the night breeze borne,— Into mine inmost soul. |