DEATH OF MORRIS. Ir was under the burning influence of revenge that the wife of Macgregor commanded that the hostage, exchanged for her husband's safety, should be brought into her presence. I believe her sons had kept this unfortunate wretch out of her sight, for fear of the consequences; but if it was so, their humane precaution only postponed his fate. They dragged forward, at her summons, a wretch, already half dead with terror, in whose agonized. features, I recognized, to my horror and astonishment, my old acquaintance Morris. He fell prostrate before the female chief with an effort to clasp her knees, from which she drew back, as if his touch had been pollution, so that all he could do in token of the extremity of his humiliation, was to kiss the hem of her plaid. I never heard entreaties for life poured forth with such agony of spirit. The ecstasy of fear was such, that, instead of paralyzing his tongue, as on ordinary occasions, it even rendered him eloquent; and, with cheeks as pale as ashes, hands compressed in agony, eyes that seemed to be taking their last look of all mortal objects, he protested, with the deepest oaths, his total ignorance of any design on the life of Rob Roy, whom he swore he In the inconsistency loved and honored as his own soul. of his terror, he said, he was but the agent of others, and he muttered the name of Rashleigh.--He prayed but for life -for life he would give all he had in the world;—it was but life he asked-LIFE, if it were to be prolonged under tortures and privations;-he asked only breath, though it should be drawn in the damps of the lowest caverns of their hills. It is impossible to describe the scorn, the loathing, and contempt, with which the wife of Macgregor regarded this wretched petitioner for the poor boon of existence. "I could have bid you live," she said, "had life been to you the same weary and wasting burden that it is to me that it is to every noble and generous mind.—But you -wretch! you could creep through the world unaffected by its various disgraces, its ineffable miseries, its con stantly accumulating masses of crime and sorrow,—you could live and enjoy yourself, while the noble-minded are betrayed,-while nameless and birthless villains tread on the neck of the brave and long descended,-you could enjoy yourself, like a butcher's dog in the shambles, battening on garbage, while the slaughter of the brave went on around you! This enjoyment you shall not live to partake; you shall die, base dog, and that before yon cloud has passed over the sun." She gave a brief command, in Gaelic, to her attendants, two of whom seized upon the prostrate suppliant, and hurried him to the brink of a cliff which overhung the flood. He set up the most piercing and dreadful cries that fear ever uttered-I may well term them dreadful; for they haunted my sleep for years afterward. As the murderers, or executioners-call them as you will-dragged him along, he recognized me, even in that moment of horror, and exclaimed, in the last articulate words I ever heard him utter, "O, Mr. Osbaldistone, save me!-save me!" I was so much moved by this horrid spectacle, that, although in momentary expectation of sharing his fate, I did attempt to speak in his behalf, but, as might have been expected, my interference was sternly disregarded. The victim was held fast by some, while others, binding a large, heavy stone in a plaid, tied it round his neck, and others again eagerly stripped him of some part of his dress. Half naked, and thus manacled, they hurried him into the lake, there, about twelve feet deep, drowning his last death-shriek with a loud halloo of vindictive triumph, over which, however, the yell of mortal agony was distinctly heard. The heavy burden splashed in the dark-blue waters of the lake and the Highlanders, with their pole-axes and swords, watched an instant, to guard, lest, extricating himself from the load to which he was attached, he might have struggled to regain the shore. But the knot had been securely bound: the victim sunk without effort; the waters, which his fall had disturbed, settled calmly over him; and the unit of that life for which he had pleaded so strongly, was forever withdrawn from the sum of human existence. Sir Walter Scott. Y Dead! Well, thar Good by,- What's that you say?- Sold! Why you limb, You ornery, Derned old Long-legged Jim! F. Bret Harte. GATES AJAR. Gazing where the setting sun-rays "I can almost see the shining "Is it 'cause I cried this morning When you called me from my play? If I try again to-morrow, Be real careful all the day, Give you not the smallest trouble, "Nay my darling-years of striving, Could not give the wondrous power; Filled with wonder, vague yet wistful, See that Heaven so bright and fair, "Nay my child, that heavenly radiance "Then how petty seem the trials "O, my darling, grasp the promise, Anna L. Ruth. |