"The Hielanders! Oh! dinna ye hear

The slogan far awa?

The McGregor's? Oh! I ken it weel;
It's the grandest o' them a'!

God bless the bonny Hielanders!

We're saved! we're saved!" she cried; And fell on her knees; and thanks to God Flowed forth like a full flood-tide.

Along the battery-line her cry

Had fallen among the men,

And they started back;-they were there to die
But was life so near them, then?

They listened for life; the rattling fire
Far off, and the far-off roar,

Were all; and the colonel shook his head,
And they turned to their guns once more.

But Jessie said, "The slogan's done;
But winna ye hear it noo,

The Campbells are comin'! It's nae a dream;
Our succors hae broken through!"

We heard the roar and the rattle afar,
But the pipes we could not hear;

So the men plied their work of hopeless war,
And knew that the end was near.

It was not long ere it made its way,-
A shrilling, ceaseless sound:

It was no noise from the strife afar,
Or the sappers under ground.

It was the pipes of the Highlanders!

And now they played Auld Lang Syne;

It came to our men like the voice of God,
And they shouted along the line.

And they wept and shook one another's hands,
And the women sobbed in a crowd;

And every one knelt down where he stood,
And we all thanked God aloud.

That happy time, when we welcomed them,
Our men put Jessie first;

And the general gave her his hand, and cheers
Like a storm from the soldiers burst.

And the pipers' ribbons and tartans streamed,
Marching round and round our line;
And our joyful cheers were broken with tears
As the pipers played Auld Lang Syne.

THE EXECUTION OF MONTROSE.-W. E. AYTOUN.

James Graham, Marquis of Montrose, was executed in Edinburgh, May 21, 1650, for an attempt to overthrow the power of the commonwealth, and restore Charles II. The balla 1 is a narrative of the event, supposed to be related by an aged Highlander, who had followed Montrose throughout his campaigns, to his grandson, Evan Cameron.

Come hither, Evan Cameron! Come, stand beside my knee:
I hear the river roaring down towards the wintry sea;
There's shouting on the mountain-side, there's war within
the blast,

Old faces look upon me, old forms go trooping past;
I hear the pibroch wailing amidst the din of fight,
And my dim spirit wakes again upon the verge of night.

"Twas I that led the Highland host through wild Lochaber's snows,

What time the plaided clans came down to battle with Montrose.

I've told thee how the Southrons fell beneath the broad claymore,

And how we smote the Campbell clan by Inverlochy's shore. I've told thee how we swept Dundee, and tamed the Lindsay's pride;

But never have I told thee yet how the Great Marquis died.

A traitor sold him to his foes;-Oh, deed of deathless shame! I charge thee, boy, if e'er thou meet with one of Assynt's

name,

Be it upon the mountain's side, or yet within the glen, Stand he in martial gear alone, or backed by arméd men,Face him as thou wouldst face the man who wronged thy

sire's renown;

Remember of what blood thou art, and strike the caitiff down.

They brought him to the Watergate, hard bound with hempen span,

As though they held a lion there, and not an unarmed man. They set him high upon a cart—the hangman rode belowThey drew his hands behind his back, and bared his noble brow:

Then, as a hound is slipped from leash, they cheered-the common throng,—

And blew the note with yell and shout, and bade him pass along.

But when he came, though pale and wan, he looked so great

and high,

So noble was his manly front, so calm his steadfast eye,~

The rabble rout forbore to shout, and each man held his breath,

For well they knew the hero's soul was face to face with death.

And then a mournful shudder through all the people crept, And some that came to scoff at him, now turned aside and wept.

Had I been there with sword in hand, and fifty Camerons by, That day through high Dunedin's streets had pealed the slo

gan cry.

Not all their troops of trampling horse, nor might of mailéd

men

Not all the rebels in the south had born us backwards then! Once more his foot on Highland heath had trod as free as

air,

Or I, and all who bore my name, been laid around him there.

It might not be. They placed him next within the solemn hall,

Where once the Scottish kings were throned amidst their nobles all.

But there was dust of vulgar feet on that polluted floor,

And perjured traitors filled the place where good men sat before.

With savage glee came Warristoun to read the murderous doom,

And then uprose the great Montrose in the middle of the

room:

"Now by my faith as belted knight, and by the name I bear, And by the bright Saint Andrew's cross that waves above us there,―

Yea, by a greater, mightier oath, and oh, that such should be! By that dark stream of royal blood that lies 'twixt you and

me,

I have not sought in battle-field a wreath of such renown, Nor hoped I, on my dying day, to win a martyr's crown!

"There is a chamber far away where sleep the good and brave, But a better place ye've named for me than by my father's

grave.

For truth and right, 'gainst treason's might, this hand hath always striven,

And ye raise it up for a witness still in the eye of earth and heaven.

Then nail my head on yonder tower,-give every town a

limb,

And God who made shall gather them: I go from you to Him."

The morning dawned full darkly, the rain came flashing down,

And the jagged streak of the levin-bolt lit up the gloomy

town:

The thunder crashed across the heaven, the fatal hour was

come,

Yet aye broke in, with muffled beat, the 'larum of the drum. There was madness on the earth below, and anger in the sky,

And young and old, and rich and poor, came forth to see him die.

Ah God! that ghastly gibbet! how dismal 'tis to see

The great, tall, spectral skeleton, the ladder, and the tree!
Hark! Hark! it is the clash of arms, the bells begin to toll-
He is coming! he is coming! God's mercy on his soul!
One last long peal of thunder-the clouds are cleared away,
And the glorious sun once more looks down amidst the daz-
zling day.

He is coming! he is coming!-Like a bridegroom from his

room

Came the hero from his prison to the scaffold and the doom. There was glory on his forehead, there was luster in his eye, And he never walked to battle more proudly than to die: There was color in his visage, though the cheeks of all were wan,

And they marveled as they saw him pass, that great and goodly man!

He mounted up the scaffold, and he turned him to the crowd, But they dared not trust the people, so he might not speak aloud.

But he looked upon the heavens, and they were clear and blue,

And in the liquid ether the eye of God shone through:
Yet a black and murky battlement lay resting on the hill,
As though the thunder slept within,-all else was calm and
still.

The grim Geneva ministers with anxious scowl drew near,
As you have seen the ravens flock around the dying deer.
He would not deign them word nor sign, but alone he bent

the knee;

And veiled his face for Christ's dear grace beneath the gallows-tree.

Then, radiant and serene, he rose, and cast his cloak away; For he had ta'en his latest look of earth and sun and day.

A beam of light fell o'er him, like a glory round the shriven, And he climbed the lofty ladder, as it were the path to heaven.

Then came a flash from out the cloud, and a stunning thun. der roll,

And no man dared to look aloft,-fear was on every soul. There was another heavy sound, a hush and then a groan; And darkness swept across the sky-the work of death was done.

THE OBJECT OF MISSIONS.-FRANCIS WAYLAND.

Our object will not have been accomplished till the tomahawk shall be buried forever, and the tree of peace spread its broad branches from the Atlantic to the Pacific; until a thousand smiling villages shall be reflected from the waves of the Missouri, and the distant valleys of the West echo with the song of the reaper; till the wilderness and the solitary place shall have been glad for us, and the desert has rejoiced, and blossomed as the rose.

Our labors are not to cease, until the last slave-ship shall have visited the coast of Africa, and, the nations of Europe and America having long since redressed her aggravated wrongs, Ethiopia, from the Mediterranean to the Cape, shall have stretched forth her hand unto God.

How changed will then be the face of Asia! Bramins, and sooders, and castes, and shasters, will have passed away, like the mist which rolls up the mountain's side before the rising glories of a summer's morning, while the land on which it rested, shining forth in all its loveliness, shall, from its numberless habitations, send forth the high praises of God and the Lamb. The Hindoo mother will gaze upon her infant with the same tenderness which throbs in the breast of any one of you who now hears me, and the Hindoo son will pour into the wounded bosom of his widowed parent the oil of peace and consolation.

In a word, point us to the loveliest village that smiles upon a Scottish or New England landscape, and compare it with the filthiness and brutality of a Caffrarian kraal, aud we tell you, that our object is to render that Caffrarian kraa! as happy and as gladsome as that Scottish or New England village. Point us to the spot on the face of the earth, where