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the cun,-it's so pwecious hot. So I pwoposed we should walk in and sit down, and so we did, and then I began :

“Miss Chaffingham, now, don't you think it doosid cool ?”

Cool, Lord D.," she said ; "why, I thought you were complaining of the heat."

"I beg your pardon,” I said, “I-I-can't speak vewy fast” (the fact is, that a beathly wasp was buthhing about me at the moment)," and I hadn't quite finished my thentence. I was going to say, don't you think its doosid cool of Wagsby to go on laughing-at-at a fellah as he does ?

“Well, my Lord," she said, “I think so too; and I wonder you stand it. You—you have your remedy, you know."

“What remedy ?” I said. “ You-you don't mean to say I ought to thwash him, Miss Charlotte ?"

Here she-she somehow began to laugh, but in such a peculiar way that I–I couldn't think what she meant.

"A vewy good idea,” I said. “I've a vewy good mind to twy it. I had on the gloves once with a lay figure in a painter's studio,-and gave it an awful licking. It's twue it-it didn't hit back, you know--I-I did all-all the hitting then. And pwaps-pwaps Wagsby would hit back. But if-if he did anything so ungentlemanlike as that, I could alwaysalways—”

“Always what, my Lord ?” said Lotty, who was going on laughing in a most hysterical manner.

“Why I could always say it was a mithtake, and-and it shouldn't happen again, you know.”

"Admirable policy, upon my word,” she thaid, and began tittering again. But what the dooth amused her so I never could make out. Just then we heard a sort of rustling in the leaves behind, and I confess I felt wather nervouth.

“It's only a bird,” Lotty said; and then we began talking of that little wobbin-wedbreast, and what a wonderful thing nature is,-and how doosid pwetty it was to see her laws obeyed. And I said, “O Miss Chaffingham !” I said,“if I was a wobbin”

“Yes, Dundreary," she anthered,-vewy soft and sweet. And I thought to mythelf,—Now's the time to ask her,—now's the time to—I-I was beginning to wuminate again, but she bwought me to my thenses by saying,


THE RELIEF OF LUCKNOW.*-ROBERT LOWELL. Oh, that last day in Lucknow fort !

We knew that it was the last,
That the enemy's lines crept surely on,

And the end was coming fast.
To yield to that foe was worse than death,

And the men and we all worked on;
It was one day more of smoke and roar,

And then it would all be done. Toere was one of us, a corporal's wife,

A fair, young, gentle thing,
Wasted with fever in the siege,

And her mind was wandering.
She lay on the ground, in her Scottish plaid,

And I took her head on my knee: “When my father comes hame frae the pleugh," she said.

“Oh! then please waken me.”
She slept like a child on her father's floor

In the flecking of woodbine-shade,
When the house-dog sprawls by the open door,

And the mother's wheel is staid. .
It was smoke and roar and powder-stench,

And hopeless waiting for death;
And the soldier's wife, like a full-tired child,

Seemed scarce to draw her breath.
I sank to sleep; and I had my dream

Of an English village-lane,
And wall and garden ;-but one wild scream

Brought me back to the roar again.
There Jessie Brown stood listening

Till a sudden gladness broke
All over her face, and she caught my hand

And drew me near, as she spoke :

*In the summer of 1857 the British garrison in Lucknow were reunced to pet Dous straits. They were besieged by the native rebels in a largely oumunibering torce, Cruel, vindictive, and remorseless, these mutineers, could they enter the city, would put all the men, women, and children to a fearful death. They had advanced their batteries and mines so far that in less than an hour the city must fall, unless relief should be at hard. And relief was at hand, though no one was aware of it. Havelock with 250) men was approaching, but amid the din and smoke of the cannonade nothing could be heard or seen.

On came Havelock and his men; they hewed a passage through the rebel masses up to the very walls of Lucknow, and snatched their countrymen frou the borrors of their impending fate.



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 ballal 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 Locha

ber's snows, What time the plaided clans came down to battle with Mon

trose. 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 Lind

say'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! ( 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 hemp

en 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,

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