Alas, alas! our efforts will be in vain; the hand of Fate is upon me, and its dark shadow has encompassed my soul. See you not those two ravens? they have followed us the whole way, over moor and moss, over hill and vale, by day and by night; even now they are whirling over our heads, and hoarsely croaking for their prey: they come not here for nothing. Again, last night, as we crossed over the brae of the mountain, the owl peered into our eyes as he flitted past, and I heard the wailing cry of the banshee as we hurried by the solitary cairn."

"Pri'thee cheer up, my beloved, and let not these melancholy thoughts oppress thee; let us think of the future, not of the past; the ravens are but gathered together for such chance relics as the sea may cast upon the shore, and it was but the wailing of the wind that thou didst hear in our midnight ride. The cool breeze of the evening hath chilled thy gentle form; let me wrap my cloak around thee, and shield thee from the falling dew."

He undid his mantle, and proceeded to wrap it around her trembling frame; while he was busied in this opera-* tion, he suddenly felt all her body cower together, as if with some violent convulsion, while a sharp scream burst from her lips.

"Ah! see there, see there; on the top of that hill a spear glanced in the setting sun.”

He looked up, and beheld indeed what his worst fears had foreboded; on the brow of the hill he saw a horseman stand in dark relief against the sky; he appeared to be scanning the horizon round and round. For a moment the harper indulged the hope that he might escape the

ken of his searching eye; but suddenly the horseman appeared to gaze stedfastly into the valley below, then making a sign, as if to some one behind, he dashed down the side of the mountain, and was presently lost to sight. With a vain hope, the harper dashed the spurs into his steed, and seizing his 'companion's by the bridle, urged the horses to one more effort. The faithful creatures responded to his call; they seemed as if they almost knew that life or death depended on their speed, and for some few paces they appeared to have recovered all their pristine vigour. But this preternatural exertion could not last in galloping along the rugged path, a loose stone rolled from beneath the foot of the lady's palfrey; the poor animal stumbled, made a vain effort to recover his footing, and failing, fell with his exhausted burden to the ground. In the agony of his despair, the harper jumped from his horse, threw his arms around the Lady Alice, for such she was, and entreated her by all the endearing names that a lover could devise, to make but one more effort. The Lady Alice slowly opened her eyes; she was but slightly stunned by the fall, and the harper taking her in his arms, and folding her to his breast, hurried with all the speed and strength he could exert, towards the seashore. He saw a solitary fishing-boat lying on the sand, and if he could but reach that, all might yet be well. But, alas! his enemies were now closing upon him: other horsemen had appeared upon the hill, and the one who had first dashed down the mountain's side, now emerged upon the heath, and was but a short distance in their rear. The red plume streaming in the wind told but too plainly that their bitterest foe was foremost

in the chase. Escape appeared impossible; every moment brought his enemy nearer, and with a look of despair, the harper placed his lovely burthen on the ground, and drawing his sword, prepared to defend his charge to the last moment of his existence.

In a few moments the foremost horseman reached the fugitives; he dismounted, cast his steed loose, drew his sword, and crying out “ Ha, traitor! have I caught thee?" rushed upon the unfortunate harper. The tall, slender, and graceful form of the latter was but ill-fitted to contend in mortal strife with the strong, stern, iron-armed, and iron-hearted chief of Breadalbane. But at the first clash of their swords, the Lady Alice started from her trance, and seeing her lover engaged in deadly fight, without a moment's thought or hesitation rushed between the combatants. For a moment the strife was stayed, for even the iron heart of Breadalbane was softened, as he saw his beautiful kinswoman throw herself across the body of the harper, exclaiming "Now, then, strike!" But his fury soon returned, and seizing her by the waist, with the assistance of his attendants, who were now come up, he tore her from the arms of her despairing lover.

The rest may be quickly told: the harper soon fell beneath the blows of his assailants, and in the fury of the moment, his body was literally cut to pieces. In the agony of her despair, the Lady Alice had fainted; but when the pulse of life again returned, and she saw the miserable remnants of what had once been her lover, the light of her mind fled for ever, and she sank into a state of hopeless idiotcy.

In this state, she was carried back to the castle. Breadal

bane, when the fury of his passion was over, and his vengeance satisfied, lamented the wreck he had made; for with all his sternness and fierceness, he had really loved the Lady Alice. Every means were tried to restore her to health; every indulgence granted, every fancy gratified; but the only thing in which she appeared to take any delight, was to wander about alone in the garden of the castle, to linger in those spots where she first met the harper, and to sit, as the sun set and the moon rose, under that fatal bower where the first avowal of love burst from his burning lips.

In this condition, she lingered a few months, gradually wasting away, like a perishing flower, till one evening, as the attendants of the castle were seeking for her in order to lead her home, the hour growing late, they found her lying cold and lifeless in her favourite spot.

The fate of the harper was not forgotten by his countrymen. Many years afterwards, when the Irish auxiliaries came over to Scotland to assist Montrose in his chivalrous but unfortunate enterprise, a small band detached themselves from his standard during one of his irruptions through Perthshire. They marched under a chief of their own, and making for Breadalbane's country, they arrived at nightfall before the Castle of Lawers. Not expecting any attack, the chieftain was absent; the small garrison was taken by surprise, and every soul put to the sword. The castle itself was fired, and its walls razed to the ground; and the desolate ruins remain to this day a lasting memorial of Breadalbane's fury and of Irish revenge.

ST. AGNES.

BY ALFRED TENNYSON.

DEEP on the convent roofs the snows
Are sparkling to the moon,

My breath to Heaven like vapour goes,
May my soul follow soon.

The shadows of the convent towers
Slant down the snowy sward,

Still creeping with the creeping hours,
That lead me to my Lord.

Make thou my spirit pure and clear,

As are the frosty skies,

Or this first snowdrop of the year,
That on my bosom lies.

As these white robes are soiled and dark

To yonder shining ground,

As this pale taper's earthly spark

To yonder argent round;

So shows my soul before the Lamb,

My spirit before thee;

So in mine earthly house I am,

To that I hope to be.

Break up the Heavens, O Lord! and far

Through all yon starlight keen

Draw me, thy bride, a glittering star,

In raiment white and clean.