oked around,
as I judged, for the Captain, who was not to be seen.

Hushing her little one, whose piteous cry would almost have made one
think it was uttered in sympathy with its mother's distress. Casting
one more despairing glance, she was, apparently, about to retrace her
weary steps with a look that completely baffles description, when her
eye fell on a boat returning from the vessel, which that moment neared
the water's edge, and she saw Captain Ormsby jump out. Hastily going
up to him, she exclaimed, in a tone that seemed almost to forbid
comfort.

"Oh, Sir, I am ashamed to be so troublesome, indeed I am, and I fear
to ask you if I have any chance this time?"

"Why Kitty, my good girl, had you asked me that question half, nay, a
quarter of an hour ago, I could not have given you any hope, but I can
now put you in place of Timothy Brennan's wife, who has just altered
her mind."

"Sergeant Browne," cried he, "here is Hewson's wife, who went out in
the 'Boyne.' Do the best you can for her, she can take Hetty Brennan's
place." Joyfully did Kitty Hewson step into the boat, beckoning to a
lad who was holding a small deal box, which he placed beside her; but
she seemed as if she could hardly believe herself about to follow her
husband, till actually on board.

The worthy Captain was, indeed, to be envied such a disposition to
lessen the aggregate of human misery, by entering into their feelings.
In how very short a space (three hours) had he the power of cheering
the desponding hearts of several fellow creatures, without either
detriment to the service, or swerving, in the least, from his duty.

THE EXECUTION OF MONTROSE.

This Narrative is supposed to be addressed by an aged Highlander to
his Grandson shortly before the battle of Killiecrankie.

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 riding past.
I hear the pibrock 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 South'rons fell
Beneath his broad claymore,
And how he smote the Campbell clan
By Inverlocky's shore.
I've told thee how we s