ed to the
spot, burst out anew as the colonel shook his head. Our dull Lowland
ears heard only the rattle of the musketry.

A few moments more of this deathlike suspense, of this agonizing hope,
and Jessie, who had again sunk on the ground, sprang to her feet, and
cried in a voice so clear and piercing that it was heard along the whole
line: "Will ye no believe it noo? The slogan has ceased, indeed, but the
Campbells are comin'! D'ye hear? d'ye hear?"

At that moment all seemed, indeed, to hear the voice of God in the
distance, when the pibroch of the Highlanders brought us tidings of
deliverance; for now there was no longer any doubt of the fact. That
shrill, penetrating, ceaseless sound, which rose above all other sounds,
could come neither from the advance of the enemy nor from the work of
the sappers. No, it was, indeed, the blast of the Scottish bagpipes, now
shrill and harsh, as threatening vengeance on the foe, then in softer
tones, seeming to promise succour to their friends in need.

Never, surely, was there such a scene as that which followed. Not a
heart in the residency of Lucknow but bowed itself before God. All, by
one simultaneous impulse, fell upon their knees, and nothing was heard
but bursting sobs and the murmured voice of prayer. Then all arose, and
there rang out from a thousand lips a great shout of joy, which
resounded far and wide, and lent new vigour to that blessed pibroch.

To our cheer of "God save the Queen," they replied by the well-known
strain that moves every Scot to tears, "Should auld acquaintance be
forgot." After that, nothing else made any impression on me. I scarcely
remember what followed. Jessie was presented to the general on his
entrance into the fort, and at the officers' banquet her health was
drunk by all present, while the pipers marched around the table, playing
once more the familiar air of "Auld Lang Syne."

"Letter from an officer's wife."

THE SONG IN CAMP

"Give us a song!" the soldiers cried,
The outer trenches guarding,
When the heated guns of the camps allied
Grew weary of bombarding.

The dark Redan, in silent scoff,
Lay, grim and threatening, under;
And the tawny mound of the Malakoff
No longer belched its thunder.

There was a pause. A guardsman said:
"We storm the forts to-morrow;
Sing while we may, another day
Will bring enough of sorrow."

They lay along the battery's side