ood,
He leaves the murmur of Ohio's flood,
And forward rushing in indignant grief,
Where never foot has trod the fallen leaf,
He bends his course where twilight reigns sublime.
O'er forests silent since the birth of time.

SCENES OF INFANCY.

In tracing the rise and progress of the Scottish Maroon war, we must not
omit to mention that years had rolled on, and that little Harry Bertram,
one of the hardiest and most lively children that ever made a sword and
grenadier's cap of rushes, now approached his fifth revolving birthday. A
hardihood of disposition, which early developed itself, made him already
a little wanderer; he was well acquainted with every patch of lea ground
and dingle around Ellangowan, and could tell in his broken language upon
what baulks grew the bonniest flowers, and what copse had the ripest
nuts. He repeatedly terrified his attendants by clambering about the
ruins of the old castle, and had more than once made a stolen excursion
as far as the gipsy hamlet.

On these occasions he was generally brought back by Meg Merrilies, who,
though she could not be prevailed upon to enter the Place of Ellangowan
after her nephew had been given up to the press-gang, did not apparently
extend her resentment to the child. On the contrary, she often contrived
to waylay him in his walks, sing him a gipsy song, give him a ride upon
her jackass, and thrust into his pocket a piece of gingerbread or a
red-cheeked apple. This woman's ancient attachment to the family,
repelled and checked in every other direction, seemed to rejoice in
having some object on which it could yet repose and expand itself. She
prophesied a hundred times, 'that young Mr. Harry would be the pride o'
the family, and there hadna been sic a sprout frae the auld aik since the
death of Arthur Mac-Dingawaie, that was killed in the battle o' the
Bloody Bay; as for the present stick, it was good for nothing but
fire-wood.' On one occasion, when the child was ill, she lay all night
below the window, chanting a rhyme which she believed sovereign as a
febrifuge, and could neither be prevailed upon to enter the house nor to
leave the station she had chosen till she was informed that the crisis
was over.

The affection of this woman became matter of suspicion, not indeed to the
Laird, who was never hasty in suspecting evil, but to his wife, who had
indifferent health and poor spirits. She was now far advanced in a secon