Enter Fair Daughter of the House with the Village Carpenter.  “MAMMA, YOU ALWAYS TOLD ME THAT KIND HEARTS WERE MORE THAN CORONETS, AND SIMPLE FAITH THAN NORMAN BLOOD, AND ALL THAT?”

Lady Clara Robinson (nee Vere de Vere).  “CERTAINLY DEAR, MOST CERTAINLY!”

Fair Daughter.  “WELL, I’VE ALWAYS BELIEVED YOU; AND JIM BRADAWL HAS ASKED ME TO BE HIS WIFE, AND I’VE ACCEPTED HIM.  WE’VE ALWAYS LOVED EACH OTHER SINCE YOU LET US PLAY TOGETHER AS CHILDREN!”

[Her Ladyship forgets, for once, the repose that stamps her caste.]

* * * * *

THE McGLADSTONE;

OR, BLOWING THE BUGLE.

(FRAGMENTS FROM THE LATEST (MIDLOTHIAN) VERSION OF “THE LORD OF THE ISLES.")

  McGLADSTONE rose—­his pallid cheek
  Was little wont his joy to speak,
    But then his colour rose. 
  “Now, Scotland! shortly shalt thou see
  That age checks not McGLADSTONE’s glee,
    Nor stints his swashing blows!”

  Again that light has fired his eye,
  Again his form swells bold and high;
  The broken voice of age is gone,
  ’Tis vigorous manhood’s lofty tone. 
  The foe he menaces again,
  Thrice vanquished on Midlothian’s plain;
  Then, scorning any longer stay,
  Embarks, lifts sail, and bears away.

  Merrily, merrily bounds the bark,
    She bounds before the gale;
  The “flowing tide” is with her.  Hark! 
    How joyous in her sail
  Flutters the breeze like laughter hoarse! 
    The cords and canvas strain,
  The waves divided by her force
  In rippling eddies, chase her course. 
    As if they laughed again. 
  ’Tis then that warlike signals wake
  Dalmeney’s towers, and fair Beeslack.

  And eke brave BALFOUR’s walls (Q.C. 
  And Scottish Dean of Faculty)
  Whose home shall house the great McG. 
  A summons these to each stout clan
  That lives in far Midlothian,
    And, ready at the sight,
  Each warrior to his weapon sprung,
  And targe upon his shoulder flung,
    Impatient for the fight.

  Merrily, merrily, bounds the bark
    On a breeze to the northward free. 
  So shoots through the morning sky the lark,
    Or the swan through the summer sea. 
  Merrily, merrily, goes the bark—­
  Before the gale she bounds;
  So darts the dolphin from the shark,
  Or the deer before the hounds. 
  McGLADSTONE stands upon the prow,
  The mountain breeze salutes his brow,
  He snuffs the breath of coming fight,
  His dark eyes blaze with battle-light,
    And memories of old,
  When thus he rallied to the fray
  Against the bold BUCCLEUCH’s array,
  His clansmen.  In the same old way
  He trusts to rally them to-day. 
  Shall he succeed?  Who, who shall say? 
  But neither fear no doubt may stay
    His spirit keen and bold!