the high estimation I have ever formed of your character, and of the sterling qualities of your mind and heart, Percy." "That is rather a cold way of putting it, is it not Jeanie?” said Percy inquiringly.

"But you know my meaning, and you can put it in any shape or form you like. I am sure I will agree with you, Percy, if so be you are satisfied yourself."

"Oh, yes; I know that," Percy quickly replied. "I am so glad you approve of my plans, as your father also, doubtless, will do when he sees them in their proper light. Twelvemonths hence, then, dearest Jeanie, I will cross the seas and rejoin you in the country of your father's adoption. Consulting the happiness and comfort of her, the dearest to me on earth, I will be guided, Jeanie, then entirely by you: wishes, and either bring you to the 'Howe,' my loving, wedded wife, or remain in the backwoods, your guardian and protector for life."

"Noble Percy!" said Jeanie: "the more I know you, the more I esteem you and-"

"Love me," quickly interrupted Percy; and the two lovers were locked in each other's embrace, in all the blissful enjoyment of true, pure, unchangeable love!

A few minutes more, and they had parted-their lowbreathed farewell sympathetically blending with the mournful ripplings of the moon-lit river, which had striven in vain to calm its heaving, troubled bosom, or to sing itself to sweet and peaceful rest.

As I am not writing a work of fiction, but of fact, I may be allowed to remark, en passant, especially for the benefit of my fair readers, that neither in the parting scene between the two lovers, narrated above, nor in any of their previous interviews, is there any breakings of pieces of silver or gold, exactings of promises, declarations of constancy, or vowings before high heaven to fulfil extorted engagements, or suffer the most condign punishments both in this world and the next, if they failed to fulfil their high-flown promises or impious vows.

No; their attachment to each other was of a nature so pure, undoubting, and true, that it required no unhallowed artificial support to nurse its growth or promote its after-existence.

With all your raving vows away,

Your lisping speeches bland;
Give me the language of the eye,
The pressure of the hand.

Their last day at the Milton had now arrived, and the stricken, yet undismayed household were early astir to complete the preparations for their long and perilous journey. Jeanie went out, unobserved, by the garden gate, and, ascending a little broomy knowe where she could see at a glance the whole of her much-loved and beautiful Howe, she thus, in plaintive accents, sung her last farewell :

THE LILY'S' FAREWELL.

Farewell, my own sweet Highland glen,

Away from thee I roam;

Afar from scenes and haunts of men

I seek a distant home.

No more I'll see thy bonnie broom,
Thy daisies on the lea,

Nor yet the waving blue-bell's bloom
Beneath the greenwood tree.

No more I'll hear the lav'rock's strains,
Breathed sweet at early morn,

Nor, ringing glad the happy plains,
The linnet on the thorn.

No more I'll hear the blackbird's song

At evening's silent hour;

Nor yet the thrush the notes prolong,

In woodland leafy bower.

No more shall children's voices cheer,
When they sing merrilie ;

Nor shepherds charm my raptured ear,
When they pipe bonnilie.

But though afar from thee I roam,
No more my glen to see,

My heart will bless my Highland home,
My thoughts shall be of thee.

And though the billows swift may bear
The ship across the sea,

And balmy gales may waft despair,

My heart shall beat for thee.

And when afar from haunts of men,

My future home I see,

Oh! then, my own sweet Highland glen,

My heart shall turn to thee!

The good ship Lady Kinnaird, well-manned and found, sailed from Dundee to New York in the autumn of 1837. The vessel had been a week at sea. The weather continued agreeable and pleasant, and everything tended to strengthen the hope and belief that the sorrowing emigrants would make a rapid and successful voyage. It was a beautiful afternoon, the sun shining in all his splendour, cresting with sparkling silver the gently undulating billows, and diffusing throughout the mind a tranquil feeling of serenity and peace. With pardonable pride the merry-hearted crew leant over the sides of their noble barque, admiring the unprecedented speed with which she bravely cleaved for herself a triumphant highway over the apparently shoreless deep.

Enjoying the beauty and calm tranquillity of the scene, Arthur Cargill, with his wife and daughter, and seven manly boys, were standing a thoughtful, yet picturesque group, on the large and roomy deck, listening in deep earnestness to the sweet, soft voice of Jeanie, as in gentle and tender accents she pictured to them their distant home in the far West, where, by steady, united, persevering industry, health, peace, and plenty might yet be their blest and happy destiny.

They were now joined by a young lady who, with her family, had also emigrated from Strathmore. Jeanie put her arm into that of her friend, and after pacing the deck in loving converse for a few minutes together, Jeanie complained that the strange, undulating motion of the ship still continued to cause that swimming giddiness in her head which had so much pained and discouraged her from the commencement of the voyage. By her friend's advice they retired to their little

cabin on the poop, and hastily undressing, she lay down to seek repose and rest on her fragile, yet airy couch.

"Lizzie," said Jeanie, addressing her friend, "no sooner is my aching head laid upon this friendly pillow than I get better. Read to me, dear Lizzie, my favourite Paraphrase, beginning with

"Take comfort, Christians, when your friends

In Jesus fall asleep;

Their better being never ends;

Why, then, dejected weep?"

Her sympathising companion, taking out the time-honoured "Ha' Bible" from amongst the few household gods which they had been able to save from the wreck and ruin of their Scottish home, commenced softly to read the plaintively beautiful fifty-third Paraphrase as requested so beseechingly by her dear and much-loved friend.

A great and rapid change had now come over the peaceful scene. Dark thunder-charged clouds lowered ominously in the changing, murky sky; alternate fitful gusts piped harsh and shrill among the flapping sails and creaking shrouds; a long, black, troublous ripple broke over the rolling, threatening waves; and a heavy, far-stretching, scowling swell struck swiftly with giant strength against the reeling ship. Wave followed wave, and fiercer grew the elemental war, until the mountain billows broke at last with thundering crash over the unprotected deck, sweeping the fragile poop-cabin and one of its saintly inmates into the dark and troubled sea!

There-swiftly borne away upon the angry waves-still lying resigned upon her little bed, with her hands firm clasped across her breast, and her dreamy eyes upraised to heaven, is Jeanie Cargill, the "Lily of the Vale," like a white-robed angel, peaceful amidst the storm, calm hastening on to her eternal rest!

The sad and startling news came upon Percy Guthrie with the most crushing and overwhelming effect. Recovering after a time from the shock, he betrayed no unmanly or sentimental

grief the wound was too deep for that-but quietly and industriously went about his work as usual, performing every incumbent duty with even greater diligence and zeal. In course of time his good old parents were gathered to their fathers, and he succeeded to the lease of Scroggerfield, where he long dwelt in comparative affluence and peace. He never married, and when his unobtrusive, useful life came to its close, he died, as he had lived, a sincere Christian, and was buried amongst his kindred in the quiet churchyard of Kinnettles, around which flow the hymning waters of the Kerbet, which he and ANOTHER had loved so well.

I give the real name of the vessel and the time of her sailing from Dundee to New York, for the "Lily" was my cousin, and I made all the necessary arrangements for her comfort during the voyage with my esteemed friend Mr Alexander Martin, Shipowner, Dundee, the respected owner of the ship. This was the first voyage of the "Lady Kinnaird." The poopcabins of those days, it may be stated, instead of forming part of the hull of the ship, as at present, were merely erections constructed on, and subjoined to the deck.

I shall never forget the interview I had with Captain Martin, when I communicated to him from the British consul's letter to me, the mournful intelligence of my cousin's sad and singular end, which affected the good old man almost to tears. "This, my young friend," he emphatically said, "is the first poop-cabin I have ever had in any of my vessels, and it shall be the last"-a determination which I believe he conscientiously carried into practice ever afterwards.