equally with the deepest melting veil which hangs on the mountain's summit, I have been positively in raptures. You need not be surprised that I allow no time for your answers, for I shall never get to the end of all that I have to say. One recollection wakes a thousand others.-I suppose you would like to see my sketches, and my fanciful rhymes." Duncan untied the writing case, which was his constant companion. "There, mother, is a Highland cottage, for you to look at, just the cottage that I admire; its small fields appeared like an island among the dark heath, or rather like an Oasis in the Arabian Deserts: not that I think the wild heaths deserts; to me they outshine all rich scenery: hills of every shape rising around, with heather bells in full bloom as far as the eye can gaze, little silvery lakes gleaming in the hollows, are much finer than soft green fields. Then, in winter, such scenery is just as beautiful; it depends not on summer warmth, or spring verdure; and the very clouds, with which winter darkens it, add sublimity and grandeur.-Those birch trees are not half elegant enough. That rivulet! I could not paint that rivulet, with the beds of emerald grass and sparkling sand it flows over, with half its coy windings, its silent dimpling depths, and babbling shallows. That blue patch is meant for a part of the rock literally hidden by a tuft of harebells: now I think of it, here are some lines on the harebell, my favourite flower. Florella, will you read them aloud? No, give them to me, I will read them myself. With drooping bells of clearest blue, The azure butterflies that flew Where on the heath thy blossoms grew, Where feathery fern and golden broom 'Mid tufts of purple heather bloom, 'Mid ruins crumbling to decay, Thy flowers their heavenly hues display, Still freshly springing, Where pride and pomp have past away, On mossy tomb and turret gray, Like friendship clinging. When glow-worm lamps illume the scene, And silvery daisies dot the green, Thy flowers revealing, Perchance to soothe the fairy queen, With faint sweet tones on night serene, Thee, Memory still delights to wear, Chief when the wild autumnal air Thrills the fine chords of joy and care, Along her bosom. What time each brighter bloom, array'd And thou appearest Alone, beneath the hedge-row shade, Like joys that linger as they fade, The last-and dearest. Beneath ev'n wintry tempests bleak, I've seen thee bending; Pale, as the pale blue veins, that streak c 2 Thou shalt be sorrow's love and mine; The violet and the eglantine With spring are banish'd; In summer's beam the roses shine, "How do you like these fanciful verses? fanciful enough! are they not?"-"They are very pretty, my dear Duncan," replied Mrs. F. and she tried to check the sigh that was, however, audible. "I don't know what is the matter with you all," said Duncan, looking round at them; "you are ill, dear mother; I am sure you are, for you look very pale; you are ill," he continued in the tenderest voice," and here have I been teasing you with my follies." "I am not quite well," she an swered, as he affectionately kissed her, and then sat down sadly, and quietly, holding his mother's hand; his eyes seemed fixed on the ground, but he saw nothing, for they were dimmed by tears. "How is my father, my dear father?" he asked, starting up quickly: "I did not forget him, but I hardly have had time to miss him; I suppose he is not come home from the countinghouse yet."-Florella whispered to Jeannie: “I can't bear to tell him to-night, when he is so t gay and happy." "What are you saying, my dear sisters?" inquired Duncan. "Ah! I am afraid my dear father is unwell. He is ill, mother, and that is the reason you are so melancholy." "Your father was quite well,"-" was quite well," he interrupted, "was! where is he then?" "My dear son, he was obliged a few days since to sail for America; for the house in which he is partner there, was, we heard, on the brink of ruin; his presence was required immediately, and he was obliged to go. I am uneasy, for I know not how the house in this country can go on as it should, when he is absent. But you are returned home, and I feel already lightened of half my fears." Duncan experienced the bitter disappointment which the indulgence of the thoughtless happiness above mentioned often produces: he had forgotten to think to himself, as he returned home, 66 Perhaps some one may be ill, or dead." He calculated on the health and happiness of every individual; his mind was not prepared; and the grief and surprise that fell on him so suddenly, at the state of his father's affairs, rendered him for a few hours quite unhappy. He had left his family in the enjoyment of every comfort: he found them mournful, and anxious, and reduced in circumstances. It was only for a few hours |