Stands waiting. O ye naked rooms, The man who knew, while he was young, Oh, often did my spirit melt, Blurred letters, o'er your artless rhymes! Then ring in the wind, my wedding chimes; "This happy bridegroom!" there is sin At bottom of my thankless mood: What if desert alone could win For me, It may be, Florence, loving thee, It may be that your loving wiles Ye phantoms, born of bitter blood, What do you here on a wedding-morn? And lighten'd is the heavy curse, And be follow'd by all the year of flowers! Black Bayard from the stable bring; The dawn is oozing pale and cold THE DILEMMA. BY H. G. BELL. "By St. Agatha! I believe there is something in the shape of a tear in those dark eyes of mine, about which the women rave so unmercifully," said the young Fitzclarence, as, after an absence of two years, he came once more in sight of his native village of Malhamdale. He stood upon the neighbouring heights, and watched the curling smoke coming up from the cottage chimneys in the clear blue sky of evening, and saw the last beams of the setting sun playing upon the western walls of his father's old baronial mansion, and, a little farther off, he could distinguish the trees and pleasure-grounds of Sir Meredith Appleby's less ancient seat. Then he thought of Julia Appleby, the baronet's only child, his youthful playmate, his first friend, and his first love; and as he thought of her, he sighed. I won der why he sighed! When they parted two years before, sanctioned and encouraged by their respective parents (for there was nothing the old people wished more than a union between the families), they had sworn eternal fidelity, and plighted their hearts irrevocably to each other. Fitzclarence thought of all this, and again he sighed. Different people are differently affected by the same things. After so long an absence many a man would, in the exuberance of his feelings, have thrown himself down upon the first bed of wild flowers he came to, and spouted long speeches to himself out of all known plays. Our hero preferred indulging in the following little soliloquy:My father will be amazingly glad to see me," said he to himself; "and so will my mother, and so will my old friend the antediluvian butler Morgan ap-Morgan, and so will the pointer Juno, and so will my pony Troilus;-a pretty figure, by-the-by, I should cut now upon Troilus, in this gay military garb of mine, with my sword rattling between his legs, and my white plumes streaming in the air like a rainbow over him! And Sir Meredith Appleby, too, with his great gouty leg, will hobble through the room in ecstacy as soon as I present myself before him;-and Julia-poor Julia, will blush, and smile, and come flying into my arms like a shuttle-cock. Heigho! I am a very miserable young officer. The silly girl loves me; her imagination is all crammed with hearts and darts; she will bore me to death with her sighs, and her tender glances, and her allusions to time past, and her hopes of time to come, and all the artillery of a love-sick child's brain. What, in the name of the Pleiades, am I to do? I believe I had a sort of penchant for her once, when I was a mere boy in my nurse's leading-strings; I believe I did give her some slight hopes at one time or other; but now-O Rosalind! dear -delightful" Here his feelings overpowered him, and pulling a miniature from his bosom, he covered it with kisses. Sorry am I to be obliged to confess that it was not the miniature of Julia. "But what is to be done?" he at length resumed. "The poor girl will go mad; she will hang herself in her garters; or drown herself, like Ophelia, in a brook under a willow. And I shall be her murderer! I, who have never yet knocked on the head a single man in the field of battle, will commence my warlike operations by breaking the heart of a woman. By St. Agatha! it must not be; I must be true to my engagement. Yes! though I become myself a martyr, I must obey the dictates of honour. Forgive me, Rosalind, beautiful object of my adoration! Let not thy Fitzclarence" Here his voice became again inarticulate; and, as he winded down the hill, nothing was heard but the echoes of the multitudinous kisses he continued to lavish on the little brilliantly-set portrait he held in his hands. Next morning Sir Meredith Appleby was just in the midst of a very sumptuous breakfast (for notwithstanding his gout, the baronet contrived to preserve his appetite), and the pretty Julia was presiding over the tea and coffee at the other end of the table, immediately opposite her papa, with the large longeared spaniel sitting beside her, and ever and anon looking wistfully into her face, when a servant brought in, on a little silver tray, a letter for Sir Meredith. The old gentleman read it aloud; it was from the Elder Fitzclar ence: "My dear friend, Alfred arrived last night. He and I will dine with you to-day. Yours, Fitzclarence." Julia's cheeks grew first as white as her brow, and then as red as her lips. As soon as breakfast was over, she retired to her own apartment, whither we must, for once, take the liberty of following her. She sat herself down before her mirror, and deliberately took from her hair a very tasteful little knot of fictitious flowers, which she had fastened in it when she rose. One naturally expected that she was about to replace this ornament with something more splendid—a few jewels, perhaps; but she was not going to do any such thing. She rung the bell; her confidential attendant, Alice, answered the summons. "La! ma'am," said she, "what is the matter? You look as ill as my aunt Bridget.” "You have heard me talk of Alfred Fitzclarence, Alice, have you not?" said the lady, languidly, and at the same time slightly blushing. "O yes, ma'am, I think I have. He was to be married to you before he went to the wars." "He has returned, Alice, and he will break his heart if he finds I no longer love him. But he has been so long away; and Harry Dalton has been so constantly with me; and his tastes and mine are so congenial;-I'm sure you know, Alice, I am not fickle, but how could I avoid it? Harry Dalton is so handsome, and so amiable!" "To be sure, ma'am, you had the best right to choose for yourself; and so Mr. Fitzclarence must just break his heart if he pleases, or else | immediately sighed also. Checking himself, fight a desperate duel with Mr. Dalton, with however, he saw the absolute necessity of comhis swords and guns.' mencing a conversation. "O! Alice, you frighten me to death. There shall be no duels fought for me. Though my bridal bed should be my grave, I shall be true to my word. The bare suspicion of my inconstancy would turn poor Alfred mad. I know how he dotes upon me. I must go to the altar, Alice, like a lamb to the slaughter. Were I to refuse him, you may depend upon it, he would put an end to his existence with five loaded pistols. Only think of that, Alice; what could I say for myself, were his remains found in his bed next morning?" History does not report what Alice said her mistress might, under such circumstances, say for herself; but it is certain that they remained talking together till the third dinner-bell rang. The Fitzclarences were both true to their engagements, but notwithstanding every exertion on the part of the two old gentlemen, they could not exactly bring about that "flow of soul" which they had hoped to see animating the young people. At length, after the cloth was removed, and a few bumpers of claret had warmed Sir Meredith's heart, he said boldly, "Miss Appleby!" said he at last. "Sir?" "It is two years, I think, since we parted." "Yes; two years on the fifteenth of this month." Alfred was silent. "How she adores me!" thought he; "she can tell to a moment how long it is since we last met."-There was a pause. "You have seen, no doubt, a great deal since you left Malhamdale?" said Julia. "O! a very great deal," replied her lover. Miss Appleby hemmed once more, and then drew in a vast mouthful of courage. "I understand the ladies of England and Ireland are much more attractive than those of Wales." "Julia, my love, as Alfred does not seem to be much of a wine-bibber, suppose you show him the improvements in the gardens and hot-Julia. houses, whilst we sexagenarians remain where we are, to drink to the health of both, and talk over a few family matters." Alfred, thus called upon, could not avoid rising from his seat, and offering Julia his arm. She took it with a blush, and they walked off together in silence. How devotedly he loves me!" thought Julia, with a sigh. "No, no, I cannot break his heart." "Poor girl!" thought Alfred, bringing one of the curls of his whiskers more killingly over his cheek; "her affections are irrevocably fixed upon me; the slightest attention calls to her face all the roses of Sharon." They proceeded down a long gravel walk, bordered on both sides with fragrant and flowery shrubs; but, except that the pebbles rubbed against each other as they passed over them, there was not a sound to be heard. Julia, however, was observed to hem twice, and we have been told that Fitzclarence coughed more than once. At length the lady stopped, and plucked a rose. Fitzclarence stopped also, and plucked a lily. Julia smiled; so did Alfred. Julia's smile was chased away by a sigh; Alfred "Good heavens! Fitzclarence, that is my cousin Rosalind." "Your cousin Rosalind! where? how?-the miniature! It is all over with me! The murder is out! Lord bless me! Julia, how pale you have grown; yet hear me! be comforted. I am a very wretch; but I shall be faithful; do not turn away, love; do not weep; Julia! Julia! what is the matter with you?-By Jove! she is in hysterics; she will go distracted! Julia! I will marry you, I swear to you by " "Do not swear by anything at all," cried Julia, unable any longer to conceal her rapture, "lest you be transported for perjury. You are my own-my very best Alfred!" "Mad, quite mad," thought Alfred. "I wear a miniature too," proceeded the lady: and she pulled from the loveliest bosom in the world the likeness, set in brilliants, of a youth provokingly handsome, but not Fitzclarence. "Julia!" "Alfred!" "We have both been faithless!" "And now we are both happy." "By St. Agatha! I am sure of it. Only I cannot help wondering at your taste, Julia; that stripling has actually no whiskers!" "Neither has my cousin Rosalind; yet you found her resistless." "Well, I believe you are right; and, besides, de gustibus-I beg your pardon, I was going to quote Latin." THE ISLAND OF THE SCOTS. [William Edmondstoune Aytoun, D.C.L., born in Edinburgh, 21st June, 1813; died at Blackhills, Elgin, 4th August, 1865. He was a descendant of Sir Robert Aytonn, a poet who lived in the reigns of James I. and Charles I. He studied at the university of his native city, and was called to the bar in 1840. He gave early indieation of his taste for literature, and in 1832 issued a small volume, entitled Poland, Homer, and other Poems. He was appointed professor of belles-lettres and rhetoric in the Edinburgh University in 1845; and his services to the Conservative party were recognized in 1852 by his appointment as sheriff of Orkney. As joint author with Mr. Theodore Martin of the Bon Gaultier Ballads,1 and by his Lays of the Scottish Cavaliers, Professor Aytoun won for himself a distinguished place in literature. He was for a number of years a regular contributor to Blackwood's Magazine; and he produced many translations, chiefly from the German poets Uhland and Goethe. Of his other works the most notable are: Firmilian, a spasmodic tragedy by T. Percy Jones-a satire upon the spasmodic school of poetry; Bothwell, a poem: Norman Sinclair, a novel; Life and Times of Richard I. (1840); and he edited a collection of Scottish Ballads. Mr. T. Martin, who was Aytoun's partner in many bright sketches, poems, and translations, and who has written the biography of his friend, says: “Fashions in poetry may alter, but so long as the themes with which they deal have an interest for his countrymen, his Lays will find, as they do now, a wide circle of admirers. His powers as a humourist were perhaps greater than as a poet. They have certainly been more widely appreciated. His immediate contemporaries owe him much, for he has contributed largely to that kindly mirth without which the strain and struggle of modern life would be intolerable. "2] The Rhine is running deep and red, 1 "Some of the best of these were exclusively Aytoun's, such as "The Massacre of the M'Pherson," "The Rhyme of Sir Lancelot Bogle," "The Broken Pitcher," "The Red Friar and Little John," "The Lay of Mr. Colt," and that best of all imitations of the Scottish ballad, "The Queen in France."-Biography by T. Martin. 2 This poem is founded upon an exploit performed by a company of Scottish gentlemen, who, having been officers in the army of Dundee, escaped to France upon the defeat of that general, and took service under the standard of the French King. A work published in London in 1714, entitled An Account of Dundee's Officers after they went to France, by an Officer of the For not alone the river's sweep Might make a brave man quail: The foe are on the further side, Their shot comes fast as hail. God help us, if the middle isle We may not hope to win! Now is there any of the host Will dare to venture in?" "The ford is deep, the banks are steep, Nor man nor horse could stem its force, See there! amidst the willow-boughs They've flung their bridge-they've won the isle; The foe have crossed the stream! Could force that passage now!" So spoke the bold French Mareschal Nor bridge nor boat had they to cross Far stretched the German line. Than that which rushes there; The old lord in his saddle turned, And hastily he said "Hath bold Duguesclin's fiery heart Awakened from the dead? Army, thus describes the adventure: "In December, 1697, General Stirk, who commanded for the German, appeared with 16,000 men on the other side of the Rhine, which obliged the Marquis de Sell to draw out all the garrisons in Alsace, who made up about 4000 men ; and he encamped on the other side of the Rhine, over against General Stirk, to prevent his passing the Rhine and carrying a bridge over into an island in the middle of it, which the French foresaw would be of great prejudice to them. For the enemy's guns, placed on that island, would extremely gall their camp, which they could not hinder for the deepness of the water, and their wanting of boats-for which the Marquis quickly sent; but Thou art the leader of the Scots Now well and sure I know, That gentle blood in dangerous hour Ne'er yet ran cold nor slow, And I have seen thee in the fight Do all that mortal may: If honour is the boon ye seek, It may be won this dayThe prize is in the middle isle, There lies the adventurous way. And armies twain are on the plain, The daring deed to see— Now ask thy gallant company If they will follow thee!" Right gladsome looked the Captain then, But he turned him to his little band- But bore a gentle name, Not one whose fathers had not stood arriving too late, the Germans had carried a bridge over into the island, where they had posted above 500 men, who, by order of their engineers, intrenched themselves; which the company of officers perceiving, who always grasped after honour, and scorned all thoughts of danger, resolved to wade the river, and attack the Germans in the island; and for that effect, desired Captain John Foster, who then commanded them, to beg of the Marquis that they might have liberty to attack the Germans in the island; who told Captain Foster, when the boats came up, they should be the first that attacked. Foster courteously thanked the Marquis, and told him they would wade into the island, who shrunk up his shoulders, prayed God to bless them, and desired them to do what they pleased." Whereupon the officers, with the other two Scottish companies, made themselves ready; and, having secured their arms round their necks, waded into the river hand-in-hand, "according to the Highland fashion," with the water as high as their breasts; and, having crossed the heavy stream, fell upon the Germans in their intrenchment. These were presently thrown into confusion, and retreated, breaking down their own bridges, whilst many of them were drowned. This movement, having been made in the dusk of the evening, partook of the character of a surprise; but it appears to me a very remarkable one, as having been effected under such circumstances, in the dead of winter, and in the face of an enemy who possessed the advantages both of position and of numerical superiority. The author of the narrative adds :—"When the Marquis de Sell heard the firing, and understood that the Germans were beat out of the island, he made the sign of the cross on his face and breast, and declared publicly that it was the bravest action that ever he saw, and that his army had no honour by it. As soon as the boats came, the Marquis sent into the island to acquaint the officers All they had marched with great Dundee To where he fought and fell, And in the deadly battle strife Had venged their leader well: As o'er their hero's buried corpse They sang the funeral hymn; To pluck the heather from the spot Of Scottish earth and Scottish sky, Who leave their dearest hope behind, "The stream," he said, "is broad and deep, that he would send them both troops and provisions, who thanked his excellency, and desired he should be informed that they wanted no troops, and could not spare time to make use of provisions, and only desired spades, shovels, and pickaxes, wherewith they might intrench themselves-which were immediately sent to them. The next morning, the Marquis came into the island, and kindly embraced every officer, and thanked them for the good service they had done his master, assuring them he would write a true account of their honour and bravery to the court of France, which, at the reading his letters, immediately went to St. Germains, and thanked King James for the services his subjects had done on the Rhine." The company kept possession of the island for nearly six weeks, notwithstanding repeated attempts on the part of the Germans to surprise and dislodge them; but all these having been defeated by the extreme watchfulness of the Scots, General Stirk at length drew off his army, and retreated. "In consequence of this action," says the chronicler, "that island is called at present Isle d'Ecosse, and will in likelihood bear that name until the general conflagration." Two years afterwards, a treaty of peace was concluded; and this gallant company of soldiers, worthy of a better fate, was broken up and dispersed. At the time when the narrative, from which I have quoted so freely, was compiled, not more than sixteen of Dundee's veterans were alive. The author concludes thus:-"And thus was dissolved one of the best companies that ever marched under command! Gentlemen who, in the midst of all their pressures and obscurity, never forgot they were gentlemen; and whom the sweets of a brave, a just, and honourable conscience rendered perhaps more happy under those sufferings than the most prosperous and triumphant in iniquity, since our minds stamp our happiness.” |