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a Higblander was walking fearlessly along the pass; sometimes bending over to watch the fight of the wild birds that built below, and sometimes detaching a fragment from the top, to see it dashed against the uneven sides, and bounding from rock to rock, while its sound echoed like a human voice, and died in faint and hol. low murmurs at the bottom. Wben he had gained the highest part of the arch, he observed another coming leisurely up on the opposite side: he being himself of the patrician order, called out to him to halt and lie down; the person, however, disregarded the con mand, and the Highlanders met face to face on the summit. They were Cairn and Bendearg! These two hereditary enemies, who would have gloried and rejoiced in mortal sirife with each other on a bill side, turned deadly pale at the fatal rencounter. I was first at the top,' said Bendearg, 'and called out first-lie down, that I may pass over in peace. • When the Grant prostrates himself before M.Pherson,' answered the other, it must be with a sword driven through his body.' • Turn back, then,' said Bendearg, 6 and repass as you came.' • Gó back yourself, if you like it,'' replied Grant, “I will not be ihe first of my pame to turn before the M'Pherson.' This was their short conference, and the result was exactly as each had anticipated.
They then threw their bonnets over the precipice, and advanced with a slow and cautious pace closer to each other. They were both unarmed. Stretching their limbs like men preparing for a desperate struggle, they planted their feet firmly on the ground, compressed their lips, koit their dark brows, and fixing fierce and watchful eyes. on each other, stood thus prepared for the onset. They both grappled at the same moment; but being of equal strength, were anable for some time to shift each other's position-standing fixed on a rock, with suppressed breath, and muscles strained to the top of their bent,' like statues carved out of solid stone. At length M'Pher. son, suddenly removing his right foot so as to give him greater purchase, stooped his body, and bent his enemy down with him by main strength, till they both leaned over the precipice, looking downward into the terrible abyss. The contest was as yet doubtful, for Grant had placed his foot firmly on an elevation at the brink, and had equal command of his enemy; but at this moment M.Pherson sunk slowly and firmly on his knee, and while
Grant suddenly started back, stooping to take the suppused advantage, whirled him over his head into the gulf. M•Pherson himself fell backwards, his body hanging partly over the rock—a fragment gave way beneath him, and he sunk fartber, till, catching with a desperate effort at the solid stone above, he regained his footing. There was a pause of death-like stilluess, and the bold heart of M“Pherson felt sick and faint. At length, as if compelled unwillingly by some mysterious feeling, he looked down over the precipice. Grant had caught with a death-gripe by the rugged point of a rock-his enemy was yet almost within his reach !-His face was turned upward, and there were in it horror and despair—but he uttered no word or cry. The next moment he loosed his hold-and the next, his brains were dashed out before the eyes of his hereditary foe; the mangled body disappeared among the trees, and its last heavy and hollow sound arose from the bottom! M'Pbersun returned honie an altered man. He purchased a commission in the army, and fell bravely in ihe wars of the Peninsula. The Gaelic name of the place where this tragedy was acted, signifies Hell's Bridge, of which interesting object our engraving is an accurate and picturesque representation.
A THOUGHT ON WISDOM. THE wisest of those who live, is he who believes himself the nearest to death, and who regulates all his actions by that thought.
The most sensible, on the contrary, among those who make scientific researches, is he who believes himself the farthest from the goal, and wbo, wbatever kuowledge be may have acquired, whatever advances he may have made in his road, studies as if he yet knew nothing, and marches as 'if he were only yet beginning to make his first advances.
POOR LOVELY, THE MANIAC.
BY WILLIAM HOLLOWAY.
The ringlet that play'd on my temple so sleek'? The blue-bell that Gourish'd so fair in my eye, And dimples where raptures and innocence lie? Fear not-though my fond heart now flutters and burns, All these will return when my lover returns! For you know I've a lover, but far, far away; Vast seas roll between us, and wild tempests sway; Alone in the wilderness thoughtful he roves, Or plucks the gilt citron in India's gay groves ; O! spare him, ye tygers that crouch in the shade, Ye serpents, that hiss in the untrodden glade: He ne'er will prove faithless, where ever he be, His affections are fix'd-he has fix'd them on me. Then why did he wander, and leave me behind ? Inconstant and fickle, as ocean or wind! Indeed it was cruel to cause me to mourn Why-why should my parents forbid his return ? But, softly !-his promise he'll never forget, When he bid me farewell in the garden so sweet: Yes! yes! he'll return. and he'll make me his queen, With a garland of myrtle, and jessamine green! 0, dear! I'm so pale that you know me not now, The roses are faded that wav'd on my brow, While the lily alone on my cheek is display'd, And my heart sinks adown, with its sorrows o'erweigh’d: But ab! I forgot !-Did you ask me my name? I've chang’d it-tis Lovely-How call me the samePoor Lovely! mind that in the moment of glee, And check your gay pastimes to think upon me: Yet when shall I see your sweet faces again, Your Lovely will shortly be rid of her pain; Again the carnation shall bloom on her cheek, The ringlet shall play on her temple so sleek, The blae-bell shall flourish afresh in her eye, Which tears of young Rapture shall amply supply; And tho' her fond bosom now futters and burns. You'll all wish her joy when her Lover returus!
His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles,
table parents. Engagements in an extensive
draw forth. She early contracted an intimate friendship with Agnes, the daughter of a widow Jady, who had been left with a numerous family, and lived in the immediate neighbourhood. Agoes was edu. cated with ideas very different from those of her friend, being, of necessity and from principle, taught the profitable lessons of industry, and frugal economy, and to consider health and intellectual powers as given for higher purposes than the amusement of the possessor. The mis. spending of time, and the misapplication of these precious endowments, were impressed upon her mind as being a sources of never-failing unhappiness and calamity to the infatuated abusers of such inestimable blessings. As she had learned from experience, that useful employment constitutes pleasure, and is pregnant with advantage, it prevented time from appearing tedious; and ennui was only known to her by name.
The two friends were nearly of an age, and happened to be married about the same time. Agnes was united to a deserving man, whose dispositions exactly coincided with her own. They had not wealth, but enjoyed a competency, and were contented and happy. Evaline became the wife of a worthy man, possessed of an ample fortune. He was enamoured of her beauty, which in a great weasure blinded bim to her foibles, although these were but too obvious to others. Her conduct after marriage, bow. ever, proved so glaring, that his eyes, though reluctantly, were at last opened. Dress, equipage, and visiting, engrossed all her tbougbts and attention. Her disappointed husband fondly cherished the expectation, that time and reflection might bring round a reform; but in this he found himself greatly mistaken. In due time she brought him a son. He now hoped that the career of folly would be at an end, and flattered himself that her attention would naturally be turned to so interesting an object. But no change in the lady's couduct took place. She soon informed bins that a nurse must be provided for the child, because she would uudergo neither the fatigue nor the confinement which the discharge of that duty required. He ventured to expostulate, but was upbraided with unfeeling disregard of her happiness.
She next became the parent of a lovely daughter, without being diverted from her injurious propensities by a concerns for her tender charge. Matters daily grew worse; and, although she saw her husband unhappy, she did not wish to consider herself the cause. As she could pot endure the want of company, she became less select in her choice, and more extravagant in her follies, until the tongue of censure at length began to exaggerate them into enormous crimes. Her husband could no longer remain silent; and, as she did not choose to be admonished, a very unpleasant altercation took place. In the course of this, she branded him with want of affection, and questioned his ever having entertained for her the regard which he professed. She supposed his motives from the beginning were mercenary; and that now, having obtained her fortune, he began to discover his dislike of her person. She had, however, been always accustomed to gratify and follow her own inclinations, and bad never, even when a child, met with either check or remonstrance from those who had a much better title to apply them, had they thought such interference necessary. She concluded with adding, that he might spare himself the pain and trouble of expressing them, as she was not disposed either to listen to his dictates, or attend to his admonitions. To the last part of her speech he made no reply, but throughout the remainder of the day appeared thoughtful and reserved; and when he addressed her, it was with a studied civility wbich she could not help feel. ing. Next morning he ordered his horse; and having put a paper into her hand, containing a reply to her cbarges, and adding a sum to the portion he received as her fortupe, exhorting her to retire to her parents, leave him the care of the children, and that she would take ber departure before bis return, and telling her that he would not return untilthe following day, hemountedand rode off.