Death of Morris.

Vivid Narrative, exemplifying, after the introductory sentence, Sym. pathetic Horror, then successively, Terror, Scorn, Revenge, Horror and Awe.

It was under the burning influence of revenge that the wife of Macgregor commanded that the hostage, exchanged for her husband's safety, should be brought into her presence. I believe her sons had kept this unfortunate wretch out of her sight, for fear of the consequences; but if it was so, their humane precaution only postponed his fate. They dragged forward, at her summons, a wretch, already half dead with terror, in whose agonized features, I recognized, to my horror and astonishment, my old acquaintance Morris.

He fell prostrate before the female chief with an effort to clasp her knees, from which she drew back, as if his touch had been pollution, so that all he could do in token of the extremity of his humiliation, was to kiss the hem of her plaid. I never heard entreaties for life poured forth with such agony of spirit. The ecstasy of fear was such, that, instead of paralyzing his tongue, as on ordinary occasions, it even rendered him eloquent; and, with cheeks as pale as ashes, hands compressed in agony, eyes that seemed to be taking their last look of all mortal objects, he protested, with the deepest oaths, his total ignorance of any design on the life of Rob Roy, whom he swore he loved and honored as his own soul. In the inconsistency of his terror, he said he was but the agent of others, and he muttered the name of Rashleigh. He prayed but for life - for life he would give all he had in the world; it was but life he asked-life, if it were to be prolonged under tortures and privations, — he asked only breath though it should be drawn in the damps of the lowest caverns of their hills.

It is impossible to describe the scorn, the loathing, and contempt, with which the wife of Macgregor regarded this wretched petitioner for the poor boon of existence.

"I could have bid you live," she said, "had life been to you the same weary and wasting burden that it is to me that it is to every noble and generous mind. But you-wretch! you could creep through the world unaffected by its various disgraces, its ineffable miseries, its constantly accumulating masses of crime and sorrow, — you could live and enjoy yourself, while the noble-minded

are betrayed, - while nameless and birthless villains tread on the neck of the brave and long-descended, you could enjoy yourself, like a butcher's dog in the shambles, battening on garbage, while the slaughter of the brave went on around you! This enjoyment you shall not live to partake of; you shall die, base dog, and that before yon cloud has passed over the sun."

She gave a brief command, in Gaelic, to her attendants, two of whom seized upon the prostrate suppliant, and hurried him to the brink of a cliff which overhung the flood. He set up the most piercing and dreadful cries that fear ever uttered -I may well term them dreadful; for they haunted my sleep for years afterwards. As the murderers, or executioners, call them as you will, dragged him along, he recognized me even in that moment of horror, and exclaimed, in the last articulate words I ever heard him utter, “O, Mr. Osbaldistone, save me! save me me!"

I was so much moved by this horrid spectacle, that, although in momentary expectation of sharing his fate, I did attempt to speak in his behalf, but, as might have been expected, my interference was sternly disregarded. The victim was held fast by some, while others, binding a large heavy stone in a plaid, tied it around his neck, and others again eagerly stripped him of some part of his dress. Half naked, and thus manacled, they hurried him into the lake, there about twelve feet deep, drowning his last deathshriek with a loud halloo of vindictive triumph, over which, however, the yell of mortal agony was distinctly heard. The heavy burden splashed in the dark blue waters of the lake; and the Highlanders, with their pole-axes and swords, watched an instant, to guard, lest, extricating himself from the load to which he was attached, he might have struggled to regain the shore. But the knot had been securely bound; the victim sunk without effort; the waters, which his fall had disturbed, settled calmly over him; and the unit of that life for which he had pleaded so strongly, was forever withdrawn from the sum of human existence.

Walter Scott.

Courtship under Difficulties.

Snobbleton. Yes, there is that fellow Jones again. I declare, the man is ubiquitous. Wherever I go with my cousin Prudence we stumble across him, or he follows her like her shadow. Do we take a boating? So does Jones. Do we wander on the beach? So does Jones. Go where we will, that fellow follows or moves before. Now, that was a cruel practical joke which Jones once played upon me at college. I have never forgiven him. But I would gladly make a pretence of doing so, if I could have my revenge. Let me see. Can't I manage it? He is head over ears in love with Prudence, but too bashful to speak. I half believe she is not indifferent to him, though altogether unacquainted. It may prove a match, if I cannot spoil it. Let me think. Ha! I have it! A brilliant idea! Jones, beware! But here he comes. (Enter JONES.)

Jones. (Not seeing Snobbleton, and delightedly contemplating a flower, which he holds in his hand.) Oh, rapture! what a prize! It was in her hair—I saw it fall from her queenly head. (Kisses it every now and then.) How warm are its tender leaves from having touched her neck! How doubly sweet is its perfume-fresh from the fragrance of her glorious locks! How beautiful! how-Bless me! here is Snobbleton, and we are enemies!

Snobbleton. Good-morning, Jones-that is, if you will shake hands.

Jones. What! you-you forgive! You really—

Snob. Yes, yes, old fellow! All is forgotten. You played me a rough trick; but, let bygones be bygones. Will you not bury the hatchet?

Jones. With all my heart, my dear fellow !

Snob. What is the matter with you, Jones? You look quite grumpy-not by any means the same cheerful, dashing, rollicking fellow you were.

Jones. Bless me, you don't say so! (Aside.) Confound the man! Here have I been endeavoring to appear romantic for the last month-and now to be called grumpy—it is unbearable !

Snob. But, never mind. Cheer up, old fellow! I see it all. I know what it is to be in

Jones. Ah! you can then sympathize with me!

what it is to be in

You know

Snob. Of course I do! Heaven preserve me from the toils! And then the letters-the interminable letters !

Jones. Oh, yes, the letters! the billet doux!

Snob. And the bills-the endless bills!

Jones. The bills!

Snob. Yes; and the bailiffs, the lawyers, the juage, and the jury. Jones. Why, man, what are you talking about? I thought you said you knew what it was to be in

Snob. In debt. To be sure I did.

Jones.

Bless me! I'm not in debt-never borrowed a dollar in my life. Ah, me! it's worse than that.

Snob. Worse than that! Come, now, Jones, there is only one thing worse. You're surely not in love?

Jones. Yes, I am. Oh, Snobby, help me, help me! Let me confide in you.

Snob. Confide in me! Certainly, my dear fellow! See! I do not shrink-I stand firm.

Jones. Snobby, I-I love her.

Snob. Whom?

Jones. Your cousin, Prudence.

Snob. Ha! Prudence Angelina Winter?

Jones. Now, don't be angry, Snobby! I don't mean any harm, you know. I-I-you know how it is.

Snob. Harm! my dear fellow. Not a bit of it. Angry! Not at all. You have my consent, old fellow. Take her. She is yours. Heaven bless you both.

Jones. You are very kind, Snobby, but I haven't got her consent yet.

Snob. Well, that is something, to be sure. But, leave it all to She may be a little coy, you know; but, considering your generous overlooking of her unfortunate defect-

me.

Jones. Defect! You surprise me.

Snob. What! and you did not know of it?

Jones. Not at all. I am astonished! Nothing serious, I hope. Snob. Oh, no! only a little-(He taps his ear with his finger, knowingly.) I see, you understand it.

Jones. Merciful heaven! can it be? But really, is it serious ? Snob. I should think it was.

Jones.

What! But is she ever dangerous?

Snob. Dangerous! Why should she be ?

Jones. Oh, I perceive ! A mere airiness of brain—a gentle aberration-scorning the dull world—a mild—

Snob. Zounds, man! she's not crazy !

Jones. My dear Snobby, you relieve me. What then?

Snob. As a lamp-post. That is, you must elevate your voice to a considerable pitch in speaking to her.

Jones. Is it possible! However, I think I can manage. As, for instance, if it was my intention to make her a floral offering, and I should say (elevating his voice considerably), “Miss, will you make me happy by accepting these flowers ?" I suppose she could hear me, eh? How would that do?

Snob. Pshaw! Do you call that elevated

Jones. Well, how would this do? (Speaks very loudly.) "Miss will you make me happy—”

Snob. Louder, shriller, man!

Jones. "Miss, will you—"

Snob. Louder, louder, or she will only see your lips move. Jones. (Almost screaming.) "Miss, will you oblige me by accepting these flowers?"

Snob. There, that may do. Still, you want practice. I perceive the lady herself is approaching. Suppose you retire for a short time, and I will prepare her for the introduction.

Jones. Very good. Meantime, I will go down to the beach, and endeavor to acquire the proper pitch. Let me see: you oblige me—”

(Enter PRUDENCE.)

Miss, will (Exit Jones.)

Prudence. Good-morning, cousin. Who was that, speaking so loudly!

Srob. Only Jones Poor fellow, he is so deaf that I suppose he fancies his own voice to be a mere whisper.

Pru. Why, I was not aware of this. Is he very deaf?

Snob. Deaf as a stone fence. To be sure, he does not use an