The Liverpool Standard and General Commercial Advertiser.
Liverpool, Merseyside, England, 1855-12-11 00:00:00

A _ROMANTIC STORY.

SOME twenty years ago, a young man whom I
shall call " Jamie," was pastor of a large congre-
gation of the Established Church of Scotland.
At school and at college he was distinguished
for his love of learning, and as a minister was un-
rivalled for his eloquence and mental attainments:
He had been settled about a year, and was upon
the eve of being married to a fine young woman
whom he had loved from childhood, when the
heritors, and several English gentlemen who were
then on a visit to the north, attended kirk to hear
the famous preacher. He more than verified his
fame ; he enraptured his audience. His theme
was the story of his Church. Its many disas-
trous wars, its martyrs; its heroes, its undying
hopes, even when despair seemed to shroud it in
endless night ; its unwearied toils and its final
triumphs were each in turn presented to the
minds of the hearers with a power and feeling
which defy description. He stood the genius of
eloquence personified. But there was one among
his hearers who was not bewildered by his glow-
ing pictures.
The gentle-hearted Belle, his betrothed, when
the congregation dispersed, followed him to the
manse. He received her in his study, but while
conducting her to a chair she sank to the floor
and burst into tears. " Oh, Jamie !" she ex-
claimed, as he raised her tenderly in his arms and
seated her on a sofa, "ye hae broken my puir
heart ?" " How so, my Belle ?—explain !" "Ye
were drunk, raving drunk, Jamie, and I wonder
the elders did nae tak ye out o' the pulpit ! Ye
whined and ranted, and sometimes, God forgive
me for saying sae, I thought I saw the Evil One
standing beside you, laughing and clapping you
on the shoulder. My puir brain reeled—l was
mad and knew it—l'm mad now—l canna live
out this day—l feel my blood freeze-0 God, be
merciful to me a sinner, and save, 0, save my
Jamie !" Her head reclined upon his bosom,
she gazed at him for a moment, and expired in
his arms.

He had preached Ms last sermon. No en-
treaties of a .congregation who loved him—no
flattering offers of future preferment tendered by
the gentry could induce him to resume his labours
as a minister.

Five or six years passed, when the writer of
this, who was his schoolfellow, accidentally met
him in London. Jamie was then one of the
principal teachers in a large educational estab-
lishment, and was highly esteemed for his moral
excellence of character, as well as his learning
and skill as a successful teacher. He was dressed
in deep mourning, shunned society, and when the
labours of the day closed, he either wandered
alone through the streets, or retired to his lodg-
ings. The scene of Belle's death was ever present
to his memory. . _ _

Her pure soul, he said, saw him as he was—a
poor, vain, self-conceited sinner. For the pur-
pose of concentrating his thoughts, and infusing
life into his sermons, he was in the habit of taking
a glass of whisky before entering the pulpit.
The morning before lie preached the fatal sermon
he felt rather nervous, for he knew there would
be strangers there to hear him, and he took
nearly two glasses. What he said, or how he
conducted himself, no effort could recall—the
death of Belle alone had merged into itself the
doings of that fearful day. The compliments

204

which he received sounded in his ears like satire
and mockery, and the very name of liquor im-
pressed him with horror.

He left home and came to London, where he
obtained a situation as a teacher ; but everything
appeared so black to him that he expressed fear
he should, in some unguarded moment, destroy
himself.

His friend, who was a sailor, suggested some
active employment that would call into play his
physical faculties, and thus give his mind a rest-
ing-spell, and ended by offering to procure a place
before the mast in a ship. " I like your sugges-
tion," he said, " but dislike the sea." " Then
turn soldier, and seek employment in India,
where there always is plenty of fighting." "I
will," he said, springing from his chair ; " when
my engagement expires, I will purchase an
ensign's commission. I wonder the thought
never suggested itself to me, for my ancestors, as
far back as I can trace them, were soldiers.
Better, far better, die on the field of battle, than
to fall by one's own hand." We separated.
A few weeks since, in running my eye along
the list of those who had distinguished themselves
at the battle of Inkerman, I saw the name of
Lieut.-Colonel -. A letter from my friend has
since informed me that he had served in India
under Lord Gough, and was promoted for his
gallant conduct in three campaigns. He was
present at the battles of Alma, Balaklava, and
Inkerman, and at last accounts was in • good
health, engaged in the siege of Sebastopol. He
was still single ; " his heart was dead to love !"--
Boston Atlas.

LEGEND OF THE BOUTIER Altin THE

NOBLE HEAD.

BY the bye, did you hear the tale Gabrielle
told, as we crossed the valley, of the Routier and
the Noble Head ?"

"No ; how should I? My cart was in advance.
What was it ?"

" It sounded all the better from such merry,
rosy lips. I shall maul it, I know. However,
the gist of it was this : A pretty strong force of
routiers having taken a town, one of them, pass-
ing an open door of a house, saw what he took
for a sheep's head hanging up in the passage.
Thought the routier, here's a supper for me !so
he popped it into his bag, without much examina-
tion in the dusk, and proceeded to his quarters.
On turning out his booty, however, you may
guess his disappointment and disgust, on finding
it to be the head of a man recently beheaded.
" Humph !' thought he, this is not exactly
what I expected. Bad as I may be; I am'not yet
a cannibal. By these long and soft curls of
dark brown hair, and this well-trimmed moustache,
I conclude this head to have been struck off the
shoulders of some young nobleman, whose friends
will not with indifference see it thrown to the
dogs. I may,' perchance, make money of it.'
"On inquiry, he found that the head had
indeed belonged to the young lord of a neigh-
bouring castle, and that the house he had taken
it from was that of the chief executioner.
"As the castle was not far off, the routier
started for it ,at once, carrying the head in his
bag. The castle-gates had been torn off their
hinges by the king's orders, and the family
banner lay trampled in the dust. A faithful old
steward, with eyes red with weeping, received
him without suspicion, and conducted him to the
hall where the father of the young count sat dis-
consolate, teaching two pretty boys, his orphaned
grandsons, to say their prayers. When the
routier saw the old man thus engaged, his heart
lnelted, and he stopped short at the threshho/d.
The old count, seeing him there, laid aside his