Spirit of the age. [volume] (Raleigh, N.C.) 1849-1865, 1854-09-20
THE LOST LAMBKIN.
BY AUGUSTINE DUGHANNE.

Was there ever a sweeter creature than
dear little golden-haired Flora Campbell,
with her light, fairy footsteps, androsy cheeks,
and violet eyes? How lovely she looked, as
she bounded over the green braes in the
morning, or fingered by the loch-side at the
quiet cleaning? Her heart was all sunshine,
and her thoughts pure and fresh as the flow
ers she twined in her shining tresses.
1t is a beautiful story they tell in Scottish
valleys, Of q poor idiot, e. innocent" as they
call him. who, when a sunbeam fell athwart
his sight, as he sat in the church, threw his
cloak across it-and the mantle hung upon
the shining notes. They tell us that Faith
worked the miracle-for Heaven would not
disappoint the idiots trust.
Sweet Flora Campbell she might have
thrown her mantle over the sunbeam ay, and
walked walk ID t hSo g Fds6EJa fnge abBh aiE EittRR a aaF af alibove
for her Young heart was all Faith, and
Hone, and Charity. She prattied with the
flowers, and the streamlets and the birds, and
. her clear, ringing voice was heard at day
break amid the heather, when the shepherds
led forth their focks. O, sunny, and joyful,
and happy as the day is long, was dear little
Flora Campbell. =,
Allowed the gentle child-and why should
thew not? Did not her tender hands bring
fresh flowers to the sick wife of Robert, the
ploughman? And did not her low voice
tremble softly in prayer, at the bedside of old
Elspie, the blind beggarwomen? o, who
would ~notlove the angel-hearted little maiden!
But where is Flora? Twilight is falling
over the mountains, and shutting in the wales
like a grew curtain. One by one, the brigh
stars steal up into the summer sky, and twin
kle amid the feecy evening clouds. The tin
king sheep-bell sounds nearer and nearer, a
the focks return to their mountain pastures
and the lowing of the kline in the farm-yar'
tells that the labors of the day are over. Blu
where is the golden-haired Flora Campbell
She was not used to- alifnH6G.-FS6r iee" froI
ny evening meal was spread, and the cottag
lamps lighted. The aged man clasped hi
hands together and murmured a short prave,
while his daughter, the mother of Flora. loo
ked anxiously out of the window, yearnin
for her child's return.
But Flora came not.
The shadows crept faster and faster aroun,
the valley. The old peasants sat at the;
cottage doors, and the young men and maiden
h0' gathered upon the village green, some t
walk and some to talk of love under tn,
broad chestnut tree-some to play the pipe
or dance to its merry music, and some to hur
is the QUOT, or wrestle in the ring.
But all was hRshed when CATER Camnhel
Ike came hurriediy from his cottage, inouiring O
the villagers If they had seen his grand-child
III Yes indeed had they.
gg One had beheld her far up in the moDnta; ms
plucking wild flowers, and weaving them int
a garland of heather another had met he
in the path to the Moss Glen, sitting by tn
way-slde, and plating a willow basket 70
her grandsire ; and a third had received som
ISL forest fruit from her hands, as he saw he
seated with her basket of flowers, near th
en- head of the loch.
"Ah, we must seek Flora" cried til
. youths Immediately. "The dear child-n
I'm harm can surely come to her"
on "Ah, me, CATER Campbell" said a white
y, haired old shepherd, shaking his head. 8"
feared something, for the youngest lambkil
OF my flock was lost to-day and it is a ba
sign, they say"
Heaven grant that my poor lambkin ma
ON be safe !" said CATER Campbell, solemnly.
"Amen!" murmured the white-hsire,
peasant.
The villagers now dispersed in variou
of paths leading to the mountain, the forest
and the loch and soon torches cleaned uno,
the heights, and glimmered among the trees
and flashed brightly over the water. Tn an,
down, along the stream, and through tn
woods, went the young men, calling upon tn
name of Flora Flora !"
DIS But no Flora answered.
to CATER Campbell leaned upon his staff. an,
IN spoke no word. He could not weep, for
is heavy weight was on his heart. But the mo
q Their of Flora was loud in her grief. Sh
he wept and beat her breast, and called alou,
lat the name of her child.
The aged pastor now approached. FL
had heard, at the manse, of Flora's disap
pearance for every house had been searched
within the hour; and he now came to com
fort the bereaved ones. Fear not, daughter
he said, Flora will return
'Ah, she is lost-she is lost to me- CRIED
on the mother.
~ He who tempereth the wind to the choir