, 1864-02-06


And, clasping the lovely girl in his arms,
"Betty! Betty, my loveH he cried, "don't
you know your own Tom? Father, mother,
don't you know me? Have you really for
got your own son? If twelve years have
made some change on his face, his heart is
sound as ever"
His father, his mother, and his brothers
cluDg round him, weeping, smiling, and
mingling q hundred questions together. He
threw his arms around the neck Of each,
and, in answer TO their inquiries, replied
swell, well, there is time enough to answer
questions, but not to-day-not to-day"
"No, my BARN." said his mother, "we'll
ask you no questions-nObody shall ask ye
any! But how-h0w were ye torn away
from us, my love? And, o hinny, where,
where hae ye been2
"Itis long story, mother" said he, "and
would take week to tell it. But, howso-
ever, to make long story short, you remem.
Der when the smugglers were pursued, and
wished to conceal their brandy in our house,
my father prevented them; they left NUT
tering revenge-and they have been re-
venged. This day twelve years, l went out
with the intention Of meeting Elizabeth and
her father, when l came upon party Of the
gang concealed in Hell's Hole. In mo
ment half dozen pistols were held to my
breast, and, tying my hands to my sides,
they dragged me into the cavern. Here l
had not been long their prisoner when the
snow, rolling down the mountains, almost
totally blocked up its mouth. On the second
night they cut through the snow, aud, hur-
rying me along with them, I was bound to
horse, between two, and before daylight
found myself slowed, like piece Of old
junk, in the hold Of a smuggling luggcr.
Within week l was shipped ON board q
Dutch man-of.war, and for six years was
kept dogging about on different stations, till
our old yawing hulk received orders to join
the feet which was to fight against the gal
liant Duncan at Camperdown. To think Of
fighting against my own countrymen, my
own flesh and blood, was worse than to be
cut to pieces by cato -nine-tails; and, un-
der cover Of the smoke of the first broad
side, / sprang upon the gunwale, plunged
into the sea, and swan for the English feet.
Never, never shall l forget tho moment that
my feet first trod the deck of a British
frigatel My nerves felt as firm as her oak,
and my heart free as the pennant that waved
defiance from her masthead. l was as ac-
tive as any one during the battle; and when
bit.wns over, and found myself again among
my own countrymen, and all speaking my
own language, fancied-nay, hang it i
almost believed-l should meet my father,
my mother, or my dear Bess, on board Of
the British frigate. / expected to sec you
all again in few weeks at farthest; but,
instead Of returning to Old England, before
was aware, found it was helm about with
us. As to writing, never had IN oppor-
tunity but once. Viewer anchored before
a French fort; packet was lying alongside
ready to sail; l had half side written, and
was scratching my head to think how /
should come over writing about you, Bess,
my love, when, as bad luck would have il,
our lieutenant comes to me, and says he,
Elliot says he, Il know you like little
smart service; come, my lad, take the head
oar while we board some Of those French
bum-boats under the batteries Icouldn't
say no. We pulled ashore, made bonfire
Of one Of their craft, and were setting fire
to a second, when a deadly shower Of small
shot from the garrison scuttlcd our boat,
killed our commanding officer with half Of
the crew, and the few who were left Of us
were made prisoners. 1t is Of no use both
ering you by telling how We escaped from
the French prison. We did escape; and
Tom will once more gil his vacant chair"
Should any Of our readers wish farther
acquaintance with our friends, all We can say
is, the new year was still young when Adam
Bell bestowed his daughters hand upon the
heir of Marchlaw; and Peter bcheld the
once vacant chair again occupied, and a
namesakc Of the third generation prattling
on his knee.