The Newberry herald. [volume] (Newberry, S.C.) 1865-1884, 1871-02-15
HBonnie Prince Charlie"


the battle of Culloden, that "Bon-
ME Prince Charlie" lay hid in the
passes of Glen Moriston, and
dared not move out, for posted far
and wide from the point of Ben
| Attow to Beauley were the Eng
lish rcd-coats. 1t was known
that the prince was in hiding in
the glen, and the English Govern
mcnt were resolved to intercept
him in any attempt he might
f! make to reach the sca-coast. But
there were some who, "death and
exile braving," were bent on re-
leasing him from his perilous po-
sition.
"Yc'Il not forget me entirely,
Mary, hinny, lfso be ye'd never
sec me mair gin this night DO
over. 'Tis a lang, drcary way
I'm travelling this cen, andt there's
name go sure-footcd but wha'll slip
anc day. Kiss me ance mair, and
gle me your word yell think on
your Jamaic till yc meet him
again ; it might be on airth, but 1t
maun be in heaven
"What for are ye so downcast
this cen, Jamie? IT'S mony a
time yc've walked frae Invermor-
iston to Caenacroich sync yo put
the pack upon your shoulder
Cheer up, mon, and sure I'll ne'er
forget ye till ye'rc back hame on
the morn. Te max me greet Wi
your dolcfu' waillngs."
"Dinna greet, lassie it may be
I'm wrang, but I've a weight that
presses down my HART and fore
bodies sad wark for me twa. But
gin l return or gin l IA asleep
among the stones in the glen, tits
a one, syne we maun meet again.
My lassic and my king is a the
warld to me-"
The pcdlar shouldcrcd his pack
and slowly wound his way down
the little path from the Highland
cIachan. At the foot of the mound
he stood and looked back.
The last rays Of the setting sun
dyed the rich brown heather of
the thatched cottage to a ruddier
| hue, and turned the faxen locks
Of his Mary to 4 i,alo of gold.
The high hills behind formed a
background Of deep indigo to the
picture, and fondly the pcdIar
eazcd on that wcll-known scene !;
then, waving his hand to the tall
Girl who stood shading her eyes
from the sun to look after him,
resumed his course. It led him
over mountains and moors,
through woods Ct pine, trees: and
by the foaming, tumbling river,
Moriston.
1t was a still, frosty winters S
night; each footstep that he took
russiad The dying leaves or re-
sounded along the highway. The
moon. gradually rising from = bed
of clouds, illumined the whole
scene, gave a mysterious white
ness to the snow-cappcd distant
mountains, and sparkled diamond
like upon the crystal drops Of dew
and hoar-frost by the roadside
The feathcry birch-trecs: all blown
and bent by their frequent con-
tests with the wind, now rested
motionless from their ceaseless
murmurings. Nothing disturbed
the quiet, save the pedlar's foot
steps, for the very deer, accus-
toned to his frequent journeys to
and fro, know him, and lay still in
their covcrts. Often and often
had lie trod that path, whist'ing
gaiIy, perhaps, as he went, or
thinking Of his Mary; but now he
trod gIoomily, drearily, no sound
on his lips but the dull, dread pre-
sentiment weighing down his
heart.
"Whist!" shouted a voice sud-
denly in his ear, and the pedlar
started back several PAGES. a
tall giliic stood before him, having
risen, as it were, from the very
earth itself: The pedlar's alarm
was, however, short-livcd. lie
RECOGNIZED a friend, and it was
with 4 "Wcll met, Sandy. From
where spring we?" that he ad-
vanccd with out-stretched hand.