very hearts; and men, angry and ferocious, and full of rage, have, in a few minutes, been melted and subdued, by a sentence spoken to them in the accents they know and love. Do you remember what I once said to you about the power of language in working upon the heart and feelings? Here, you see, is a striking instance of what words and speech are able to effect.

There was one chieftain whom Charles was particularly anxious to secure to his interests; this was the brave Lochiel, one of the most influential among the Highland clans. Lochiel at first was unwilling to join the young adventurer, for he thought the attempted scheme was quite hopeless; and he determined to go himself to Charles, and tell him his opinion. So he set off accordingly. On his way he paid a visit to his younger brother, Cameron of Fassefern, and mentioned his intention to him. This brother well knew how warm and ardent Lochiel was; and he strongly advised him not to go in person to Charles, but to communicate what he had to say by letter. "I know you," said Fassefern, "better than you know yourself. If this prince once sets eyes upon you he will make you do whatever he pleases." This was wise advice. When we have determined upon a certain line of conduct as that which ought to be pursued, we

should be careful to avoid any temptation which may lead us to deviate from it; and this is particularly necessary in the case of persons who, like the open-hearted Lochiel, are easily persuaded by those whom they love and venerate, even against their better judgments. Lochiel, however, did not heed the advice of his brother; and the result was just what Fassefern had anticipated.

For some time indeed, the chieftain stood firm and unmoved by all the arguments used by Charles against his opinions and remonstrances. At last the Prince grew excited, and began to appeal to the feelings, the warm generous feelings, of Lochiel. "In a few

days," he said, "with the friends I have, I will raise the royal standard, and proclaim to the people of Britain, that Charles Stuart is come over to claim the crown of his ancestors, -to win it, or perish in the attempt. Lochiel who, my father has often told me, was our warmest friend, may stay at home, and learn from the newspapers the fate of his prince."

This appeal overcame the ardent Lochiel at once. "No," he answered, "I will share the fate of my prince, and so shall every man over whom nature or fortune has given me power." And thus the conference ended. An important one it was to Charles and his scheme, for it was generally thought in the Highlands,

that had Lochiel stood firm, no other chieftain would have been bold enough to join the young Pretender, and so the rebellion would have ended at once. As it was, it happened very differently.

And now the time was come when Charles thought he might venture to raise his standard, and, as he had told Lochiel, proclaim to the people, that he was come over to demand the crown of his ancestors for his father, the old Cavalier. The spirited lines at the head of this chapter, describe the scene of the memorable day on which that standard was raised, and the vale of Glenfinnan, which is alluded to in one of the stanzas, was the spot in which the event took place.

It was one morning in the month of August, that Charles Edward, with a few of his adherents, arrived at the appointed place of meeting. This was a lonely valley surrounded by high and craggy rocks, and through it flowed the river Finnan, murmuring on as it took its course towards the sea. No other sound than the ripple of its waters was to be heard, as Charles and his little band entered that secluded glen, there to join, as they thought, a number of their friends and fellow-adventurers. But no brave Highlanders were there to meet them;-that valley, which Charles had fondly hoped to see filled with men ready

armed, was desolate and silent; and, for the first time, he felt discouraged. He began to think that, after all, his hopes were vain; and that his warmest friends had forsaken him at the very moment when he most required their assistance. In this mournful mood Charles entered a little rude hut, and there passed a weary time of melancholy suspense. We may fancy what his feelings must have been. He had risked all to endeavour to obtain the crown for his father. He was actually raising an insurrection in the country with that aim, and he was liable, if discovered and taken, to be punished as a rebel. His only hope rested in the efforts of a few ardent adventurers like himself; and now where were they? Who was there in that lonely valley to support his cause, and stand up and fight for his defence? Must he give up all for lost, and return to exile and obscurity? He rose, and looked out, but every thing was desolate as before.

He

walked to and fro in anxiety,-no one came. One hour passed, two hours,-still no friend appeared to cheer him. Charles was almost in despair, when suddenly a sound was heard. He listened; it was the well-known sound of the Highland music,-the shrill pibroch,that struck upon his ear. He started up in the joy of the moment, feeling, or hoping, that he need not yet despair,-and presently

a band of seven hundred Highlanders appeared, descending the craggy path, and entering the valley. In another moment, they caught the first glance of their prince," their bonnie Charlie," and then the wild valley rung with shouts of joy, and loud and long-continued cheering. There was no more gloom; no more silence then. Charles went forward to meet his friends; he led them to a little mound in the centre of the glen, and there, in the midst of the devoted band, the royal standard of the Stuarts was raised. The banner was of red silk, with a white space in the centre in which was inscribed the motto "Tandem Triumphans." It was upreared by Moray, the Marquis of Tullibardine, an aged and infirm man, but one warm as ever in the cause of the Old Cavalier. He is thus referred to in the song from which we took the stanzas you just now read:

Oh, high-minded Moray! the exil'd, the dear,

In the blush of the morning the standard up-rear;
Wide, wide on the winds of the north let it fly,
Like the sun's latest flash, when the tempest is nigh.

And as the banner floated in the wind on that summer morning, the joyous Highlanders threw their bonnets in the air, and shouted again and again, so that it was some minutes before the aged Tullibardine, who, on account of his weakness and infirmities, was supported