which her mother-in-law had given her, the memorial of the prince's troubled visit to their house. She was the mother of five sons, who all held commissions under the reigning sovereigns, and of two daughters, one of whom lived to a great age, inheriting her mother's features and principles.*

* See "Memoirs of the Pretender and his Adherents," to which frequent reference has been made.

MISS MACKAY.

THE following story is gathered from an interesting narra tive published by Miss Porter many years ago. The incidents, to which we have confined ourselves, were told her by a lady of rank, who assured her that every circumstance was strictly true, and well known to a member of her own family.

For

The scene of this remarkable adventure was a castle in Argyleshire, now in ruins, but at that time (the year 1744-5) inhabited by a Scotch laird and his sister. This gentleman, on the death of his elder brother, had recently retired from foreign service, and returned to Scotland, bringing with him his young sister, who had been educated in France. some months their time passed pleasantly in scenes and habits of life new to both of them; but after this the young lady observed with concern that her brother's spirits became depressed, and that his natural cheerfulness was changing into an expression of habitual gloom and melancholy. Herself of a remarkably timid, gentle character, she had no power to contend against his growing depression, and her spirits sank with his, till at length, to relieve her own troubled and anxious fears, as well as in the hope that another might have more skill to chase away her brother's gloom than she had found herself to possess, she persuaded him with some difficulty to allow her to invite a friend to

pass some months with her. This young lady, somewhat older than herself, and free to act according to her own wishes, in pity for her poor friend's loneliness and evident anxiety of mind, consented to comply with her entreaties, and shortly after arrived on her promised visit. There was

a great contrast in the character of the two friends: Miss Mackay, which is the name of our heroine, possessing in a remarkable degree the courage, energy, and strong understanding, which her young hostess wanted; but the want of which, in her case, was atoned for by great kindness of heart, and a most sweet and affectionate temper.

She was not long in confiding to her friend the change in her brother which had caused her so much uneasiness; and Miss Mackay's keen observation very soon led her to suspect that his evident depression was owing to some painful or dangerous secret which weighed heavily on his mind. Acting on this conviction, she endeavoured, by every kind and unobtrusive attention, to win his esteem and confidence: the only means by which she could hope to be of real service. During her stay at the castle, many accidental circumstances occurred to bring out her extraordinary qualities. On one occasion especially, when the house where they happened to be visiting took fire, the laird could not but be struck by her courage and extraordinary presence of mind. This led him voluntarily to seek her society, instead of giving way to the habits of lonely musing which had lately grown upon him; so that his sister, rejoicing in this change, and attributing it only to one cause, began to form high hopes that the friend she loved best in the world might one day become her sister. Miss Mackay, however, understood his manner better, and being very sure that admiration, in the ordinary acceptation of the word, had no part in his feeling towards herself, she was at liberty to pursue her plan of kindness towards him.

His sister's timidity and delicate health did not allow her to venture on horseback; but Miss Mackay was glad to be able to explore, under his escort, the neighbouring country, and thus she had fresh opportunities for observing his de portment. Among the possible causes for his depression, she began to suppose him the victim of second-sight (a belief still prevalent in Scotland), an opinion which was one day much strengthened, when, on reaching a height which commanded a view of the sea, she heard him exclaim to himself "I see, I see the bloody issue!"

At these words, Miss Mackay boldly stepped forward, and, allowing the nature of her suspicions to transpire, entreated

him, if he dared to trust in her kindness and regard, and she could in any way relieve or assist him, to say what it was that weighed so heavily on his mind; adding, that though she could not claim a sister's right, yet, in his case, a sister's very anxiety and affection might prevent her being an equally safe confidant.

Thus urged, he owned that he had a secret, though not of the nature she had hinted at; nor his alone; that it was one fraught with difficulty and danger, yet in which she might be of the greatest service, if, as he believed, she had courage for the part that might be assigned to her, and was willing to incur the risk to which she would render herself liable. He then asked if she was willing to hear this secret, under the solemn promise never to reveal it to any one.

She answered" If your secret contains nothing against the commandment of God, and the well-being of my country, I am here ready to hear it, keep it, swear to it."

He assured her that there was nothing in it which, as a religious Scotchwoman, she might not lend her hand and heart to, but that he must not tell it then; adding, with solemnity, that there was but one place and one hour in which he should feel it safe to reveal it-that hour was twelve o'clock of the same night, and the place of meeting the smaller door of the last quadrangle of the castle, whence he would conduct her to the spot where the secret was to be told.

Having full reason to trust his assurances, she promised to obey these directions; though not without some apprehensions as the time appointed drew near. She succeeded, however, in concealing those feelings from her young friend. The day passed as usual; and, as the clock struck ten, they separated for the night. Resolving not to alarm herself unnecessarily by dwelling on the singular interview which was before her, Miss Mackay sat down to read till it was time to leave her room. Then, wrapping herself in her plaid, she knelt down for a few moments to ask a blessing on her enterprise. As the clock struck twelve she opened her door, and lightly descending the stairs, and threading the mazes of a long and intricate passage, she let herself out by a back door into one of the open courts. From thence she made her way through other deserted passages and roofless por

tions of the building, till she entered the most distant quadrangle, where stood the great tower. By the light of a small lantern, which she kept carefully turned in an opposite direction from the inhabited part of the castle, she saw the laird was waiting for her at the appointed spot. In silence he bowed his head as she came up to him; and, leading the way, proceeded to a door at the foot of the tower. This he opened with a small key, and having entered at the bottom of a spiral staircase, locked the door; and, turning to her, asked, in a low voice, if, in spite of such almost awful precautions, she still adhered to her first resolution-entreating her, if she felt any fear, to return at once. The hour, and the strange mystery, for a moment daunted her spirits; but, summoning her courage, she answered boldly, that she would go through with what she had undertaken.

From the first landing-place they turned into a long suite of apartments, which occupied the whole of that side of the building. They were large and deserted. In some the windows were entirely shaken out; in others they were loose and shaking. In the last chamber, which was smaller than the preceding ones, and the windows of which were better secured, the laird stopped, locked the door, and warning his companion to remember all he did, pressed his foot upon the spring of a trap-door, which immediately started up. He then guided her down a steep flight of stone steps into a vault, evidently running far under the castle. Here he paused, and, pointing to a large iron chest, begged his companion to rest upon it, while he would explain all she had seen, and try to secure her aid in a good cause.

He then told her of the projected invasion of Scotland by him whom she had been taught to consider the son of her rightful king, and that he was shortly expected to head, in person, such an army as his friends might privately collect. The laird had been presented to the prince abroad, and had there entered into his cause with enthusiasm. He had come to Scotland full of hope; but, in the progress of his negotiations with the different noblemen and gentlemen who were to take part in the enterprise, he had found so much lukewarmness, rashness, and folly, in those concerned, that all his bright expectations faded, and he was full of despair for the issue. It was this that had so clouded his spirits; his