* Scottice. It is difficult to convey the precise meaning of this expressive word. Perhaps

heavy, yet softly murmuring, comes near it.

Some saying one thing, some another,
Some trying painful doubts to smother:
But all afraid that in the glen,

There has been shed the blood of men

Of godly man-who in that day,

Must hide themselves when they would pray
According to their light and way.

But see, where CAMP has left the flock,

And bounding over stream and rock,
Runs with a whine of eager haste,
As if a fox he saw and chased;
Now round the hill, now down the glen,
He scents the feet of well-known men!
At length beneath a high cliff's shade,
He, panting, stops, to gaze afraid.

It was a sight for those to see,
Whose hearts are used to cruelty.
Some troopers bluff, and big, and strong,
With pistols large, and sabres long,

Stood close together, clustering,

Making the rocks with laughter ring.
Above their heads a smoky cloud
Is spreading thin its gauze-like shroud;
Which floats upon the gentle air,
And seems, by chance, to wander where
A murdered man still life-like lies,
And where 'tis lost to mortal eyes.

Poor Camp thus far had tracked the spot, Where lay the hill-lord of a cot. He knows the form, he smells the blood, Which reeking pours a purple flood; He licks the hand, then howls amain, He licks the face, and howls again; Distracted, on his master's breast He throws his own bedraggled chest ; And 'twixt his paws' extended lines, He lays his head, and lowly whines;

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