False the advice to us was brought-
'Tis he the misery hath wrought
Unto the lovely dame aggrieved,
Whom late he from your hand received.
Poor lady! reft of hope and fame,
And all that was her rightful claim-
My lord, believe it if you can,

This bold Sir Hugh was married man-
Married for seven years before
He came a wooer to your door."-

"I'll not believe," Argyle replied,
"That man alive durst have defied
Me to my face in such a way.
Sir, this calumny gainsay,

If thou the least respect wouldst claim
To noble warrior's honour'd name."-

“All false! All false, my lord, in faith," Sir Hugh replied, with stifled breath. "A hoax, a filam your Grace to gall; To prove it. I defy them all."

"The proof, Sir Knight, shall soon be brought

Home to your heart, with vengeance fraught.

Your former spouse, from Highland wood,
Is here in blooming lustihood;
And as appropriate garniture,
And a kind welcome to secure,
A sweet young family hath brought,
Wild as young cubs in forest caught-
Whose thews and features are no shams,
Whose carrot locks and kilted hams
The darkest secrets might betray,
Were there no other 'mergent way.
She has call'd here in deep distress-
Our fair friend's anguish you may guess;
From this, what marvel can there be,
That she denies your face to see?"

Hast thou not seen the morning ray
Ascend the east with springing day,
Now red, now purple, and now pale,
The herald of the stormy gale ?

Thou hast. Yet thou can'st never view The dead blank look of brave Sir Hugh. Two wives at once to deprehend him— And Highland wives-The Lord defend him!

Argyle was wroth, it might be seen, Yet still preserved his look serene. He saw the guilty deed confess'd, By signs which could not be repress'd; And studied in his lordly mind, The sharpest punishment assign'd, When Duncan, with broad Highland face, Came with bow and "Please her Grace, Tere pe fine lhady at her gate, Whose grhief of mhind pe very grheat; And pretty poy upon her hand, As was not porn in any landPrave Highlander so prave and young, And spaiks in her own moter tongue; What shall her nainsel say or dhoo? She cries to speak with prave Sir Hugh." Sir Hugh then thought without a doubt That evils compass'd him about.

"O Lord!" he cried, in fervent way, Then turn'd in manifest dismay— “I'll go,” said he, "straight to the gate→→ I must not let the lady wait.""No," cried Argyle, "you 'scape not

So.

Guards, keep the door, till once we know
How he himself of this can clear.
Duncan, go bring the lady here."
Duncan bow'd low, and off he ran,
A pliant and right joyful man-
Deeming the lady sure of grace,
When brought before his master's face;
For tartan'd dame from glen or isle,
Ne'er sued in vain to great Argyle.

In came young Mora, blushing deep,
Fresh from Glen-Lyon's lordly steep;
The healthful odours of the wild;
Breathing around her and her child.
Their fragrance came like freshening gale,
For grateful travellers to inhale-
Like kindred roses sweet and bland,
Or wandering wind from fairy land.
The boy was robed like royal fay,
In bold Clan-Gillan's bright array-
Belted and plumed, the elfin smiled,
The phoenix of his native wild;
Herself in the same robes bedight
She wore on her first bridal night,
When he she long had nursed in pain
Led her unto the darksome fane,
And gave her hand without a stain,
And heart, never to change again,
While torches glimmer'd dimly on
Boleskine's sacred altar-stone.

The astonish'd group stood moveless
still,

And neither utter'd good nor ill.
Such beauty, grace, and comely mould,
Said more than language ever told
For her and hers, Ere she'd begun
To speak some favour she had won-
But some resemblance that she bore,
Some unacknowledged likeness more-
Even great Argyle, of tranquil mien,
And noted for perception keen,
Held no suspicion that the dame,
That comely mother, was the same
Who queen of beauty rank'd the while
In the emporium of our isle.

He was the first that silence broke. Taking her hand, these words he spoke : "Fair lady, I have heard a part

Of how much wrong'd and grieved thou

art.

What share I had by suit or sway,
I'll rue until my dying day;

But this I promise, that thy right
Shall be as sacred in my sight
As thou of kindred had'st a claim,
And she an alien to our name:
Declare thy grievous wrongs erewhile,
And trust the issue to Argyle."-

"My honoured liege, thy handmaid I, And of M'Calan's lineage high,

Glen-Lyon's verdant hills I claim,
And Mora Campbell is my name;
His sister, who commission bore
Under young Campbell of Mamore,
Who led your Grace's clansmen bold,
On dark Culloden's bloody wold.
"That summer when the English host
Lay on Lochaber's ruined coast,
Some dames and maidens of your line
Went to the camp to intertwine
With laurel every hero's plume
Who fought rebellion to consume.
Too much elated there and then,
This gallant knight, Sir Hugh de Vane,
Made love to me by suit and boon,
And won my youthful heart too soon.
We married were by chaplain vile
In old Boleskine's holy isle,-
My brother present; here's the ring;
The registers, the entering-
As safe and solemn to my mind,
As man alive could couple bind.
Sir Hugh dares not the truth deny,
Nor in one point give me the lie.

"But when the order questionless
Came for the host to march express,
His tongue, to truth and honour dead,
Denied me at the army's head;
While the base chaplain stood as glum
As rigid statue, deaf and dumb-
A mere automaton, subjected
To do as General's eye directed.

"My brother charged Sir Hugh in
wrath,

Fought him, and met untimely death;
While I, in sorrow and in pain,
Fled to my native hills again,
Where, of young mother all forlorn,
This sweet unfather'd babe was born,
.Who now is rightful heir to all
Glen-Lyon's braes and Fortingall.
"But yet, my lord-who would be-
lieve't?-

For all the injuries I received,
I found my heart, in woful plight,
Still clung unto this cruel knight,
With such a fondness, mix'd with pain,
I found I ne'er could love again.
Therefore, in thine and heaven's sight,
I claim him as my primal right."-
"Certes, you may, and him obtain ;
Your claim's substantial, fair, and plain;
Your suit you will not-cannot miss.
But then the worst of all is this,
That he'll be hung for felony;
Then what hast thou, or what has she?"
"I think, my lord," Sir Hugh replied,
With haggard air and look aside,
"Since banging must me overtake,
Let it be now for pity's sake.
I've fought in battle-field and glen
The fiercest of the sons of men ;
The Mackintoshes, stern and gray,
And the blue Camerons of the brae ;

me

Is an unfathom'd mystery;
But I suppose it was alone

The devil himself that urged me on;
For I declare, as I've to die,
No man e'er loved so well as I
This lovely dame. But I was bit
And bullied till I lost my wit;
Yet never since that hour of teen
One happy moment have I seen.
I love this last one too, 'tis true;
But, Mora, by my soul I vow,
"Tis for her likeness unto you."

The tears ran down young Mora's
cheek;

She turn'd away, but could not speak,
Till Lady Ella of Argyle,
With face uplighted by a smile,
Arose, and took a hand of each,
And said, "Sir Hugh, this shameful
breach

Of truth and honour quite o'erpowers
This dame, whose virgin love was yours,
And never will from you depart,
While the warm tide pervades her heart.
But though that heart you sore have
wrung,

She cannot bear to see you hung,
And she is right; for, to my mind,
Hanging's no joke, and that you'll find.
And what may this dear boy betide,
Without a father him to guide?
And what disgrace the cant will be,
"Your father hung on Tyburn tree!'
Take both the dames then, as you can
Speed to Cathay or Hindoostan,

Where you may take a score or two,
And none to say, 'tis wrong you do."-
"Yes, there is one," Dame Mora said,
While tears came streaming to her aid.
But ere another word she spoke,
Old Duncan Glas the silence broke,
With face as grim and as demure,
As winter cloud before the shower-
"Oh plaise her Crace, fwat shall she
too?

Mattam Te-fane waits here pelow,
Wit salt tears stotting o'er her chin,
And very mat for to pe in."

Wild as a maniac looked De Vane;
Then to the window ran amain,
And threw it open, quite intent
To brain himself, and supervent
This dreadful war of Highland wives,
And both their shameful narratives,
Before the just but proud Argyle,
The greatest subject of our isle;
But both the ladies held him fast,
To take one farewell for the last.
Argyle looked stern in troubled way,
And wist not what to do or say,
Till Lady Ella once again
Address'd the knight in cheerful strain:-

"Cheer up, Sir Hugh; for, on my life,

Your first, your last, your only wife,
Your virgin love, whose heart you won,
And mother of your comely son,
Now takes your hand. The scheme
was mine,

And happy be you and your line;
The lovely dames are both the same,
In hers how knew you not your name?
Twice married now-Unequall'd lot!
But law redoubled breaks it not.
I join your hands, too long apart,
And wish you joy with all my heart!"

The crystal tears from his blue eyes Pour'd bright as dew-drops from the skies;

His manly frame with joy was shivering,
And his round ruby lip was quivering,
As down he kneel'd in guise unmeet,
Embraced and kiss'd the ladies' feet;
Then seized his child in boyhood's bloom,
And danced and caper'd round the room,
But such a night of social glee,
Of wassail, song, and revelry,
Was not that night in Britain's isle,
As in the house of great Argyle.

SIR,-I have already, on more than one occasion, addressed to you such suggestions as have occurred to my mind at periods of great popular excitement, with a view of correcting erroneous impressions, and uniting (as far as possible) the moderate and candid of both parties in the same view of the common danger. The last occasion on which I attempted this (as many are too apt to term it) Quixotic enterprise, was that of the first announcement by Government of its great measure of "Reform" in the Commons' House of Parliament. Of the many consequences then predicted as sure to follow from the adoption of that measure, the first rank in importance must be assigned to its effects on the interests of religion as involved in the maintenance of a Church Establishment; and with our ordinary national proneness to rush blindfold to the adoption of party names and distinctions, all the momentous questions now at issue, as more or less affecting the present condition, and future existence, of the Church of

England, are confounded together in the vulgar language under one common head of assumed warfare between Church and Dissenters, while the violent and unthinking partisans of either side strengthen the delusion by exaggerated representations as to the actual numerical force, or the relative wealth or intelligence, of the two rival bodies; whereas, in point of fact, even if it were possible to ascertain the exact proportions, they would not furnish us with any thing like a just estimate of the only real point at issue.

It is a fallacy to suppose that the question lies between the Church as a body, and the Dissenters as a body. The Church, which has obviously most pretension to be considered in a corporate capacity, notoriously nourishes in her own bosom two great and general, besides a number of lesser, contending, and (perhaps) irreconcilable parties; while to speak or think of the Dissenters as a body, either as united in point of general sentiment, or even as having one common object in the overthrow

of the Establishment, is quite preposterous. A very large number, forming altogether one of the most respectable and influential of the several denominations of Dissenters, are, by their own profession, the sincerity of which has been manifested by recent conduct, not only not adverse, but friendly, to the continuance of the Establishment, from which they are themselves separated only on the ground of sincere, however much to be regretted, scruples in matters of small practical importance, and the distinction between whom and those members of the Establishment itself whom they most nearly approach and resemble, is so minute and subtle as, to any but the nicest religious eye, to be utterly undiscernible. Many, again, of those who are hostile, are actuated in their hostility by no opposition to the Church, either in respect of doctrine or practice, but by an honest persuasion that the free exercise of religion ought not to be shackled by any restrictions of creed or discipline; and in this opinion many pious and sincere men also, who are included within the pale of the Establishment, concur with them. The number of those Dissenters who, from irreconcilable difference as to matters of fundamental belief, or from obstinate attachment, or adhesion, to some one exclusive form of Church Government, seek the overthrow of the present Church Establishment, with a view to substitute their own, as the dominant, sect, in the room of it is so comparatively small (if, indeed, any such exist), that it may be altogether disregarded in a practical view of the subject; and yet, in forming any estimate on the basis of setting the Church and Dissenters in array against each other, these are the only classes which deserve to be ranked as opponents of the Church because Dissenters. If, therefore, the Church had no other enemies to fear but the Dissenters, (meaning by the term those who separate themselves from the Church on the ground of some express difference of religious opinion,) it is probable that her friends would have no great cause to be solicitous about her security: but if to the number of professed Dissenters, be

added all who, whether nominally within or without the pale of the Establishment, are really of no religion whatever; who hate the Church, as hating religion; or who, in other respects indifferent, would nevertheless get rid of a Church Establishment, from mere sordid and selfish views, either of political economy or personal exemption-then, indeed, the question assumes a far more formidable appearance, and our means of calculating the comparative strength of attack and resistance altogether fail. Yet even here also we should be in an error if we imagined that all who openly profess unbelief, or who even scoff at religion, are necessarily opposed to the Establishment, since there are numbers who would support it from political motives only, whose names are yet to be found in the list of avowed champions of infidelity. As, therefore, the number of professed Dissenters affords us no test whatever, so neither does the number of professed unbelievers, or even revilers, of religion, furnish us with any, as to the true amount of the forces actually in array against us. The only estimate of practical utility which appears to be at all attainable, is as to the number of those, Dissenters or otherwise, who are actual believers in the great fundamental truths of the Gospel, together with the true proportion of those who, being such believers, are, over and above, impressed with a conviction that religion is properly an affair of State, and that the interests of religion are inseparably connected with, and dependent upon, the Established Government; and if it shall be made appear that this number, and that proportion, are not only at present very considerable, but are from day to day considerably increasing, the ascertainment of this fact may well inspire a high degree of just confidence in the firmness of the Church herself, and the impotence of her motley and disunited assailants. Let us dissect any one of the various numerical arguments which have been arrayed against the Establishment, and it will be found to be wholly without force or consistency. Let us take, for example, the statement made a few nights ago by Mr Hume, without even questioning its

accuracy-namely, that in twentynine large manufacturing towns, the members of the Established Church form only one-fifth of the population-What then?-unless he is able at the same time to inform us of what the remaining four-fifths are composed-how many are strictly orthodox believers, who, although on some minor points of practice or discipline dissenters from the Church, would rather shed their blood in its defence than become the instruments of letting in the flood of irreligion and impiety which would too surely follow its demolition-how many more of no religion but that of Mammon-how many more who, grovelling in the lowest depths of vice and infamy, must be counted as nothing in the computation-how many more, whose absence from the church is occasioned by no disaffection, but by the want of means and opportunity to frequent it, arising either from want of room within the churches themselves for their reception and accommodation, or from the multiplicity and urgency of their own domestic necessities? It matters not that neither of the last-mentioned causes ought to exist the question being whether they do not exist, in fact and whether the fact of their existence be not of importance in respect of the validity of Mr Hume's mode of reasoning; whether, in short, it be not quite enough to account, together with the other grounds of deduction already enumerated, for the phenomenon itself, even if the statement had been that one-tenth only, instead of one-fifth, of the population of these busy places were members of the Church, in the sense (in which alone such a fact is capa. ble of ascertainment) of Churchfrequenters.

Nothing, it seems to me, can be more efficacious than the application of this same mode of discussion towards the exposure of the fallacy which lurks in that grand discovery of modern liberalism—namely, that if any form of religion is to have the support of the Government in preference to others, it ought to be that which is professed by a majority of the nation-a position which would have something at least plausible to recommend it, if it were restricted

to the number of those, not only who profess, but who profess upon certain grounds of belief or conviction, a particular form of religion, and if it were possible, by any process of enquiry whatever, to ascertain the proportions. The utter impracticability of making any such estimate is the best answer to the suggestion; and in the meanwhile it is best and safest to go on with the old understanding upon which all State religions have hitherto been supported-namely, that (to use the words of another speaker in a late debate on the subject) "the Government of the country, believing a religion to be true, is bound to endeavour to promote and protect it."

Another fallacy, no less detrimental to the Church, and no less indus triously propagated by its enemies, or weakly and incautiously admitted by some among its professed friends and adherents, but which is equally incapable of standing the test of en, quiry, is that which represents it as an antiquated and now useless, al. though venerable, institution, calcu lated to answer the purposes of its founders, adapted to the actual exi. gencies of the age which gave it birth, and advantageous, or even in. dispensable, to the cause of true religion in its origin, but at variance with the spirit of the present time, and doomed by the irreversible decree of Fate, to fall amidst other monuments of obsolete and explo ded reverence. But the fallacy here pointed at consists in confounding matters of divine, with matters of merely human ordinance, the great truths and interests of religion with questions of government and state expediency, the preservation of the vital principles of Christianity with the retention of rotten boroughs or sinecures. The truth is, that no greater disservice can be rendered to the cause of religion, than by representing it as essentially at variance with that of political improvement and regeneration, or by classing its advocates as necessarily hostile to all measures of reform, or to the removal and abolition of needless restrictions and distinctions. No two principles either are in effect, or ought to be kept, more rigidly separate from and independent of each other, than those of the free admis