his ancestors, a young gentlewoman named Helen Lindsay, the daughter of a Whig writer to the Signet in Edinburgh, was one fine October evening taking a solitary walk in the King's Park. The sun had gone down over the castle, like the fire-shell dropping into a devoted fortress, and the lofty edifices of the city presented on the eastern side nothing but dark, irregular masses of shade. The park, which a little before had been crowded with idle and well-dressed people, waiting perhaps for a sight of the prince, was now deserted by all except a few Highland soldiers, hurrying to or from the camp at Duddingston, and by the young lady above mentioned, who continued, in spite of the deepening twilight, to saunter about, seeming to await the hour of some assignation. As each single Highland officer or group passed this lady, she contrived to elude their observation by an adroit management of her plaid; and it was not till the gathering darkness rendered her appearance at such a time and place absolutely suspicious, that at length one gallant mountaineer made bold to accost her. 'Ah, Helen,' he exclaimed, 'how delighted am I to find you here!-for I expected you to be waiting at the bottom of the walk; and thus I see you five minutes sooner than I otherwise would have done.'

'I would rather wait near the palace than at that fearsome place, at this time o' nicht, William,' said the young lady; ‘for, let me tell you, you have been a great deal later o' comin' than you should have been.'

‘Pardon me, my angel!' answered the youth: 'I have been detained by the Prince till this instant. His Royal Highness has communicated to me no very pleasant intelligence: he is decisive as to our march commencing on the morning after to-morrow, and I am distracted to think of parting with you. How shall I-how can I part with you!'

"O never mind that, Willie,' cried the lady in a tone quite different from his, which was highly expressive of a lover's misery. If your enterprise prove successful, and you do not get your head broken or beauty spoiled,

you shall perhaps be made an earl, and marry some grand English countess; and I shall then content myself with young Claver the advocate, who has been already so warmly recommended to me by my father, and who would instate me to-morrow, if I chose, as his wedded wife, in the fine house he has just bought in Forrester's Wynd.'

To the devil with that beast!' cried the jealous lover in Gaelic. Do you think, Helen, that I could ever marry any one but you, even though it were the queen on the throne ? But perhaps you are not so very resolute in your love-matters, and could transfer your affections from one object to another as easily and as quickly as you could your thoughts or the glance of your eyes.'

'Ah, Willie, Willie,' said the lady, still in a jocular tone, 'I see you are a complete Hielanter-fiery and irritable. I might have kenn'd that the first moment I ever saw ye, when ye bravadoed a' Edinburgh because a silly toon-officer tried to touch ye. Wad ye flee up, man, on your ain true love when she merely jokes ye a wee?'

"Oh, if that be all, Helen,' said the youth humbly, 'I beg your grace. Yet, methinks, this is no time for merriment, when we are about to part, perhaps for ever. How, dearest Helen, do you contrive to keep up your spirits under such circumstances?'

'Because,' said the young lady, 'I know that there is no necessity for us parting, at least for some time to come; for I am willing to accompany you, if you will take me, to the very world's end. There's sincerity and true love for you!'

Surprised and delighted with this frank offer, the lover strained his mistress passionately to his bosom, and swore to protect her as his lawful wife till the latest moment of his existence. You shall travel,' he said, 'in my sister Lady Ogilvie's carriage, and be one of the first British ladies to attend the Prince's levée in St James's at Christmas. Our marriage shall be solemnised at the end of the first stage.'

The project was less than rational; but when was reason anything to love? Many avowals of mutual attachment passed between the parties, and after projecting a mode of elopement they parted - William Douglas taking the road for the camp at Duddingston, and Helen Lindsay hastily returning to the town.

The morning of the 1st of November broke drearily upon Edinburgh, shewing a dull, frosty atmosphere, and the ground covered with a thin layer of snow. It was the morning of the march; and here and there throughout the streets stood a few bagpipers, playing a réveille before the lodgings of the great officers of the clans. One or two chiefs were already marching down the street, preceded by their pipers, and followed by their men, in order to join the army, which was beginning to move from Duddingston. The Highland guard, which had been stationed ever since the Chevalier's arrival at the Weighhouse, was now leaving its station, and moving down the Lawnmarket to the merry sound of the bagpipe, when a strange circumstance occurred.

Just as the word of command had been given to the Weigh-house guard, the sash of the window in the third floor of an adjacent house was pushed up, and immediately after a female figure was observed to issue therefrom, and to descend rapidly along a rope towards the pavement below. The commander of the guard no sooner perceived this than he sprang forward to the place where the figure was to alight, as if to receive her in his arms; but he did not reach it before the lady, finding the rope too short by several yards, dropped with a slight scream on the ground, where she lay apparently lifeless. The officer was instantly beside her; and words cannot describe the consternation and sorrow depicted in his face as he stooped, and with gentle promptitude lifted the unfortunate lady from the ground. She had fainted with the pain of what soon turned out to be a broken limb; and as she lay over the Highlander's arm, her travelling hood falling back from her head, disclosed a face which, though exquisitely beautiful, was as pale

and expressionless as death. A slight murmur at length broke from her lips, and a tinge of red returned to her cheeks as she half articulated the word William.' William Douglas-for it was he-hung over her in silent despair for a few moments, and was only recalled to recollection when his men gathered eagerly and officiously around him, each loudly inquiring of the other the meaning of this strange scene. The noise thus occasioned soon had the effect of bringing all to an understanding; for the father of the lady, in a nightcap and morninggown, was first observed to cast a hurried glance over the still open window above, and was soon after in the midst of the group, calling loudly and distractedly for his daughter, and exclaiming loudly against the person in whose arms he found her, for having attempted to rob him of his natural property. Douglas bethought himself for a moment, and calling upon his men to close all round him and the lady, began to move away with his beloved burden, while the old gentleman loaded the air with his cries, and struggled forward with the vain intention of rescuing his daughter. The lover might soon have succeeded in his wishes by ordering the remonstrant to be withheld and taken home by his men; but he speedily found that to take away his mistress in her present condition, and without the means of immediately relieving her, would be the height of cruelty; and he therefore felt himself reluctantly compelled to resign her to the charge of her parent, even at the risk of losing her for ever. Old Mr Lindsay, overjoyed at this resolution, offered to take his daughter into his own arms, and transport her back to the house; but Douglas, heeding not his proposal, and apparently anxious to retain his mistress as long as he could, saved him this trouble by slowly and mournfully retracing his steps, and carrying her up stairs to her bed-chamber, his company meanwhile remaining below. He there discovered that Helen had been locked up by her father, who had found reason to suspect her intention of eloping, and that this was what occasioned her departure from the mode of escape pre

viously agreed upon. After depositing her still inanimate person carefully on a bed, he turned for a moment towards her father; told him fiercely, that if he exercised any cruelty upon her in consequence of what had taken place, he should dearly rue it; and then, after taking another silent, lingering farewell look of his mistress, left the house in order to continue his march.

After this, another and longer interval occurs between the incidents of our tale; and this may perhaps be profitably employed in illustrating a few of the circumstances already laid partially before the reader. William Douglas was a younger son of Sir Robert Douglas of Glenbervie, the celebrated antiquary, and had been bred to the profession of a writer, or attorney, under the auspices of a master of good practice in Aberdeen. Being, however, a youth of sanguine temperament and romantic spirit, he did not hesitate a moment, on hearing of the landing of the Chevalier, to break his apprenticeship, just on the point of expiring, and set off to rank himself under the banners of him whom he conceived entitled to the duty and assistance of all true Scotsmen. In consideration of his birth, and his connection with some of the very highest leaders in the enterprise, he was appointed aide-de-camp to the Prince, in which capacity he had been employed to communicate with the city in the manner already described. As he rode up the High Street, and, more than that, as he rode down again, he had been seen and admired by Helen Lindsay, who happened to be then in the house of a friend near the scene of his exploit. Soon after the Highland army had taken possession of the city they had met at the house of a Jacobite aunt of the young lady, and a passion of the tenderest nature then took place between them. To her father, who was her only surviving parent, this was quite unknown till the day before the departure of the Highlanders, when some circumstances having roused his suspicions, he thought it necessary to lock her up in her own room, without, however, securing the windowthat part of a house so useful and so interesting above all