BONNIE PRINCE CHARLIE. (Founded on a Fact.)

Te Aroha News, Volume II, Issue 76, 15 November 1884, Page 4

BONNIE PRINCE CHARLIE. (Founded on a Fact.)

It was in the year 1746, after the Battle of Colloden > that " Bonnie Prince Charlie " lay hid amongst the posses in Glen Moriston, and dared not move out, for posted far and wide, from the point of Ben Attow to Beauley, were the English red-coats. It was known that the Prince was in hiding in the glen, and the English Government were resolved to intercept him in any attempt he might make to reach the sea coast. But there some who, " death and exile braving," were bent on releasing him from his perilous position. " Yell no forget me entirely, Mary hinny, if so be ye'd never see me mair gin this night ower. ' Tis a lang, dreary way I'm travelling this c'en, and there's nane so su re- footed but wha'll slip ane day. Kiss me, ance mair, and gie me your word yell think on your Jamie till ye meet him again j it might be on airth, but it maun be in Heavon," "What for ane ye so downcast this c'en, Jamie ? ' Tis mony a time ye've walkod frae Invermoriston to Caonacroich syne ye put the pack upon yer shoulder. Cheer up, mon, and sure I'll ne'er forget ye till ye're back hame on tho morn. Yo mak' me greet wi your dolfu' wailings." " Dinna greet, lassie ; it may be I'm wrung, but I've a weight that presses down my hairt, and forbodeasad work for wetwa But gin I return, or gin 1 fa' asleep amang the stanes in tho glen, 'tis a' one syne we maun meet again. My lassie and my king is a' the world to me." The pedlar shouldered his pack, and .«lo\vly wended his way down the little path from the Highland clachan. At the foot of a mound he stopped and looked back. The last raye of the setting sun dyed the rich brown heather of the thatched cottage to a ruddier hue, and turned the flaxen locks of his Mary to a halo of glory. The high hills behind formed a background of deep indigo to the picture, and fondly the pedlar gazed on that well-known scene ; then, waving his hand to the tall girl who stood shading her eyes from the sun to look after him, resumed his course. It led him overmountainsand moors, through woods of pine-tree?, and by the foaming, tumbling river Moriston. It a was still, frosty winter's night ; each footstep that ho took rustled the dying leaves or resounded along the highway. The moon, gradually rising from a bed of cloud.-, gave a mysterious whiteness to the snow-capped distant mountains, and sparkled diamond-like upon the crystal drops of dew and hoarfrost by the roadside. The feathery birch treos, all blown and bent by their frequent contests with the wind, now i*ested motionless from iheir ceaseless murmurings. Nothing disturbed the quiet, save the pedlar's 1 footsteps, for the very deer, accustomed to his frequent journeyings to and fro, knew him, and lay still in their coverts. Often and often had he trod that path, whistling gaily, perhaps, -as he went, or thinking on his Mary ; but now he trod gloomily, drearily, no sound on his lip 3 but the dull, dread presentiment weighing down liia heart. " Whist !" sounded a voice suddenly in his ear, and the pedlar started back several paces. A tall gillie stood before him, having arisen, as it wero, from the very earth itself. The pedlar's alarm was, However, short-lived. He recognised a friend, and it was with a " Weel met, Sandy. Fram where spring ye V that he advanced with outstretched hand. The gillie took it, and replied — 11 Ye're late, man. I've been waiting for ye this hour and mair. I come from ane ye know," pointing with his finger towards the rocks beside the Moriston, " who bids me tell you dinna gang yer road this night. The glen is chock fu' o1o 1 red-coat.», and ye might weel be mistaken for ane ye are not, and fraa those mistakes there's no turning back. Ye know weel ye're unco' like him in the face. '' And do yo think, Sandy, 'tis a 1 for nought I'm so unco' like him? If so by such o mistake he were enabled to leave his* den i' the rocks, where he lies mair like a puir beastie than the king o" this land, would it be I wad kinder sic a blessedness ? Tis little feic a puir lad as I can do for him ; but ye manna stop me from that little." Sandy returned no answer. The sentiment was too nearly akin to his own feelings for him to contradict it, yet after his commission he dared not encourage it. " Farewell, men," was all he said, and sprung into the thickets. The pedlar continued hid march, deep in thought. By-and-by the glen opened out wider; the trees ceased, meadows and moors approached the river banks, the hills icceded back on ench side and then rose skywards more loftily than before, more rugged and bare. Now, again, they approached nearer as the pedlar gained the head of the glen — the Caenacroich, us it is called. A tributary torrent fame lolling its waters into the Mnriston, and far off the sound of water falling over the rocks broke upon the pedlar's ear. The grey dawn was just stealing across the horizon when he neared his destination The end was very close ; but what was the end to be ? There is another sound besides the falling waters to bo heard now as the pedlar skirts round a turn in the road. It is the regular tramp to and fro of a man on guard- of a sentinel. "Halt!" cries astern voice, and instantly two soldiers, one from each side of the road, dart forward. Tho pedlar also sprang forward with an involuntary instinct of self-preservation ; but it waa too late. He was caught and pinioned. " Who are you ? and what is your business ?" were the questions now addressed to him. But ho returned no answer. "It is the devil himself," chimed in a third voice, leaping from a bank. " Shoot him, boys, before he escapes. I know him well." "Tie him to that tree," said the first soldier, and we'll make short work of the rebel." A word now might delay his fate, but the word was not spoken. As the pistol was fired at his head, he cried, "Hurrah for Prince Charlie !" and sank dead, a martyr for his king. A small cairn, surmounted by a wooden cross, now marks the spot where he fell. It is a worthless tribute, but the deed was a golden one, and needs no carved marble to ensure its memory. The soldiers, put off their guard by the supposed death of him they sought, were taken at a vantage. In the dead of night Prince Charlie crept up the bed of a torrent, passed the sentinels, and escaped to the sea coast. The sacrifice was offered up and accepted, for "it is good that a man should lay down his life for his friend."

In diversity of advertisements German papers are not behind the English. The following, which appears on the advertisement sheet of one of the leading German papers, is by no means meant for a jest, and only the more ridiculous for that reason : - " A Catholic Girl, with good references, is wanted for everything on July Ist." The advertiser is a German nobleman of the name of Baron Yon Schrotter.