FLORA MAC DONALD.
FLORA MAC DONALD.

 :. But love IS like the rose so many Ills

 Assail it in the bud

 -----------rarely the blossom comes To full maturity; but there is bought

 sinks with so chill a breath as faitilessness AS she could tell whose lovelinese still lives 'n village legends Miss LANDoE.

 In the evening of the same day crossed Ioeh Gair, and arrived at lit- tle hamlet, called "he Clochau," it contained a few cottages, which skirted the shores of that beautiful sheet of water, built in all the simplicity of un- sophisticated architecture. On the beach 1 saw number of fishermen, re- pairing their nets, or haiting their ss}ong hnes," for the next days labour; high and dry. boats of various sizes and des- crlptlon lay around. At the cottage doors, matrons and maids were engaged Tn spinning, or in other domestic occu- fations,none were i,ile-aii were indus trious. The loch was waveless, the black buoys of the herring nets foated on the waters, describing many fantas- tic figures, and seemed stains on it's glassy bosom, like those made or the snow white lily by careless insect, in an gry mood.

 At short distance, I saw the spire 'of the village church. peering above the willow, elm, and cypress trees, which surrounded 1t had always afi inward dveneration for the houses of God, and desire toview their site and struc- ture. l therefore went thithcr while supper was preparing. The Church was an transformations quadrangular building, the walls formed of the rough mountain granite, white washed; its conical roof, which seemed recently thatched, with its little belfry, all had all air of simplicity and devotion, for which have often looked in vain a. mongst the stately edifces of rich and populous cities. In the burying ground, encircled with a wooden fence, and painted Tn the usual manner of the country, discovered few head-stones of white gypsum; on some were in- scrlbed simple epitaph, while many only recorded the name aud age of the tenant beneath. In the north corner, marked a small spot of ground, sur rounded by black painted railing, fig ured with white tears, bones and skulls. No tomb stone was there, but in the centre, on little mound, grew a rose bush, on which only one bud opened its white and delicate flower. l approach ed it, and gazed awhile, and deep feel ing of sorrow, and many conjcctures crowded my mind, which created d strong curiosity to learn the history of the grave. At length deserted a ye- nerable old lady, dressed in the deepest weeds of wo, advancing with slow and silent step; her eyes so intently fixed upon the ground, as if she saw nothing around, but walked instinctively on her path; it seemed as if all the world were within her bosom, and, as if no exter- nal object could afford her moments abstraction. Deep grief was imprinted on every feature of her face--her pale and haggard cheek, showed the signs of sorrowing long and late. When she had nearly reached me, l stepped aside, with all the kindness of feeling, which in man is natural for fellow being in afflictlon. l could not disturb her sor- rowful meditations. Slowly she conti- nued to advance, and when she reached the enclosed and hallowed spot, care fully opened a little gate and entered. She knelt, and kissed the green sward ! saw the big tear drops gushing over her pallid cheek, and watering thesweet rose.busii. Now sine raised her eyes and hands to heaven, as if in prayer; I heard not one articuiate sound, but now and then q low, but bitter sob, broke the stiffness of the scene, and imagina- ton seemed to tell me, 1t sounded "Flo- raw After being awhile engaged in this pious and sorrowfll office, she re- tired with the same mournful step, as she advanced, quite unconscious that lany eye, save heavens, had seen her supplications.

 A thousand thoughts crowded my mind--of severed maternal affection pure yet hopeless withered hopes -ruincd fame--and broken heart. The gun had now eet: twilight threw