ed what laborious
hours had been spent there, while books of reference were strewn about,
the pages marked by pencil-notes and interlineations. All indicated a
life of study and labour. One trait alone gave another and different
impression; it was a long rapier that hung over the fire-place, around
whose blade, at about a foot from the point, was tied a small bow of
sky-blue ribbon. As, curious to divine the meaning of this, Gerald
examined the weapon closely, he perceived that the steel was stained
with blood up to the place where the ribbon was attached. What strange,
wild fancies did not the boy weave as he gazed on this curious relic!
Some fatal encounter there had been. Doubtless the unwiped blood upon
that blade had once welled in a human heart. Some murderous hand had
grasped that strong hilt, and some silk tresses had once been fastened
with that blue band which now marked where the blade had ceased to
penetrate. 'A sad tale, surely, would it be to hear,' said he, as he sat
down in deep thought.

Tired of these musings, he turned to the objects on the table. The
writings that were scattered about showed that almost every species of
composition had engaged his pen. Essays on education, a history of the
Illuminati, love-songs, a sketch of Cagliostroa, a paper on the commerce
of the Scheldt, a life of Frederic, with portions of an unfinished
novel, all indicated the habits of a daily labourer of literature;
while passages selected from classic authorities, with great care and
research, evinced that much pains had been expended in cultivating that
rich intelligence.

The last work which had occupied his hand--it still lay open, with
an unfinished sentence in the pen--was a memoir of the Pretender's
expedition in '45. The name of Charles Edward was like a spell to
Gerald's heart. From the earliest day he could remember he was taught
to call him his own Prince, and among the prayers his infant lips had
syllabled, none were uttered with more intense devotion than for the
return of that true and rightful sovereign to the land of his
fathers. And now, how his eyes filled up, and his heart swelled, as
a long-forgotten verse arose to his mind! He had learned it when its
meaning was all mystery, but the clink of the rhythm had left it stored
in his memory:

'Though for a time we see Whitehall
With cobwebs hanging on the wall,
Instead of gold and silver bright,
That glanced wit