to fight or fall beneath the standard of King James,
And died at Killiecrankie pass, with the glory of the Graemes,
Like a true old Scottish cavalier, all of the olden time!

IV.

He never own'd the foreign rule, no master he obey'd,
But kept his clan in peace at home, from foray and from raid;
And when they ask'd him for his oath, he touch'd his glittering
blade,
And pointed to his bonnet blue that bore the white cockade,
Like a leal old Scottish cavalier, all of the olden time!

V.

At length the news ran through the land--THE PRINCE had come again!
That night the fiery cross was sped o'er mountain and through glen;
And our old Baron rose in might, like a lion from his den,
And rode away across the hills to Charlie and his men,
With the valiant Scottish cavaliers, all of the olden time!

VI.

He was the first that bent the knee when THE STANDARD waved abroad,
He was the first that charged the foe on Preston's bloody sod;
And ever, in the van of fight, the foremost still he trod,
Until, on bleak Culloden's heath, he gave his soul to God,
Like a good old Scottish cavalier, all of the olden time!

VII.

Oh! never shall we know again a heart so stout and true--
The olden times have pass'd away, and weary are the new:
The fair White Rose has faded from the garden where it grew,
And no fond tears but those of heaven the glorious bed bedew
Of the last old Scottish cavalier, all of the olden time!

W.E.A.

TRADITIONS AND TALES OF UPPER LUSATIA.

No. III.

THE DWARF'S WELL.

We have been shown, in our two preceding pieces from Ernst Willkomm,
Pathetic Fairies, and Fairies merry to rioting. Here we have, not
without merriment either, Working Fairies. In the mines of the Upper
Lusatian Belief, the tale of THE DWARF'S WELL strikes into a vein which
our author has promised us, but of which we have not heretofore handled
the ore. Here we shall see the imagination touching in some deeper
sterner colours to the sketches flung forth by the fancy; and in the
spirit of unreal creation, a wild self-will which rejoices to waft into
the presence of the beautiful, and of unbridled laughter, cold blasts
from the region of pure affright. There is in this, however, no
prostration of strength--quite the rev