THE RESTORATION.



When silent time, wi' lightly foot,
Had trod on thirty years,
I sought again my native land
Wi' mony hopes and fears.
As I drew near my ancient pile,
My heart beat a' the way;
The place I passed seemed yet to speak
Of some dear former day.
Some pensy chiels, a new-sprung race,
Wad next their welcome pay;
* * * * * * * *
But sair on ilka well-kenned face
I missed the youthful bloom.
Miss Blamire


Oliver had sent orders to his mother to sleep in London, and proceed
the next morning by a train which would arrive at about two o'clock.

On that eventful morning, Clara was the prey of Mrs. Beckett,
Marianne, and the French milliner, and in such a flounced glace silk,
such a lace mantle, and such a flowery bonnet was she arrayed, that
Lord Ormersfield bowed to her as a stranger, and Louis talked of the