"MY DEAR AND LOVING MARGARET, "Stirling Castle, Sept. 7, 1820. "Before this arrives at your hand I will be made immortal, and will be, I trust, singing praises to God and the Lamb, amongst the spirits of just men made perfect, through the atoning blood of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, whose all-sufficient merits are more infinitely unbounded than even all the sins of a sinful world—and he is able and willing to save to the uttermost all those that are enabled to come to him by faith in his blood. What consolation does this render to me, who, while writing this, am within a few short hours of launching into an eternity where I am not afraid to enter, although a poor, unworthy, miserable sinner, and not worthy of the least of his notice. Yet I trust he will put on His unspotted robe of righteousness, and present my poor and unworthy soul to his Father, redeemed with his most precious blood. Think, my dear Margaret, on the goodness of Almighty God to me in the last and closing period of my life. O think on it, and draw consolation from that source from whence I obtained it, and from whence consolation and real fortitude can alone be obtained. Could you have thought that I was sufficient to withstand such a shock, which at once burst upon me like an earthquake, and buried all my vain earthly hopes beneath its ruins, and at once left me a poor shipwrecked mariner on this bleak shore, and separated from thee, in whom all my hopes were centred? But, alas! how vain are all the earthly hopes of us weak-sighted mortals. How soon are they all buried in oblivion! My dear Margaret, put yourself to no concern about ine. O may that good and gracious God who has supported me so peculiarly, support you also in every gracious dispensation of his Providence that he is pleased to visit you with. O that he may send his ministering angels and sooth you with the balm of comfort. O may they approach the beauteous mourner, and tell you that your lover lives-triumphs-lives-though condemned, lives to a nobler life. My dear Margaret, I hope you will not take it as a dishonour that your unfortunate lover died for his distressed, wronged, suffering, and insulted country. No, my dear Margaret, I know you are possessed of nobler ideas than that; and well do I know that no person of feeling or humanity will insult you with it.-I have every reason to believe that it will be the contrary. I shall die firm to the cause in which I embarked ; and, although we were outwitted and betrayed, yet I protest, as a dying man, it was done with a good intention on my part. But well did you know my sentiments on that subject, long before I was taken prisoner. No person could have induced me to take up arms to rob or plunder; no, my dear Margaret, I took them for the restoration of those rights for which our forefathers bled, and which we have allowed shamefully to be wrested from us. But I trust the innocent blood which will be shed to-morrow, in place of being a terror, will awaken my countrymen,-my poor, suffering, countrymen, from that lethargy which has so overclouded them! But, my dear Margaret, this is not a very pleasing subject to you, so I will leave it, and direct your attention to matters of more importance-to the one thing needful. Recollect, my dear Margaret [Here follow pious injunctions of an earnest character, and then the writer proceeds.] My dear Margaret, I will be under the necessity of laying down my pen, as this will have to go out immediately. "You will give my dying love to your father and mother, James and Agnes, Mrs. Connell, and Jean Buchanan; and I exhort you all to a close walk with God, through our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ; and when you have fulfilled a course of life agreeable to his word, that we may be united together in the mansions of peace, where there is no sorrow. Farewell—a long farewell to you and all worldly cares, for I have done with them. I hope you will call frequently on my distressed and afflicted mother. At the expense of some tears I destroyed your letters. Again farewell, my dear Margaret. May God attend you still, and all your soul with consolation fill, is the sincere prayer of your most affectionate and constant lover while on earth, "ANDREW HARDIE." There must be many who have felt the dying Emmett's allusion to Sarah Curran, in his farewell letter to her brother, a thousand times more powerful over the springs of genuine human feeling than all the beauty and pathos elaborated by the pen of Washington Irving, in relating the story of their ill-starred loves. We are not ashamed to confess a deeper sympathy with "the simple annals" we have been tracing. The patriotism of the young Irishman was troubled and polluted by views of selfish and paltry ambition. The single-minded Scottish Radical, the dupe of traitors, and of his own trustful and generous nature, stands out on clear and high ground. Even those who least approve of his designs, must acknowledge that he fell the martyr to a pure and high-motived love of liberty, however misdirected. Lengthened as our extracts have been, we cannot pass in utter silence the closing scene of the martyred men : "On the Wednesday before they suffered, amid the circle of his weeping familyan aged father of fourscore, three sisters, two brothers, two brothers-in-law-John Baird detailed, at great length, and with the utmost simplicity, calmness, and affec tion, his feelings and his hopes, and called upon them to give thanks to God on his account, and instead of returning to mourn for his death in the bosom of their respective homes, to assemble their friends around them, and declare what God the Lord had done for his soul. He then gave them many useful admonitions, as his last farewell advice. Upon those of his relations who had children, he pressed the necessity of good example to their offspring, requesting them all to live so as to be ready to die, as they knew neither the day nor the hour when the Son of man cometh. While every one besides was dissolved in tears, he himself was firm and unruffled, and expressed himself in the softest and most soothing tone and manner. One idea alone seemed for the moment to overpower him. His aged father, whom he had not seen till now, since the day he was taken prisoner, was seated near him; he took out his snuff-box, which was a handsome horn mounted with silver, and put it into his trembling father's hands, saying, "Let me offer you this; you will, perhaps, look at it when you cannot look at me.' He parted with them with the greatest composure, in the mutual hopes of meeting, though not here, in a happier state." Their last night on earth was spent in prayer and praise, with intervals of conversation with their friends, in which they maintained the utmost composure and firmness. After a short season of repose, they recommenced the exercises of devotion, and after singing a hymn, Baird "Read from the 20th verse of the 15th chapter of 1st Cor. to the end. Then he engaged in an agony of prayer to God, the burden of which was, that He would strengthen their faith, and stand by them at the trying hour. This was, perhaps, one of the most powerful, comprehensive, and affecting prayers that ever was offered up. The Rev. Mr. Watson, from Edinburgh, and the Rev. Mr. Bruce, and Drs. Wright and Small, had entered the prison during these exercises; but, in this prayer, they were all in tears. About one o'clock, they requested to be allowed to take farewell of the others who were taken prisoners along with them, which was also readily granted. And here a most interesting scene ensued. Eighteen or twenty youths grouped around the window of their cell, the upper sash of which was thrown down, as the under was on a level with the ground." "From this window, both Hardie and Baird addressed their companions* in the most affectionate and endearing, yet, in the most dignified style. They begged them to remember, that though they were suffering, that they were not evil-doers; that the cause for which they suffered would sooner or later prevail, and that some little, perhaps, depended upon the propriety of their conduct. After these addresses were finished, they individually embraced each other, and took a most affecting farewell; the boys Johnson and White were particularly affected, and clung to Hardie until they were ordered away to their cells." We cannot inflict upon our readers the painful description of the execution. After the hangman had done his office, and life was extinct, the brutal functions of the headsman were called into exercise. The person who officiated was disguised, and had his face covered with black crape. He was said to be a medical student, or surgeon from Glasgow, who was employed to consummate this tragedy. But this passed THIRTEEN YEARS SINCE!—and a monument was last year erected to THE MEMORY OF HARDIE AND BAIRD, of which the site is the spot where, in 1816, 40,000 of the inhabitants of Glasgow met to petition for the redress of grievances, and reform in the These lads were sentenced to transportation. national representation. Their history is not without its moral and its lesson. While it unfolds the manifold iniquities, and cruelty of the Tory policy, it teaches the friends of freedom to seek their sacred objects by those deliberate and firm, but peaceful, open, and lawful means which effectually baffle the designs of spies, and of the yet baser creatures, in whatever rank, who would stoop to accomplish their foul ends, by means more foul. Were the Tories restored in all their supremacy to-morrow, it is scarcely possible that they could again practise upon the people after the old fashion of Bonnymuir. The discovery of gunpowder placed an immense power in the hands of tyrants and evil rulers; but it is nothing to that more majestic power, developed in our time, the omnipotent power of reason and of justice, manifested in-PEACEFUL RESISTANCE! SONG. THE BONNIE BRAES OF SCOTLAND. BY ROBERT GILFILLAN. O the bonnie braes of Scotland, my blessings on them a'; O the bonnie braes of Scotland, sae blooming and sae fair, O! wha wad grasp at fame, or power, or walth seek to obtain, The wind may whistle loud and cauld, and sleety blasts may blaw, O! the bonnie braes of Scotland to my remembrance bring The lang, lang simmer sunny day, when life was in its spring, O! the bonnie braes of Scotland, hame o' the fair and free!— A STAG HUNT AT KILLARNEY. THE day was beautiful, the mists were rising slowly but gradually up the sides of the mountains, and every thing promised enjoyment. We hurried down to Ross, where several boats were in the bustle of depar ture. Cars, packages, baskets, and boatmen, were intermixed; and the latter swore and made noise enough for all together. Our party, eight in number, ladies and gentlemen, were at last safely embarked. "Take care, Ma'am, your cloak is on fire," said a boatman to Mrs. L"Dear me," exclaimed she, in the utmost consternation, pulling the skirt of her pelisse out of the water, “How's that?-on fire?" "Oh, yes, Ma'am; this lake burns clothes." The perplexity which this explanation caused for a moment, and which was pictured in Mrs. L▬▬'s face, excited a laugh at the sally of Killarney wit. As few of our party had ever seen a red deer, much less a stag hunt, they were exceedingly anxious to learn something about the nature of the animal, and the mode of hunting him. Fortunately, for the gratification of their very laudable curiosity, a gentleman acquainted with the habits of the deer, had been that morning too late at Ross to overtake his friends, and being slightly known to some of us, had accepted a passage in our boat. The information he gave was somewhat to this effect: "The stag, when full-grown, is about the size of a rather small mule, with a less bulky body, much smaller and more graceful limbs; and as to muscular force, there is no comparison between them. The enormous leap that a stag will make, headlong from one rock to another, and the steadiness with which he keeps his position after such a spring, proves the great strength and elasticity of his structure. It is in his neck, however, that the largest mass of muscle is placed. This gives that part its peculiar and somewhat ungainly appearance, but at the same time amply compensates for the defect by the quantity of power it concentrates in the very place where it is most required for the safety of the animal. As to the courage of the stag, every one knows it is of that kind which is never exerted until the last moment of danger arrives. On some occasions, indeed, he may be irritated so as to become the assailant; and on one of these he is really formidable. An anecdote or two will set this in a clearer light than any general remark. "About eight years ago, Mr. O'Connell took a very fine stag on Tomies, and had him conveyed to that white house-that on the gentle slope,― with the intention of hunting him on the great day of St. Patrick. During the intermediate time, the stag was fed on sheaf-oats, ivy and holly leaves. Confinement seemed to have diminished his appetite very little, but it brought to light an extremely severe lameness in the right shoulder. This was afterwards found to have been caused by a musket shot, and the ball was actually taken out of the limb. It is curious that, during the chase which ended in his capture, no signs of lameness were visible. Nature, it seems, had, after her own way, cured the wound, but violent exertion and the subsequent confinement, irritated it anew. At length Patrick's day arrived, and with it, from all quarters of the country, multitudes of every class of course there was a splendid field. On the right of the house were drawn up in a mass, carriages, gigs, cars, and vehicles, of which the names would puzzle Long Acre,-all nearly filled with ladies. From the extremity of this, ran a long triple line of men, designed to prevent the stag from turning direct to his old moun tains, and so spoiling all the sport of the day. The other side of the country was intentionally left open to him ; but very few had a notion that any thing more was required to change his course than the single appearance of a man, or at most a shout, and the waving of a stick. The preparations being made, the door was thrown open, and some one attempted to drive out the stag: of which the immediate consequence was, that he put himself at bay, and seemed plainly determined to hold his domicile vi et armis. After various fruitless efforts to dislodge him, a rope was at length thrown over his antlers: six strong men, Mr. O'Connell and Mr. O'Sullivan among them,-seized it, and pulled him out by main force. As soon as they had got him fairly beyond the threshold, those who knew the animal's disposition instantly turned tail, and fled, until a pair of strong gates and a high wall were placed between themselves and their antagonist. One man only continued to hold the end of the rope. It was now the rage, the malignity, and strength of the stag were discovered. I have not the least doubt, that if the extreme weakness of his fore-leg had not disabled him so much that a man by ordinary running might outstrip him, (for at almost every step the poor brute fell,) that several lives would have been lost. He reared upright, on his hind-legs, (and you might see, at the time, yellow muscles, of the thick. ness of a man's arm, start up along the whole length of his back,) and rushed wherever he saw a living being. In one of those attempts he reached within two yards of the mass of carriages: the terrors of ladies, the affright of horses, and the clash of the various vehicles, of themselves promised a scene; when he luckily fell, and was thus diverted by a new object. The man holding the rope, who all this time had remained stupified on the field, caught his view: he rushed at him, knocked him down, and made a gash with the antler at him. I saw the man afterwards. His coat, waistcoat, and shirt were torn; and the flesh grazed in a long line up the belly and breast. The wound, he said, did not heal for several months. But he would have been killed had not the crowd, encouraged by his danger, attacked the stag. The latter turned at once upon them,-scattered them in all directions,-ran next to the formidable triple line of men,-drove them like sheep before him, -struck a horse,—overturned him ; and being completely master of the field, directed his course towards the lake. It is unnecessary to follow him farther. There was another stag reared as a pet, by a gentleman in this neighbourhood. He grew to great size and strength, and became the plague of the surrounding country. No fence could save a corn or potato field from his ravages; and even when discovered at the first dawn, it was only by much persuasion he could be induced to quit it. To women he had a most decided antipathy. The moment he descried one at any distance he gave chase, and the population of an entire farm was required to save her from his fury. Another habit made the gudewives regard him with scarce less abhorrence. He took a singular pleasure in collecting, in his rambles, all the clothes, thread, sheets, blankets, &c. he could find drying on the fields; and tossing these about with his antlers, he made, as he thought, a magnificent figure to the country. At length his mischievousness and ferocity increased to such a degree, (for if he happened to be brought by any accident into close contact even with those he knew best, he at once attacked them with extreme malignity,) that his master had a heavy weight slung from his antlers. The rope was so long as to allow the weight to trail along the ground. This was a con |