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LORD PERCY'S DREAM.

A STORY OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION.

It was a lovely summer evening. Darkness had crept almost imperceptibly over the earth. The moon was up in all her full robed glory, and the burning stars of heaven glittered like a coronet of countless jewels on the dark brow of night. There was not one cloudlet to dim the lustrous expanse of ether. Below it lay the beautiful landscape- beautiful in its calm repose, and in its strong contrast of silver light and darkest shade. On the river- the noble and broad swelling river-the moon's lustre was given back in one wide sheet of liquid glory, and as the stream faded away toward the thickly-wooded shore, the sound of the shadowed ripples dashing in mimic frolic against the pebbly bank, stole with the softening influence of music upon the soul. Save this, there was no sound upon the air, no wind to stir the myriads of forest leaves, or to bear away the sweet perfume of the fresh, wild flowers. It was a glorious night, yet one, that with no passing sound upon the air, nothing by which the gazer might be led to identify the place—had rather a tendency of abstracting thought, of luring it away from these still, calm scenes to others, either of reality or imagination.. And there was one, whose eyes were fixed upon the moonlight glories of the landscape, as if perchance to read some portion of his own fate from its illuminated page. From the wild turmoil of the camp, from the jarring discord of the soldiery, from the neigh of steeds, and the heavy tread of the sentry, he had stolen away to the borders of that mighty forest, beside the banks of that gently murmuring river. Where a moss-covered rock threw out its jutting points here and there, presenting a rude seat of nature's own formation, with a velvet cushion to recline upon, and an emerald carpet of the softest texture, he had thrown himself wearily. With his hand upon his forehead and his hair thrown back, damp and dishevelled, he gazed upon the quiet moon. And little recked she, as she sailed onward in the deep sapphire heaven, that he, whose beaming eyes feasted upon her loveliness, was the proud scion of a most mighty lineage, the descendant of a long line of stately ancestry. Little recked she of the many anxious prayers sent up to Heaven on his account ; of the fond mother who wept in deep bitterness, of the fair young sister whose tears commingled, and of the many noble friends whose heartfelt solicitude was enlisted for his welfare. The blood of a Percy coursed in the youthful veins of him who sat there alone in the stilly night, an heir to the proud Dukedom of Northumberland. And never gazed the moon upon a fairer temple, on one more fitting to enshrine a high-born soul. There VOL. II.- 10

was a majesty of thought, an elevated tone of feeling dwelling upon the broad, fair forehead, and the curving fringes of the eyelash lay back upon it, disclosing the depths of soul they sometimes hid, the touching melancholy of those dark blue orbs. His cheek was pale now, very pale, contrasting forcibly with the wet and clustering hair that fell around it in its raven hue. There was a haughty splendor in the full curving upper lip, in the slightly dilating nostril : there was character stamped upon the mouth. This feature, the most expressive of the human face, seemed slightly inconsistent with the eyes and forehead. The upper lip, separate from its fellow, might appear to accord with these ; but the union of both expressed forcibly that the reckless love of daring, the untamed wildness of the boy, had scarce given place to the more dignified demeanor of the man. His form, though slight, was accurately and beautifully proportioned, extending to the medium height, and displaying symptoms of nerve and activity almost beyond his years. The general disposition of the man might have been that of the frank, merry-hearted soldier, but sorrow and diappointment had given a deeptoned sadness to his expressive eyes, and touched with premature hand the manly beauty of his snowy brow. Lord Percy's thoughts dwelt not with the landscape before him, but the influence of that scene had carried him afar into his own land ; the country of his love, his beautiful England. Before his vision, high rose the stately turrets of Alnwick Castle, its battlemented towers, its winding galleries and proud old halls, its fountains, its sculpture and its paintings. And even as he thought of these holy and pure emotions, the fond endearments of home, the many blissful hours of childhood— thrilled with a powerful spell around his heart. Then came the memory of that mother, that loved and revered one, the brightest star in his boyhood's heaven, the soothing angel of his after griefs, his beautiful and stately mother. Oh ! for one look upon her face, one kiss from her fond lips, one blessing on his head- how much would he have given ? A stranger in a strange land, a soldier in the wars of his country-just wars as he had once considered them, but oppressive as he could not but confess them now. 66 Mother," he murmured, " I was wrong, my mother : I was fearfully mistaken. Self-willed and passionate and arrogant, I disdained your advice, I scorned your council -God forgive me, I see it all now, mother. There was a wild thirst for glory, a maddening desire for fame, for the empty and profitless renown of a conqueror ; and for these, my mother, I have become a shedder of human blood, an oppressor of the deeply injured. Think of me, mother, pray for me- in the dim watches of the night, and in the bright noonday— my best and truest friend, and dearest-yes dearest, now that she, whose love was my glory, and the fancied