See, from the cradle to the tomb, Though years are multiplied between, How brief, in varied joy and gloom, Is Life’s wild, feverish, fitful scene. But yesterday, and youth was drest In dimpled and in smiling glee, Drawn, with fond fervor, to her breast, Or throned upon a mother’s knee. To-day, and Time, with added years, Has stampt his progress on our brow In manhood’s pallid care, and tears Unbidden dim the vision now. Lancaster, Pa. 1841. * * * * * THE LOST HEIR. BY H. J. VERNON. “Well flown, falcon—see how it mounts into the clouds—the heron has it—on, on knights and ladies fair, or we shall not be in at the death.” As the speaker ceased, the falcon, which had been mounting in gyrations growing narrower and narrower as it ascended above its prey, suddenly stooped from its height, and shooting upon the heron, like a thunderbolt, bore the huge bird in its talons to the earth. The swoop, and the descent passed with the rapidity of lightning, and in a moment after the gallant train were gallopping to the assistance of the falcon. Their way lay along the high bank of the river, from whose reedy margin the heron had been roused. The path was often broken, and difficult to traverse; but so eager were all to reach the desired point that no one appeared to mind these inequalities. Suddenly the path made an almost precipitous descent, and while a portion of the train dashed recklessly down the steep, the more prudent checked their course, and sought a less dangerous road. By this means the party became divided, that which remained on the brow of the hill being by far the more numerous. The other group consisted, indeed, of but three individuals—a falconer, a page, and the niece of their master, the Earl of Torston. The palfrey of the latter was one of rare speed, and it was with difficulty that the two servitors could keep up with their beautiful and high-spirited mistress. “On Ralph—ay, Leoline, you are falling behind,” she said, glancing around at her companions as the distance between them rapidly increased. “To the right—to the right,” shouted the falconer, “the heron has fallen in the marsh.” The maiden suddenly drew her rein in, to follow this direction; but as she did so a half a score of men, attired as Scottish borderers, started from the thickets around, and seizing her bridle, and that of her attendants, vanished with them into the recesses of the forest. All efforts at resistance were precluded by the numbers of the assailants, and lest the two servitors should alarm their now rapidly approaching companions, they were hastily gagged. The whole party then set forward at a brisk pace toward the neighboring Scottish border.