Mr. Mowbray, on hearing the sacrifice which his daughter would have made for his life, betrayed the deepest emotion. He pressed her to his bosom, but could not speak. There was a gentle reproach in his eyes, however, which Kate answered by a glance of unalterable love. Though Preston learned that old Jacob had claimed his assistance without the authority of Kate, he was consoled by her assurance that she loved him as well as if she had herself despatched the messenger. In a few weeks she became the wife of our hero. She would have pleaded for delay, but her father said he was uncertain how long his life might be continued, and that he wished to see her have a protector before he died, so Kate yielded to his wishes. Macdonald did not, like his master, live to see the war concluded. He fell shortly after the attack on Georgetown, leaving behind him the reputation of one of the most gallant soldiers of the time. As for old Jacob, he survived to dandle the children of Kate and Preston on his knee. He had not only taken part in the fight at Georgetown, but quite distinguished himself, having slain an English soldier in single combat. On this feat he was accustomed to dilate with much self-complacency. He always wound up the story with these words. “He tried now to run me through with his bayonet, but it was no use, you see. De sarjeant had larned me his back-handed stroke, and I brought it around jist so,” suiting the action to the word. “Wid dat he fell dead and suspendered his breath.” NOTE. The leading incidents of this tale are historical, though slight anachronisms have been purposely committed in order to condense it in point of time. * * * * * HEART STRUGGLES. BY MRS. JANE C. CAMPBELL. It was a foolish thought, beloved, ’Gainst which I vainly strove— That after years of joy might see Another win thy love. It well nigh broke my saddened heart To think the time might be, When thou wouldst give another bride The vows once given to me. But I have calmer grown since then, And though ’tis fearful still, To think a stranger may be here My place at home to fill— To think that on her lip and brow Thy kiss will be imprest, Her cherished form be warmly clasped When I am cold at rest— ’Tis fearful—yet ’twere selfish, love, To bid thee live alone, And let none other share thy heart When I from thee am gone. I know thou never wilt forget My simple morning flower, Nor how I nestled to thy side At twilight’s holy hour. I know a thousand memories Within thy soul will rise, _Our_ happy past be with thee still, Though bound by other ties.