"You may also doubtless recollect the words of that terrific song--that was pronounced by no earthly voice--that was sung to no earthly sound! To the last solemn hour of my existence I never can forget it. The words and tune are in my ears when I awaken in the morn--they ring their horrid vespers in my ears at night, and dirge me in my sleep. Can your Graces remember some of the words?--namely the voice of the Spirit of the Storm, and THE AWFUL DIRGE. Once we held fair Scotland's throne, Ay, once we claimed that realm our own, _Fuimus non sumus_! * * * * * * * * * * We were--have been--were crown'd--are not; Dispers'd, forsaken, and forgot! _Fuimus non sumus_! * * * * * * * * * * Behold! the last of all our race Is forced to fly his natal place!-- He bears the vengeful, fatal knife, Deep stain'd by bloody feudal strife! _Fuimus non sumus_! "Know then, may it please your Graces, that when I was introduced by the duke to Sir David Bruce, I recognised him at once to be----" "Colonel Davidson!!" vociferated the duke in a tremendous voice, without waiting for the chaplain to finish. "Yes, my lord," replied the chaplain, "another, and yet the same." The duchess fell back in her chair, overpowered with grief. When the duchess had become somewhat calm, after a pause the chaplain continued: "Little indeed at that time did I ever dream that my fellow-passenger was destined at a future day to become your Graces' son-in-law, and under such unhappy auspices. But the will of heaven must be done, and it is for some wise purpose it is done, although not revealed to mortal eyes." The duchess now returned to the unhappy Adelaide, in every respect, from her virtues, talents, and accomplishments, worthy far of a better fate. The duke, when breakfast was taken away--for the duke eat not--proposed to the chaplain to proceed to the little room which had been occupied by Sir David Bruce as his library during his stay at Tyrconnel Castle, in order to ascertain if there had been left there any letter or document explanatory of his very sudden and unaccountable departure. The duke, accompanied by his chaplain, entered Sir David's little library, taking a melancholy survey of the chamber. They at last, upon approaching a writing-table, found thereon the following song in manuscript:-- SONG, WRITTEN ON MY BRIDAL-DAY--TO AN OLD IRISH AIR. I ask'd my Adelaide what was her wish? She replied, "Oh, ever love me kindly!" Again I ask'd my love what was her wish? She answer'd, "Oh, ever love me kindly!" Again I ask'd my love what was her wish? And she said, "Oh, love me not too blindly!"