There was, exclusive of the ancient Mrs. Judith, another venerable follower of this noble family, in whom the general joy, so conspicuous amongst all ranks, was not the less sincere and ardent, and this was the aged and sightless minstrel, old Cormac, whose best suit was duly assumed upon this happy occasion, to welcome home his kind and generous master; his harp was newly strung, and carefully tuned aright; and patiently, but anxiously, in the baronial hall he awaited the entrance of the duke and family, upon whose welcome approach he thus poured forth his strains of gratitude and affection upon his noble Lord's return. OLD CORMAC'S WELCOME. Returned once more from foreign lands, Behold the noble exile stands Within his lordly hall! His faulchion smote his country's foes, His king's defeat hath caused these woes, Which his brave breast inthrall. Oh, welcome to thy lordly towers, Thy princely seat, thy happy bowers, A grateful welcome all! Now never more to roam afar, Nor plunge 'mid tide of crimson war, Shall fate thy arms recall! But here in tranquil rural ease, Such as a soul like thine can please, May never grief appal! In virtue long, and years to shine, Be each domestic blessing thine! And ev'ry boon that heaven can give, When thy poor bard hath ceased to live! When the ancient and sightless bard had concluded this, his _improviso_ welcome, he appeared absolutely overpowered, and shed a copious torrent of tears, which flowed from eyes long indeed closed to the light, but not to intensity of feeling! But these were not tears of sorrow, they were effusions of grateful affection, that often speak the joyful feelings of the heart, while the tongue remains wholly silent. His was the unspeakable joy at his noble benefactor's happy return in health and peace, after so long an absence, to his ancient towers. The duke, duchess, Lady Adelaide, &c. &c. &c. in succession approached the aged minstrel to express severally their approbation of his song, and thanks for the feeling manner in which his welcome had been expressed. The duke obligingly and condescendingly said to him:--"My friend Cormac, although thy locks are more blenched and snowy than they were when last we parted, yet I am glad to find that your heart is not chilled by the frost of age, and that the chords of thy harp so sweetly still respond to a master's touch!" Then addressing one of his pages, his Grace said, "Fill, fill the goblet high to the very brim, and present it to the bard!" In sooth we need not say that sightless, honest Cormac retired to rest that night the happiest old man in the province of Ulster; his slumbers were sound and serene, and his dreams flattering as ever youthful poet dreamt.