The number of these mountain chieftains, who had thus-through the untiring exertions of Commodore Napier-been released from a state of slavery and suffering, amounted to eleven, besides forty-one attendants; but several had already perished during their captivity in the burning region of Kordofan. Amongst others who had succumbed to the united influence of accumulated hardships, and the effects of an ungenial clime, was the Emir Yousouf, of El Haded: a scion of the regal family of Shehab, a near relative of the Emir Beshir, or Grand Prince of the Mountain, and whose death I regretted the more, being on terms of intimacy with his family, from whom I had experienced great hospitality, and to whom I should now have to communicate this sad intelligence, after having held out to them hopes of shortly escorting back the young emir to his mountain home-to the arms of his aged mother, and of his fond and beautiful sisters, Zuleika and Cheri Shehab.

This unforeseen delay in permitting the departure of my charges, was, as may be imagined, most severely felt by them, anxious as they were to return to their native homes, and, moreover, destitute as they found themselves of even the common necessaries of life; for, on their arrival at Cairo, they were without any pecuniary resources-positively in rags-had been all promiscuously thrust into a sort of deserted caravanserai, and, when I first visited them in this dreary abode, were most scantily provided with even the coarsest food.

On entering their prison-for the wretched den in which I found them could only be considered as such-it was affecting to behold the abject and squalid misery to which a state of suffering and destitution had reduced these gallant mountain chiefs, who, a few months previously, might have been considered the "flower of chivalry" of their native hills.

With tears of gratitude streaming from many an eye, they crowded around, and, in the flowery language of the East, hailed me as their deliverer-as the messenger of safety sent by their saviour, the "Commodore el Kibeer."*

The sufferings which, whilst in captivity, they had endured, were described as having been horrible in the extreme; nor did their appearance belie the statement of what they had gone through: pale, wan and emaciated, and as I have before said-in rags, it was pitiable to behold these princes of their native

*"Kibeer," in the Arabic language, signifies "Great."

land, huddled up like so many convicted felons, in the damp and denuded cells of the ruined old caravanserai, which had been so inhospitably appropriated for their temporary abode.

On leaving them, I went immediately to the Governor of Cairo, represented the state of misery and destitution in which I had found the emirs, and requested they might be removed to a residence more suitable to their rank, supplied with money and with clothes, and with a sufficiency of wholesome food to enable them to exist, until the required permission should be obtained for them to depart.

The promises made to my request, were, as usual with eastern officials, most profuse, but were never carried into effect, except as regarded the article of food.

In my frequent visits to the unfortunate chiefs-for I made a point of being as much as possible with them--I ever received some fresh accounts of all that they had endured. I did my best to cheer and encourage them with the prospect of immediate release, and next of a speedy return with me, to their long-wished-for mountain homes. My endeavours to sooth and comfort them were, however, all in vain; for, with one single exception, they appeared broken spirited, and completely prostrated both in body and in mind. This exception was a noblelooking old Druse chieftain: the Sheikh Abou Neked, of Dhair-el-Khamar, or Palace of the Moon. This sturdy old fellow, with his long, white beard, piercing black eye, and hawk'sbill nose, was a fine specimen of the ancient and noble race from whence he had derived his source. Although apparently verging on seventy years of age, his spirit appeared as unbroken as was his tall, sinewy, and manly frame; still full of strength and vigour, soldierlike and erect. Nothing daunted or depressed by what he had undergone, and what he still underwent, the old sheikh philosophically smoked his calcoon, and, although in tatters like the rest, looked and showed himself, under all his misfortunes, worthy of his rank and of his name.

I have said that with this single exception, the whole party of whom I was about to take charge, appeared to be all equally depressed. There was, however, another individual in the group, whose appearance, though strongly contrasting with that of the warlike and venerable-looking Shiekh, appeared equally to set at nought all the cares and sorrows of this world.

This was a little negro boy, who had been captured at one of the periodical "slave hunts," in the remotest parts of the Kordofan, purchased by

the Emir Hyder of Solymah, on his late release from captivity, in the golden mines of Sennaar, and who, although so recently dragged away from his country, his kindred, and his home, smiled unconcernedly at his fate, and with the buoyant and thoughtless spirit of childhood, appeared to set at nought that state of exile in a far distant land, and the perpctual state of slavery, to which he now appeared inevitably doomed. But as I shall have hereafter much

to say about this young "Ethiopian Slave," I

now return to the more immediate occurrences of my present narrative. The long wished-for order from Mehemet Ali for our departure, at last arrived, though not without the active intercession of the Commodore, to whom I was obliged to write; I found myself at Alexandria, with my party of mountain chiefs, and then flattering myself all further delays and difficulties must be at an end, I addressed a letter-of which the following is a translation -to the Grand Prince of Mount Lebanon, the Emir Beshir Cassim.

Alexandria, 28th February, 1841. PRINCE, I have the honour to inform your Highness, that according to instructions from Commodore Napier, I came to Egypt at the termination of the war, for the purpose of taking back to their own country some of your Highness's subjects: the Emirs and Shiekhs of Mount Lebanon, who had been sent by the viceroy of Egypt as captives to Sennaar.

I met these high-born chiefs at Cairo, in a state of great destitution; difficulties and delays were thrown in the way of my departure with them,

which difficulties were at last set aside through the intervention of Commodore Napier, who was, fortunately, still at Alexandria, and to whom I was at last obliged to apply on the subject. The Commodore has finally obtained an order from the Pasha, that the chiefs should be supplied with money, and everything suitable to their rank, and that an Egyptian steamer, or man of war, is to be placed at my disposal, in which I may convey them back to Beyrout; when I hope shortly to be enabled to have the honour of presenting, in person, to your Highness, all these illustrious personages who have been committed to my charge, and of whom I beg to enclose a list; but I am grieved to be obliged to report the death of the youthful Emir Yousouf Solyman Shehab, of El Haded, who fell a victim to fever and to the heat of the climate to which he was exposed.

Commodore Napier leaves this to-day for Marmorice, and requests me to express to your Highness every sentiment of respect on his part.

*

This communication concluded with the usual high-flown compliments of the east, and with the following list of the Emirs and Sheikhs of Mount Lebanon, who had survived their captivity in Sennaar, and whom I subsequently took back to their mountain homes:

Emir Faour of Abaye, Emir Faris of the Wad-éSharoor, Emir Mahmoud of the Wad-é-Sharoorall of the Shehab family.

Emir Hyder of Solymah, in the district of Metten; Emir Ali of Brumanah, in the district of Metten-of the Kyad Bey family.

Emir Abdallah of Falouyah-of the Mourad family.

Emir Ali of Beskintah-of the Faris family. Sheikh Nickoula Kasim of Kesrouan, and the Druse Sheikh : Hamoud-Abou-Neked of Dhair-elKhamar, his son-and Sheikh Abbas Neked.

grieved to my very heart. Neither, I think, was Lexie to call angry; but she could keep up an appearance of it better than me.

At last I did hear her; I could not be mistaken-there was not another foot in Lasswade had music in it like Annie's, and she was singing low, as she came, an old tune. The poor thing! it was "Kind Robin lo'es me," as I discerned when she passed the window; and thankful was I to think that Lexie, having no taste for music, would not notice what it was; but, for myself, I know all the tunes in the country, I think, good or bad.

Beenie, I suppose, had been watching at the door, for Annie came in in a moment, and I never heard her rap. She had taken off her bonnet in the passage, and came in with it swinging in her hand, and her face had a thought more colour than usual, and her eyes were shining as I never saw them shine before. Indeed, she was just looking happy and bright, as it might be supposed she should look, coming in from the clear fresh air of such a night, and did not seem to have a shadow of fear about her.

The first thing that seemed to strike her when she came into the room was the way we were sitting, and the trouble upon our faces. She paused in her singing, and stood still a moment at the door. "Auntie Rechie, is there anything wrong?" said Annie Orme.

"Oh! Annie Orme, my bonnie bairn!" said I, but I could not say another word.

"Put your question to me, Annie OrmeI'll answer you," said Lexie; and come here before me, and lay away your bonnet: you need not spoil the good ribbons, though ye've spoilt a better thing-for I have something to ask of you.”

Annie came forward in a surprised way, and laid down her bonnet on the top of the millinery box. I was wringing my hands, and pleading with my sister; but Annie came quietly, and stood before her, crossing her hands like a bairn waiting for its questions, and looking as innocent and peaceable as if she were only going to say Effectual Calling; though I did observe-but it might be only the surprise, and Lexie's look at her a blush spreading over all her face.

"Annie Orme," said my sister, rising high in her seat, and looking so like a judge that my heart trembled for Annie; “you've heard us speak of your mother, and how she threw herself away, and how she died. Since your mother died, Annie Orme, have you ever felt the want of her? Has anybody grudged you a single thing, if it were even play or pleasure,

or the vanities of youth? Has any mortal ever bidden you work except when you liked, or trysted you with any hardship? You've had as good schooling as Lasswade could give you; you're as much thought of as any lady in the place; and I'm sure there's no lady in the place whose garments have gotten so much pains bestowed on them as yours; besides that, your Aunt Rechie there, like a foolish person as she has been all her life, has made herself nothing better than a lady's maid to pleasure you. I ask you, Annie Orme, what you ever wanted that you did not get, or what thing ever was put upon you that you were not pleased with? Do you hear me, Annie Orme?"

"Yes, aunt," said Annie; and now she put her hands behind her, and drooped down her head, but she said not a word more.

“Oh, Lexie!” said I, "have compassion on her; she's little Annie's bairn."

My sister turned her head round to me with a start, and gave me a glance which made me hide my face. "She's little Annie's bairn," said Lexie; "do you mind what Annie Sinclair was, that ye dare to put me in mind of her now? The brightest spirit and the bonniest face in sight of the Pentlands. But what did she do? She went away, and married a man— a man no more to be compared to herself than the Esk water is to the Firth; and his evil ways and his mean manners broke her heart, and she died. We were but girls ourselves, Rechie Sinclair, and Annie was younger than us. But you put me in mind of her when I am here admonishing her daughter. You will make me daft between you. Annie Sinclair lost, and Annie Orme lost-and what's to become of you and me ?"

I did not answer; I was crying to myself sore; and Lexie's voice was very shrill and high, as if but for pride she would fain have cried too. But, for all that, I glanced up at Annie Orme; a single tear was stealing down her cheek, and her eyes were full; but she was looking at Lexie steadfastly, and my heart was comforted by her face.

"Aunt Lexie-" said Annie Orme.

"Whisht!" said my sister, "dinna let one evil bring another;-do not say to me, Annie, a word that is not true. Its no story I've heard-I saw it with my own een; and you have been keeping trystes with this man the whole summer through, in spite of his place and yours-in spite of kenning that this was what I could not bear-in spite of our trust in you. It was time, I say, Annie Orme, high time, we had found out what kind of walks you took on the water-side."

Annie put up her hand to her flushed face, and the tears came down one after another, till it was all I could do to keep my arms from her. "Aunt Lexie, dinna be angry," said poor Annie, and there always came the other sob between; "I did not deceive you in my own mind, auntie; and some day you'll no think so ill either of me-or him."

"Of him! Preserve me in patience! She dares to name the Butterbraes' hind in such a way to me!" cried Lexie. "Let me ever hear his name again, or that you've said a single word to such a person, and I'll leave this place. Yes, Annie Orme, I vow to you I'll travel away; I'll give up the business, and flit the house, and take ye away to the West Highlands, or into England, over the Lammermuirs, or some other savage place. Ye shall never marry the like of him-ye shall never more speak to the like of him—ye shall never be a hind's wife—or ye'll kill me, Annie Orme.”

"No, auntie," said Annie; but I thought her mind was away, and she did not know what she answered.

"Lexie,” said I, "dinna be angry; you have let Annie ken what your pleasure is, and she does not rebel. Lexie, let us be good friends now. Annie, my dear, you need not greet. Oh, lassie ye dinna ken how precious you are to us both!"

"Dinna speak that way, Auntie Rechiedinna," said Annie Orme, sobbing; "I cannot bear that."

Lexie was sitting still, with her eyes fixed, looking into the fire. "This lad spoke about a license," she said, in a low voice, as if it were only to herself; "of getting a license some time in the summer. This is what our niece meditated, Rechie Sinclair; this is what she would leave our honourable house to do. You spoke about Thomas Mouter, Rechie, and I scorned it; but still you encouraged him. Now you'll get your will, mair than you wanted ;—and when ye see Annie Orme mistress of a public, selling drams to every vagabond that passes by, you'll repent opposing me."

I heard at this moment a strange sound from Annie Orme, which did not seem like a sob, and immediately she hurried away.

in a light, Rechie, and admonish the reprobate; I'll say no more myself this night."

I saw Lexie's heart was moved. After all, though she looks stern sometimes, Lexie is not hard-hearted, nor ever was. So I went quietly ben to my own room, where Annie had gone, for Annie sleeps with me. As I went in at the door, I heard again the strange sound which was not like a sob; and hurrying to see its cause, what did I find but Annie Orme lying back in the big, old easy-chair, with her hands covering her face, and her cheeks all wet with tears, laughing as I never saw her laugh before. To do her justice, I believe there might, may-be, be something of the affection called hysterical (a thing I do not much understand myself) in this of Annie; but it was a real laugh, and real mischief and fun (at such a time!) were in the eye that glimmered out wet to me, from under the shelter of her hand.

"Annie Orme!" said I; "I could not have believed this of you."

"Oh! I think shame of myself for laughing," said Annie; "but I cannot help it—indeed, I cannot help it; you would laugh yourself, if you kent. It was that last thing my Aunt Lexie said."

"Was that about the license?" said I. "Indeed, Annie, it vexes me that you can laugh at that; for a public-house would be a strange place for you. Is it not for a publichouse? What is it for? Aye, Annie, now I mind, young Mr. Mouter has a license for simple tea and sugar. If it was that, it would not be so bad; but what tempted ye, woman, when there are plenty lads round about, in your ain degree, to take up with Robbie at the Butterbraes? The like of him!"

must

"Aunt!" said Annie Orme; "but you not be angry, Aunt Rechie; no, indeed, I cannot bear that; and I meant to tell you, by-and-bye-or he meant himself—”

"Dear me, Annie," said I; "you must give him up you must not speak to him more-or it will kill Lexie."

"Must I, aunt?" said Annie; "may-bebut I am not sure about that."

"Annie Orme! you'll have to promise. Woman, think of young Mr. Mouter and his fine business," said I. "Mind I am as much in earnest as Lexie; will you promise me, Annie, never to see him more?"

"He's to go away to-morrow, aunt," said Annie; "but I'll no promise-whisht, Auntie Rechie-you wouldna have me break his heart."

"Men's hearts are no so easy broken, Annie,”