40 HAMK ! IIAME HAE I COME ! 



" That is still worse !" cried Drost, in despair. " The journey 

 will make you better you will arrive in blooming health and we 

 shall be laughed at by the tall officer of the Guards, and the rest of 

 your cousins." 



This scruple was overruled by two or three deeply distressing 

 sighs from Julia, and she sprang about the room in a delirium of 

 health and pleasure. 



(f What will the people say ?" cried Drost, again thrown into 

 despair ; " why, you are dancing !" 



" Hamlet, whom you so admire, was above the prejudices of his 

 time !" said Julia, smiling. 



The breakfastless pair sat down to a hearty luncheon. 



" Believe me," said Julia, when it was concluded, " Gessner was 

 a very great story-teller ; people were never intended for a country 

 life." 



The carriage was heard rattling over the pavement : the road was 

 rough, but Julia and Drost were happy. They rolled cheerfully 

 down the stony hill, and in the glow of the evening the city lay 

 spread before their eyes. 



" How beautifully the sun sets !" said Julia ; " what a magnificent 

 spectacle !" and her eyes were fixed on the dome of the opera-house, 

 which was illumined by the golden rays. " To what advantage is 

 nature always seen in a city.. Besides, one hates to have all the en- 

 joyment to oneself. Here we can share it with thousands." 



" I begin to fancy," whispered Drost, " that town is the truest 

 Arcadia !" 



That very evening Julia was waltzing with her tall cousin of the 

 Guards, and Drost lost ten napoleons to the colonel of the regiment. 

 They had discovered the true Arcadia ! 



HAME ! HAME HAE I COME ! 



HAME ! hame hae I come frae thae bright Indian isles, 



That rise in their beauty through blue simmer seas ; 

 Whare nature's aye beaming in verdure and smiles, 



And scented winds blaw saft through ever-green trees ; 

 Whare the lassies are genial and bright as their clime, 



Wi' their raven-hued tresses and dark sunny een, 

 That might gar the maist constant forget, for a time, 



The land o' his birth and his ain bonnie Jean ; 

 But I aye thought o' hame, through a' distance an' time, 



O' the land o' my birth, and my ain bonnie Jean ! 



Thae bright isles and lassies, awa' i'the west, 



Could nae wile my leal heart ae moment to lo'e, 

 Or forget my ain land and the lass I lo'e best, 



With her ringlets sae flaxen, and saft een sae blue ; 

 For though o'er bleak Scotia chill winter's win' blaws, 



The warmth o' her lassies' hearts blinks i' their een ; 

 And wha wad be fause to her ingle-lit ha's, 



To the land o' his birth, an* his ain bonnie Jean ? 

 Sae Hame ha'e I come to auld Scotia's bien ha's, 



To the land o' my birth, and my ain bonnie Jean ! W. B. H. 



