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shed light and gladness over the valley. The shepherd arose, with a heavy sickness at his heart, and a bewilderment in his brain, that rendered his memory dim. He was gradually conscious of some deadly peril that hung over his old and valued friend; a peril which he had promised all his efforts to avert, and which rendered his presence in the cottage an immediate necessity.

The next moment he had turned his back upon the shealing, and was wending his way with enfeebled steps towards his home. "I have seen the future," was his reflection, "and is mine a hand to change the decrees of Providence?" Human companionship at that moment would have shaken again the scarcely-established intellect, and he walked homeward. Sleep was not destined to visit the eyes of Murdoch during that, nor many succeeding nights of his existence, and the whole of the next day he walked about like one in a dream, with the horrible spell of his memory clinging to him like a fiend, and making the very sunshine black with its presence.

A dreadful mystery was before him: he knew not what evil it portended, but, to look upon the similitude of the living, he well knew, was to number them shortly with the dead, and he felt, as it were, instinctively that he had seen Robin for the last time. A feverish desire was upon him to make one in that company of wraiths; and, despite his solemn vow to Mari, the temptation rose strong and vivid to follow in the train of Angus's funeral, and witness, even at the cost of participating in, the danger that threatened it.

The burial would take place at early morning; and, as the churchyard lay far away, it was necessary that he should set out overnight, that he might join the procession in its march. He was resolved to go. The clouds of the previous night had fulfilled their omen, for a heavy fall of snow continued throughout the day, and, by the hour of starting, had rendered the mountain-path neither pleasant nor safe to traverse; but Murdoch was determined to share the peril of which he alone had received the warning, and by midnight he was prepared to start. The storm still raged, and the wind drifted the snow about in wreaths, till the density of the atmosphere became appalling; yet the spell-stricken shepherd did not waver in his purpose. He folded his plaid about him, and quenched his solitary fire, and was about to extinguish the lamp before he went forth, when a low knocking at the door, and a feeble and continued moan, sent the blood to his heart, and the tremor to his limbs, which a less mysterious incident might have lent them in the present fever of his imagination.

After a few moments of hesitation, however, the knocking was repeated, and Murdoch advanced to the door, wondering if any human applicant could indeed seek shelter on such a night. The gust blew out the lamp as he slowly undid the fastening of the door, and looked abroad upon the tempest. A dim object lay half across the threshold, and he moved it with his hand before he could be convinced that thence issued the piteous moaning which met his ear. A very slight exertion was sufficient to place the creature-by whatever denomination it went-upon its feet, and Murdoch turned it to the half-open door, that the vague light of the sky might give him the means, which the darkened cottage withheld, of identifying it.

"God pity you, poor shorn lamb! is it you?" exclaimed the stout

Highlander in a faltering voice, as the wasted lineaments of Mari became visible from the folds of the plaid; "is it you, or is 't your wraith that has breasted the wind and the storm for nae purpose but to scare the little sense that ye left me, clean awa'?”

"Murdoch! Murdoch!" answered the poor maiden in a spent and feeble tone, that sounded itself like the wail of the tempest, come your ways; it was indeed the spirit that brought this wretched body over the mountain in life. Blessings on you, Murdoch, for expecting me; the plaid and the brogues will not be to seek. Come quickly, Murdoch. My strength failed me, or I should have been earlier. Come - come! they are near the Chrom by this time," and she pulled the corner of his plaid, and turned once more towards the door.

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"An' where is it ye would lead me now, Mari?" said the shepherd. "Ye are no able for a longer walk the night. Sit down, an' rest ye, Mari dear, and take off that snowy plaid, and I'll kindle up the logs again; and here's new milk in the corner, that I brought in, little thinking ye would need it, and you'll soon be warm and strong again; and by morning dawn we'll set off to Glenshee. Your poor mother will be half-crazed when she misses you." And he strove earnestly to lead her mind from the subject of her continued ramble, but it was all in vain; she stamped her foot upon the ground impatiently. "Warmed and fed!" said she indignantly, "when I might be looking my last upon those who will never be warmed or fed again! Man! I tell you to come with me, if you would not rue it to the last moment of your life," and she turned from him again with a gesture of command.

"Whither then, Mari," said the shepherd submissively, "whither am I to follow you? You cannot reach Chrom Dhu, were you as strong as I am, before morning, unless you climb the south shoulder of the Devil's Dyke; and, when ye are even on the top o' the crag, it takes a stronger limb and a firmer foot than yours to make its way down the other side."

"There is no need, Murdoch," answered the unfortunate in her former tone of helplessness. "We can but look upon the work of doom were we beside it, — that may as well be done from the crag itself."

The storm was somewhat abated when they set forth, and, though the snow still fell heavily, there was no impenetrable mist of moving wreaths to make their progress one of danger as well as of difficulty. Murdoch was hurried along by his frail conductress with an activity that seemed the effect of some supernatural gift. She made her way through the drifted snow with a speed which taxed even his own powers; and glided up the toilsome ascent which led to the Devil's Dyke so quickly and easily, that Murdoch felt his blood chill with the remembrance that she was not gifted like himself. At length the summit of the crag was gained, and Mari stood fearlessly on its ridge, and looked over into the wild hollow of Chrom Dhu.

The Chrom was a lonely moor, or, rather a peat-hagg, leafless and trackless, that yawned in one long stripe of savage sterility at the foot of the precipice. In the middle of the waste lay a small sheet of moss-water, unfathomably deep, but generally discernible from all points, stagnant and motionless as it was, from the pitchy colour of its surface, which was esteemed a sufficient warrant for the safety

of the cattle, that might otherwise have been tempted to its margin. The wild singularity of the Chrom was this night completely veiled by the pure covering of snow that lay deep and spotless upon its bosom. Even the black pool had been previously frozen up, and retained, in consequence, its share of the universal shroud. The dull white light of the sky, and the uniformity of the earth, made every object, even at the foot of the crag, distinctly visible; and Murdoch stood motionless, gazing downwards, expecting each moment that he numbered to see the funeral procession of Angus Bane enter the Chrom on its progress to the churchyard.

The snow had ceased, and the dawn was far advanced, leaving the whole sweep of the valley at their command; and before Murdoch had recovered breath from the steep ascent of the crag, the foremost of the train of mourners appeared in view. They came in one large group, closely gathered about the bier, and followed by one or two straggling lingerers, exactly as Murdoch remembered their arrangement in his vision of the night. On they went, their black figures clearly traced upon the white ground, and each one casting a long shadow, that loomed far over the earth, with a strange and frightful appearance in the solitude. On they came; and Mari's breath came in suffocating gasps, and she tossed her arms wildly to the sky. Murdoch watched them with an eagerness that bound every sense into one long gaze. On they came, slowly, steadily,-on and on, till they had reached the middle of the moor. Murdoch's heart quailed and sickened within him, and Mari laughed in her agony with a cry of madness.

"God be merciful! The pool! the pool!" shouted Murdoch till his broad chest heaved and strained with the effort.

It was in vain: the doomed train had missed their way on that trackless desert, and were all in the centre of the lake before the treacherous ice gave way. It was the work of an instant. One crackling sound reached even to the ears of the watchers,-one fell plunge, and the bier and the mourners, the dead and the doomed, were engulfed for ever. Murdoch caught Mari in his arms, as in her frenzy she would have leapt from the crag at the moment of their immersion, and, flinging her over his shoulder like a three years child, he took his sorrowful way to the desolate cottage of Glenshee. The afflicted creature moaned and sobbed for awhile in his arms, as if the fury of her paroxysm were subsiding, and as each gasp came feebler and feebler, Murdoch pleased himself with the thought that her terrible exertions were repaid by sleep. At last the sounds of her mourning ceased entirely; her head hung heavier and heavier on his neck, and Murdoch reached the shealing like one who walks in a dream. Mari was dead; and Murdoch gave to poor old Elspeth the body of her child, and the news of her widowhood, at the

same moment.

Murdoch's experience of second sight was not fatal. He is still alive, and,

A better and a wiser man

He rose the morrow morn.

VOL. VI.

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The benefits of being soused in a horse-trough.

Some farther specimens of Miss Sowersoft's moral excellence. An unlooked-for discovery is partially made, which materially concerns Miss Fanny Woodruff and Dr. Rowel.

On the following morning Palethorpe arose, and finding Colin still asleep, was proceeding, whip in hand, to help him up according to custom, when, as he turned down the clothes that almost enveloped the child's head, the unusual appearance of his countenance arrested the man's attention as well as his hand. His veins were swollen with rapid bounding blood, and his heart thumped audibly in its place, and with doubly accelerated motion, as though eagerly hastening to beat out its appointed number of pulsations, and leave the little harassed life it contained again free from the pains and vexations of this lower world.

A blush of remorse passed for a moment over the man's dark countenance as he gazed. What had they done to him? what was amiss? He covered the boy carefully up again, and hastened down stairs to communicate the news to Miss Sowersoft.

"Oh, it's all nonsense!" she exclaimed, on hearing all that Mr. Palethorpe had to say about it. "The lad 's got a bit of a cold, that's all. I'll make him a basin of milk, with a little of that nice feverfew out of the garden boiled in it, and then if you wake him up, and let him take that, it will stick to his ribs, and do him an amazing deal of good."

But as there was no hurry about such a matter, Miss Maria very leisurely took her own breakfast before she set about carrying her very charitable project into execution. When the milk, with some sprigs of feverfew boiled in it, was ready, Sally was sent up stairs with it. She found Colin awake, but weak and ill; and, much to her surprise, on presenting him with a lump of bread and the basin of milk, which more closely resembled a light green wash for stencilling walls, than any true Christian dish, he could neither touch nor bear the sight of either.

"La!" cried Sally, "why, I never heard anything like it, as to neither eat nor drink! Come, cram a bit down your throat with your finger, and see if it will not get you an appetite. Why, I can eat and drink very well, and why shouldn't you? Come, come,-don't be soft, and refuse what Goramighty sends you, while it lies in your power to get it. I'm sure this milk is very nice, indeed."

In corroboration of her statement she took a sip. But Colin shook his head feebly and heavily, and declared it would do him no good. He could take nothing,-he wanted nothing, but to be left alone, that he might think and wish, and weep as he thought and wished, that he were but once more at home, or that his mother or Fanny were but with him.

Shortly after Sally had returned below stairs, and communicated the astounding intelligence that Colin would take neither bit nor sup, Miss Sowersoft herself crept up stairs. She assured him he had plenty of colour in his face; that there could not be anything particularly amiss with him; advised him against putting on pretences of sickness, lest he should be struck with sickness in reality as a judgment on him, like the children that mocked the prophet Elijah, and were eaten up by bears; and concluded by insinuating, that if he were tickled with a whipthong, he would in all probability be a great deal better directly. "Send me home!" bitterly ejaculated Colin, bursting into tears." Put me in a cart, and send me home! I want to go home! I must go home! - Mother! - Fanny! -Oh, come

to me!-I shall die-I shall die!"

Miss Sowersoft felt rather alarmed; but reflecting that there was nothing like showing a little spirit and resolution when young folks took such whims as those into their heads, she severely taunted him with being home-sick and mother-sick; told him that neither she nor Fanny, if they were present, could do more for him than she could; and threatened that, if he did not leave off that hideous noise, which was disgraceful to a great lad of his age, she would tie a stocking round his mouth, and stop him that way. There being no great consolation in all this, it is not surprising that our hero made such slight application of it, that, for the matter of any difference it made in him, Miss Sowersoft might just as well have tied her stocking across her own mouth, or stuffed it in either, which ever she might prefer, as have given utterance to it. She was therefore constrained to submit to the lad's own way, and to confess in her own mind that there really was something more amiss with him than at first she had believed.

By mid-day he had become a great deal worse; and in the afternoon, as his disorder still rapidly increased, Mr. Palethorpe was despatched on horseback to Bramleigh, for the purpose of consulting Dr. Rowel.

About six o'clock in the evening he returned home, bringing with him a packet of white powders in little blue papers, tied together much in the fashion of that little pyrotechnic engine of mischief usually denominated a cracker.

Certain fears which had by this time crept over the mind of Miss Sowersoft caused her to be more than usually charitable and eager in her inquiries after the doctor's opinion about Colin : but the answers she received were neither very conclusive nor

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