him that sum of money which satisfied the claim of Logan Nisbet, and delivered Mrs Nisbet from his rapacious grasp. When James Deans left the conventicle on Fogo Muir, it was to make his second visit to Dewyvale, and that visit we are now to

narrate.

In the beginning of March, then, of 1678, which period the reader must be careful to reckon according to the old style, there was seen a horseman halting on a hill-top, in the county of Lanark, and tracing, evidently with the eye of an enthusiast in natural scenery, the majestic windings of the Clyde amidst green fields, and budding orchards, and melodious woods. The rider was James Deans, and he was now gazing on a prospect on which lay the house and fields of Dewyvale, the home of Mark Aitchison. The whole scene was of a truly Scottish character, a fine commingling of mountain and flood. Far away were the blue hills, with all their peculiarities hidden beneath the dreamy veils of air, distance, and spring clouds; between, was a fine undulating country of plains, crowned with swelling knolls, where fields and woods were already shining in the green and gold of spring; and in the foreground rolled the classic stream, with cattle grazing upon its verdurous banks, and bees humming around its hazel and willow trees.

After long gazing on the peaceful, rural scene, James Deans rode slowly down to the house of Dewyvale. No one was there to receive him. He stabled his pony, and having entered the kitchen, and found no one there, he turned into the parlour, and there, in an arm chair, by the fire, slept a man who seemed wasted, and sick, and old. James paused, and fixed a sad and earnest gaze on the sleeper; then muttered to himself, Can that be Mark Aitchison? that the stout soldier of forty years ago? that the man whom, but a few years since, I saw with "his eyes not dim, nor his natural force abated?" Verily, man is as grass; "he cometh forth like a flower, and is cut down: he fleeth also as a shadow, and continueth not."

The sleeper drew a long and heavy sigh, and awoke, though not to full consciousness. Directing a look of uncertain recognition on James Deans, he gazed upon him without speaking; but memory at last seemed to have found the proper track among the remembrances of 'auld langsyne,' for Mr

Aitchison's eyes filled with tears, and he held out his hand, and fervidly grasped that of James Deans. Both the old soldiers were clean overcome; they lifted up their voices and wept; while not a word could they speak, as they held each other by the hand, now pausing from, and now resuming, the affectionate shaking of hands.

'I'm clean donnert a' thegither! no to ken Jamie Deans!' at length Mr Aitchison managed to say. Come in, come in, sit doun, sit doun, thou man, like Ahimaaz, the son of Zadok. And how are ye, Jamie ? and how is Mrs Nisbet? and how is Miss Magdalene? and wherefore did ye no wauken me up the very moment ye cam? Ay! man, and it's you, Jamie Deans?'

Indeed it is, Mr Aitchison,' replied James. 'I wish I had been blessed in seeing you a healthier man.'

'Dowie, dowie, Jamie-unco dowie; the pins are fa'ing fast out o' the auld tabernacle; "the keepers of the house are trembling; the strong men are bowing themselves; the grinders are ceasing, because they are few; and those that look out at the windows are darkened." I am an auld man, Jamie; nae aulder than ye are, in point o' years, but at least twenty years aulder, by reason o' infirmities and failings o' nature. There's just a step between me and death; but it maks me blithe to see your face. You have gotten nae meat, though; and doubtless ye have ridden far; and then Mysie, the lass, is down in the meadow amang the cows; and I am, as ye see, a puir prisoner here, canna move frae this chair wi' thae weary pains, which hae torn and wasted me ever since the day o' Pentland. Hae, Jamie, there are the keys, gae ben the house and forage for yoursel.'

'No hurry, no hurry for meat to me, Mr Aitchison; I can wait fu' weel till your lass comes in. Let us, then, have a free talk, as we were wont to have on the auld law at Dunse yonder, and on many another tented field beside. I bring you the Christian greetings of my young mistress, and I bring you the heavy tidings of her mother's death. "She hath given up the ghost; her sun is gone down while it was yet day."

'Is she gone? Alas! alas! I never saw her face; but I believe she was a good woman, and full of the Holy Ghost. I aye reckoned her amang my friends, and aboot the head o' the list. Woe's me!

Jamie, how few of my friends remain upon earth! Excepting yourself, I remember not one of my early companions who lives. "I went out full, and the Lord hath brought me home again empty. All flesh is grass!"

'True! true! Mr Aitchison; but you know whither your Christian friends have gone, and you are going forward to meet the chariot which shall carry you upward to join them; and then, you have young friends rising up around you to fill the vacant places of those whom the Lord of the city hath sent for. You have a son, and

'My son! my son! Jamie Deans, speak not o' him, for I hae nae son; he went out from me, for he was not of me. My anger is kindled against him. I am like Eli, who had wicked sons; I am like unto Samuel, who also had wicked sons; I am like unto David, whose son Absalom rebelled against his father, was hanged in an oak, was cast into a great pit in the wood, and on whom was laid a very great heap of stones, for he rebelled against his father?

'Alas! this is sad news. Can an old comrade not do something, even as Joab the son of Zeruiah, even as the widow of Tekoah did to bring father and son together; so that the son may bow himself on his face to the ground before his father, and so that the father may kiss his son and forgive him? What is thy son's cause of offence?' 'Cause of offence? cause of offence? Jamie; "doth the wild ass bray when he hath grass? or loweth the ox over his fodder?" The cause of offence is this; that my son, that he who was my son, hath taken to new-fangled devices in religion and government; that he hath given himself to sectarian and schismatic courses; that he is a Frazerite, a Baxterian, and a Comwellian all in one; that he opposes his father's authority in respect of sundry notour matters, both in religious principle and practice; that he worships the Dagon of toleration; that he hath sinned and transgressed the Covenant; that he hath given up himself to play upon instruments of music, and that even on mornings before he hath broken his fast; and finally-not, however, that I hae exhausted all the catalogue of his Babylonish doings-he hath so taken to the reading of vain poetry, even to such a degree that the works of

that fierce sectary, and reviler of our nation, even John Milton, were seldom out of his hands. Cause of offence?'

'I am glad to hear-I am glad to hear that these are the only causes of offence,' said James Deans, with a truly happy face. Why, the lad shall do well. He has not, so far as I can see, eaten of any fruit forbidden by God; that had been to do, like mother Eve, a strange, a wicked, a horrible thing; I think-and frankly shall thine old fellow-soldier tell it thee, Mark Aitchison-I think the lad has only transgressed the too rigorous commandments of his father, and may say with the beloved Jonathan, the son of Saul, "My father hath troubled the land: see, I pray you, how mine eyes have been enlightened, because I tasted a little of this honey." I think the lad has done well to turn away from the men, be they Papist or Protestant, be they Cavalier or Covenanter, who, in the words of the great John Milton, "threaten to bind our souls with secular chains," by pressing their religious opinions by the edge of the sword; and, I think, he has done well to turn to the men who, in my opinion, teach "a more excellent way," and of whom I can say, "The counsel of Hushai the Archite, is better than the counsel of Ahithophel." And hear me still, Mark Aitchison; while I embrace, not all the opinions of Mr Frazer of Brea, nor all the opinions of that great inan, and prince in Israel, Richard Baxter; still, Mark Aitchison, these are not the men who will lead thy son astray from any essential article of faith, or any practice of Bible holiness, but they are safe guides to heaven, if there are such amongst uninspired men; for they are men whose word, and doctrine, and life, are a continual proclamation of these words, "Behold the Lamb of God, who taketh away the sin of the world. Without holiness, no man shall see the Lord."

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'Tell it not in Gath, publish it not in the streets of Askelon,' cried Mark Aitchison, with uplifted hands,' that Jamie Deans should uphold, not only sectaries and sectarianism, but heretics and heresy! Elihu, the son of Barachel, the Buzite, has said, "Days should speak, and multitude of years should teach wisdom;" but Jamie, Jamie, ye hae broken the back o' that text by your present speech. And is this what your liberal views hae brocht you to, Jamie?

A braw pass—a bonny pass, indeed. What, then, can I expect frae that rebellious son? What, but that he shall go from one defection to another, till he be destroyed? "That which the palmer worm shall leave, shall the locust eat; and that which the locust shall leave, shall the canker worin eat; and that which the canker worm shall leave, shall the caterpillar eat." I am not clear, James Deans, to have any further conversation with you. I am not clear to bid you either eat or drink under my roof. My spirit is disturbed for the defections in the land. I will speak to you no more this night.'

'Since you have said so, Mr Aitchison,' replied James Deans, 'I know, from days of old, that you will keep your word. I will not tempt you, but ride down to Reuben Clelland's, the dominie, and pass the night with him. If I be spared, I shall visit you to-morrow; and, if you be spared, I know also, from days of old, I shall see your face in forgiveness, in peace, and friendship, for the love of the Saviour, and for auld langsyne.'

So saying, James Deans went out, mounted his pony, and rode away to Hazeltree, the humble abode of Reuben Clelland, the dominie of Dewyvale.

A few hours after James Deans' departure, the summit of a small hill rising to the west, immediately above the house of Dewyvale, began to blacken with moving figures. It was a portion of the Highland Host returning from Ayrshire and Renfrewshire. More than an hundred men, many of whom were laden with provisions, with bundles of clothes, with pots and pans, and other booty, which they had stolen from Ayrshire farmers and Glasgow shopkeepers, descended upon the house of Dewyvale. They marched up to the house in silence; but when they had surrounded it, and a party had entered, then began to break forth the most savage yells. The barbarians thrust themselves into every corner, scrambling and fighting for plunder. They swept the trenchers from the shelves, they emptied the trunks of their clothes, they poured out the meal from the barrels, they tore the blankets from the beds, they wantonly smashed the clock into fragments, and so dismantled the walls, and broke up the furniture, that ere half an hour had passed the house of Dewyvale stood as lorn and desolate as a November

tree. One pulled the watch from Mr Aitchison's pocket, and another nearly strangled him in tearing the handkerchief from his neck. A third inflicted a deep wound upon him with a dirk; while a fourth, in wanton brutality, upset the chair in which the invalid sat, and left him lying senseless upon the floor.

It was near the close of the March day. On the top of the cherry-tree which stood in the midst of Reuben Clelland's garden, a thrush was pouring from his dappled throat his evening song. How sweet that song was! How often already that season had that bird, with his rich melodious notes, charmed the heart of the poor schoolmaster, as he paced his garden, despondingly musing on the sad times in which he lived. 'Happy bird!' would Reuben pause and exclaim, 'would that the blessed Gospel of God were permitted to sing its sweet song of truth and mercy as peacefully as thou singest from thy chosen tree! But, alas! the hawk is abroad, and the poor Gospel must flee into the wilderness to sing its plaintive melody.'

While the bird continued to pipe, Reuben Clelland and James Deans sat in Reuben's parlour in earnest conversation, and the subject of their conversation was young Mark Aitchison.

'But what kind of youth is this young Mark Aitchison, Reuben?' said James Deans.

'He is a good and gracious youth, even one among a thousand,' replied the schoolmaster; for he hath a becoming handsomeness of body, a sweet temper, a pleasant tongue, a mind which is like unto a fruitful field, in which mine own hands hath sown the seeds of good learning, and his heart is touched by the grace of God. A goodly youth! a goodly youth, verily is he !'

'And what, say you, made him leave his father's house, Reuben?'

'I say it was his father's rigorous austereness, which too much bridled the youth, which frowned upon his innocent amusements, which harshly snubbed him; which would allow no independent action in him, however fair and amiable, which must choose for him all his opinions, both in civil and religious affairs; which must prescribe here and proscribe there to the lad, as if he had no mind and no right to be consulted; yea, James Deans, which

went to the length of commanding him to consent to marry thy young mistress, without his having had any opportunity of seeing her face or judging of her worth. And this last circumstance, let me frankly tell you, James Deans, was the cause why young Mark Aitchison departed from his father's house.'

'And whither, Reuben, knowest thou, has the young man gone?'

'Nay, that I cannot tell; but I bewail his absence, for my soul delighted in him; for he, though far and away my junior, was to me as a friend and companion, who would listen respectfully to my instructions, who would ingenuously admire and debate with me, who would sweetly call me away from my unduly lengthened studies to pleasant strolls by the banks of Clyde, and who would pour his sorrows into my ear, and rejoice in my sympathy and counsel. Verily, I loved him, but I am bereaved of his pleasant intercourse; and now, when his presence no longer comes like a holy sunbeam into my lowly cottage, and his voice and his flute are no longer heard making equally sweet music ring through my dwelling, I droop much, and sadden, and sigh for the land of everlasting rest; were it not, indeed, for a throne of grace, for my Bible, for my other pleasant books, and for that mavis which God hath sent with its songs of hope and gladness ringing from the old cherry-tree, I believe that I, friendless and companionless, would so pine away that my heart would break, and I should die.'

As the plaintive schoolmaster uttered, with a deep, heart-broken like sigh, the last sentence, a sharp knock resounded from the kitchen door. Reuben rose and opened the door, and Mysie Hamilton, Mr Aitchison's servant, stood pale and aghast before him.

my reckoning, if he put o'er till the stroke o' twal. Come awa, sirs-come awa; the summoned spirit winna wait on slow feet. Eh, wow! when the vale o' Clyde's turned into a robber's den, and the godly are perishin' out o' the land! Come awa, come awa, and I'll tell you the sad story as we cross the fields.'

When James Deans and Reuben Clelland reached the house of Dewyvale, Mark Aitchison was drawing near to the hour of his departure. He was able to recognise them, to grasp James Deans firmly by the hand, and even to speak to him. 'Ah! Jamie, Jamie! this is death noo this is the dark valley! Nae time noo, lad, to wrangle and bicker aboot points o' doctrine. That's a' o'er, Jamie, for ever and ever o'er. I'm gaun awa frae a' contention and debates, and strife and alienation; frae a' Covenant signings and camp meetings; frae a' wars and rumours o' wars. I'm jist aboot to gather up my feet into the bed and die; and though I hae done mony, mony a foolish thing, and mony, mony a wicked thing, which grip hard upon my conscience at this same moment, yet, Jamie, that blood, that wondrous blood of the Son of God, shall cleanse it all-all away, and the puir, guilty, self-condemned, and law-condemned creature, hopes to mount on the wings of free grace into heaven. Stoop down, Jamie, and for a' my pets, and fumes, and sour looks, and hard words to you, gie me the kiss o' a frank forgiveness. There, it is like yoursel! Thank ye! thank ye! and when I'm awa, and down below the clod, forget a' my foibles and infirmities; and my bairn, my puir laddie! O, I begin to think noo that I hae been o'er harsh wi' him! Seek him, Jamie-seek him!-tell him his deein' faither asked his pardon for every wrong he ever did him-tell him

'Dying?'

'Ay, deein'; come awa, and bring the stranger wi' you, for the maister's moanin' sair, sair to see him.'

'Woe's me!' cried James Deans, springing to the door, 'what has happened, my woman? who has hurt your master?'

"Deed,' cried Mysie, weeping sorely, 'they hae hurt him, robbed him, and hurt him even unto death; for I'm far out o'

given to him-my son! my son !'

The old man burst into tears, and the only other words which he spake afterwards, were employed in commending his departing spirit into the hands of his Lord. After a few minutes he died, and sad were the countenances of the three mourners who stood around his death-bed, and bitter the tears which they shed when they looked upon his face and saw that his spirit had fled for ever.

Mysie Hamilton was the first to speak.