and, having stood too close to the border of the mound, the green turf suddenly gave way, and down I plunged headlong into the beldame's garden, crushing down an entire plumb-tree, and leaving a gap in her fruit-tree fence wide enough for the passage of a loaded car. Up I started, more alarmed at my intrusion than injured by my fall, and confronted the owner of the garden holding a broken branch loaded with ripe plums in onehand, and a green turf in the other, tokens of my involuntary descent, and the pains I had taken to avert it or render it easy. On me looked the old woman for a minute's space, more in commiseration than anger, down she laid her roke, siezed an old staff, the head of which still retained marks of having worn a covering of precious metal, said, lift the roke, Mark Macrabin, and follow-I have wark for thee!' and away she halted into her cottage, with slow steps, and efforts that cost her pain. I lifted her roke, not with my bared hand, but, passing part of the plum-tree branch beneath it, I bore it after her as a timid schoolboy carries a live eel, and internally blessing myself; for it seemed a perilous undertaking. Into the cottage, the door of which, from the rudeness of its architecture and lowness of its lintle, resembled a cavern more than an entrance to a human abode, I followed her. The passage required me to stoop, and I soon found myself in a kind of chamber, filled with that thick and bitter smoke which arises from burning green wood. Living thing I could not discern, till on advancing I saw like a dim hearth fire, struggling for existence, amidst the very cloud it had produced-the form of a human being seated on one side, and a similar form seated on the other. I stood stone-still, and gazed on these guardians of the hearth, neither of whom uttered a word, nor did I attempt to break the silence, but stood looking on the one and looking on the other, with the witch's roke in my right hand, and wiping the tears which the bitter smoke brought abundantly from my eyes with the left. The old woman, my conductress, pitied me, and pulling a pair of fall-boards' belonging to a window, instantly opened, and through the apertures the smoke escaped in volumes. She held out her hand-snatched her roke, and beginning to spin, said, not to her companion nor to me, but evidently to herself, though she spoke in her usual audible tone Sackless callant! sackless callant! louping on the green tap of Lagghill wi' a gang of raving gomerals, then snooling amang rags and ram horns, with a horde of deaving gypsies. Its a sad and sair pity to behold youthfu' blood gaun a gate sae gray. Janet Morison, ye maun e'en try to make a saut something out o' this sackless callant.' And then she looked on me with her great gray eyes, and then towards the figure seated opposite, with a look of pitying reflection. The smoke had now eddyed completely out of the chamber, and I obtained a full view of the apartment. It contained no furniture to impede my examination. The walls that had once been plastered, were naked and shining with soot; the rooftree and rafters were seen bare, and two large pieces of timber that supported the whole trusted not to the walls, which were of loose stones, but descending to the floor, grooved their bases in the ground, which was of gravelly clay. Where the rooftree joined the gabel, an aperture had been made for the smoke, but this was nearly choked up with soot, and so slight was the indraught of air, that the reek, after having filled all the roof, descended cloud after cloud to the very floor, where it stood motionless and still, unless the supplemental chimney or window opened its oaken fall-boards to permit its escape. From the rooftree, directly over the fire, a long iron chain depended, and from the chain a bar of iron hooked at the lower end for the purpose of suspending vessels over the fire; but this seemed to be seldom trusted with the weight of cooking utensils, and was wreathed around with a century's soot. All that the apartment contained was three square blocks of freestone, placed as seats round the hearth fire, on two of which sat my conductress and her companion. The third stood unoccupied for me, and into this uncomfortable resting-place was I speedily motioned by the yellow hand of Janet Morison, the cannie cummer of Ae Glen. "I had now leisure and resolution also to turn my eye on the silent figure beside me. The thick smoke that shrouded her before was now passed away, but a dark mantle thrown over her head, and reaching down to the floor like a shroud, wrapped her all round-I never beheld any shape that awakened my curiosity so much, but my desire to know more of this mysterious figure was soon redoubled- Nannie, my sweet and lost lass,' said the beldame, in a tone far sweeter than her common speech-lang looked for's come at last-the thing that maun be maun be-and sic is the wierd of a human flesh-I maun e'en set a stout heart to the darke sair sair hae I pled that the ripe ear might drop to the sickle, and the green ear remain unshornbut it wasnae to be!-The voice called once, and the voice called twice-wi' the third call auld Janet Morison maun buckle and gang.' As the old woman spoke, the agitation of the mantled figure became extreme-at first something of an involuntary shuddering came over her, and the folds of the mantle shook and undulated over her bosom, like ripening grain moving in the wind-the shudderings ceased, and sighs audible and deep were heard, and through the folds of the mantle-held with both hands to her eyes, the tears seemed to come-drop succeeding drop. My heart, that had turned from the old woman and her whole establishment at the first interview, began now to take a deep interest in her fate, which all that I heard and saw induced me to conclude was involved in some strange mystery-above all, I longed to take the mantled figure by the hand, and say, in the tender language of the Scripture, Alas, why art thou disquieted! The old woman guessed, or knew what was passing in my thoughts, and resuming her croaking note, said, Sackless callan !-sack less callan! eighty and eighteen years hae I dwalt in this glen-and a' flesh that smiled as I smiled-that I hae nursed i' my heart, and dandled on my knee, is raked wi' the mools-that stream that comes drapping down, singing wi' a gladsome din amang the lang green birks-had the same voice then as it has now-yon rising sun gleamed as brightly then as it does now-and the same sweet sang o' the mavis and the laverock-the tane on the craig, and the tither 'neath the cloud, was heard at my bridal-was heard at the death of my goodman and the burial o' a' my bairns-bow -bow, never stand against the blast, stoop, stoop-and let the tempest fly o'er ye-men are no made to rin for ever like the streams-women are not made to smile for ever like this sweet morning-we may gang soon-or we may gang syne, but gang we maun— therefore come wi' me, and let me look at yon bonnie beaming sun-It's the last time I shall ever see it arise!" -The voice of the old woman as she proceeded became soft and even pathetic, and swelling to a tone of deep seriousness, and the mantled figure, who had become calm and tranquil, now appeared moved and agitated, and her sighs and sobbings were renewed. But when the old dame desired me to come and look at the full risen sun, she arose, not slow and by degrees as her more aged companion did-but starting to her feet at once, she dropped from her head and shoulders the large mantle-and the most beautiful apparition appeared that ever blessed the sight of man. She seemed to be about seventeen-tall, slender, and handsome-her head was uncovered nor was her forehead bound in that fillet of maidenhood peculiar to Scotland-the snood-her locks descended in wild and untameable profusion down her back and over her shoulders, parting in the middle of her forehead, and shrouding her bosom like the divine Madonna of Corregio. Amid this streaming luxuriance of locks her face alone was bare-and a face more lovely-sublimed by melancholy thought- and washen with dropping tears-it has never been my lot to look upon. Her brow had more the icy gloss of polished marble than the living glow of breathing beauty; and her eyes, which were large and round, and fringed with the longest black silken lashes I ever beheld, had something of a wild and unearthly expression-but still an expression of gentleness. She glided past me, and casting her long and round and white arms about the neck of the old woman, walked into the sunny air. I followed-for I found myself linked to this pair by something like a charm and the deep interest that I felt about a dame so old and so singular, and a maiden so young and so beautiful, was chastened by something like awe. They walked or rather tottered forward to the brink of the mound-be fore them the remains of an old oak wood, blanched and blasted, and lifeless with extreme age, covered by the aid of dwarf-holly, sparkling with moist leafs and ruddy berries, the slope on the opposite side, and beneath their feet the stream toiled among rocks and roots of trees, diving into profound linns, and then emerging, wheeling, and undulating, and whitened with foam. The sun, cloudless and clear, had now arisen fully over the eastern slope, and its beams slanted across the flood, fell along the sward, at the feet of the old beldame and the lovely and melancholy creature that accompanied her. On the running stream and then on the risen sun the old woman looked-and on them her companion looked too-but with an unsettled and bewildered glance, that did not seem to associate living thing with the inanimate but beautiful scene before her. But Janet Morison's mind was busy with other days, she spoke or rather thought aloud-for her speech was addressed to no living thing. Stately and green in your bonny bonny ranksgreen wi' yere simmer livery were ye whan I first saw this lanesome glenwhere the Morisons hae been Morisons longer than tongue can countthe black blood-raven and the hooded gore-crow sang amang yere branches when I first pou'd the witch-gowan and the hollow hemlock. Sair, sair altered are we since we first became acquaint-leafless is the tane and lockless is the tither-my hooded craws and my poor ravens have alane remained and the young lord-black and bloody will be his cast-shot the tane on the top of the auld tree, three mornings syne-and its lyart marrow has flown away far, far, and will never see cummer who fed her so kindly again.' "Even as old Janet lamented, the rustling of wings was heard, and presently up the deep gorge of the glen-sailing slowly along on the bosom of the water, came a large raven-The crown of its head was bald from extreme age-its back was as hoary as if it had been sprinkled with meal-its bosom and wings alone retained their original hue. When this faithful old bird came beneath the mound where we stood, it arose perpendicularly into the air, and seating itself on the topmost stem of a withered oak, turned its head to the VOL. VII. cottage, and gave one low croak of recognizance. And yere there, my black and my bonny bird, said the old woman-come marrowless back to your leafless tree and your sorrowing mistress.' While she uttered these words, a hunter emerged at once from the bowers of holly, and, presenting his carbine as he appeared, fired at the old and solitary raven. The raven uttered, as the shot struck it—not a croak, but something between a croak and a moan, and spreading its wings, away it soared perpendicularly into the sky-lessening to the eye every moment of its rapid flight. The hunter stept to the summit of a little hillock, and stood gazing upwards at the wounded bird, unconscious of our presence. He was a tall, handsome, and rather slender, youth, with bold martial features, and a careless and gay and dissipated air. He wore a bonnet with a black feather, and a lowland mantle of the finest texture, fastened on his left shoulder by a broach of pure gold. Curse the evil bird, exclaimed the youth-much good powder thee and thy blasted brood has cost me--I have weeded ye away one by one-thou alone remain'st and may remain for me I might as well shoot at the blessed sun with the hope of marring its shining." And curse the evil being that shot my bonny black raven and her bonny brood,' said Janet Morison, shaking her withered hand at the object of her wrath- For this, and for sins deep and dark-that winna do to be named in sunshine-have thy days been numbered-listen the amount!-the last of three simmer suns shall see the limit of thy life-a brief space for a face so young-nor shall it be spent-wi' filling the grave with the ruins of thy last-woes me!-but in sorrow that knows no mirth-in tears many and bitter-not tears of repentance." The person this remarkable woman addressed was the last child of a far descended and renowned race-of noble blood and lordly inheritances-but early left to his own will, he surrendered himself to the indulgence of guilty passions, and ere his twentieth year, he fled to a foreign land-leaving ruined maids and weeping mothers in his native country-whose cries were not heard in vain. Towards the old woman he gazed with a look, not of scorn or contempt, but of terror and 3 N affright-he stept several paces back, like one afraid to be seen or heard, and dropping his carbine, held both hands before his face, as if to screen his eyes from some sudden and offensive light. Saints and souls of men,' he muttered in a voice choking with emotion, It is HER! It is HER! I shall trust the kirk-yard turf no longer-hell and heaven fail to hold what we give them-it is HER, as sure as light itself.'-He seemed willing to fly his feet refused to move-his knees were shaking with agony, and the colour was chased from his cheek by some fearful sight, which it was not my fortune to behold. At this moment the wounded raven, that had soared wholly out of sight, fell at the foot of the old woman, its head stretched out, its wings expanded, and all its feathers agitated with the shiverings of death. "I lifted the poor bird, and it was not without some feelings of astonishment and fear that I saw the place empty on which the young and beautiful maiden stood but a moment before she must have melted upon the spot, or sunk into the ground-but it was evident the youth observed her departure, for he strained his eyes like one gazing on a distant and dim object, and gradually regained his usual tranquillity of look. The old woman seemed conscious of some unusual thing, for she suddenly veiled her eyes with her hands, and muttered words that sounded like rhymes, and seemed the reliques of some ancient and half-forgotten form of blessing and invocation. Janet Morison,' said the youth, assuming his usual imperious tone of voice, and evidently relieved from the presence of something that had agonized him, thou shalt have that withered brow stamped with the iron stamp of good Saint Andrew, for these cursed cantrips of thine-thy brood of blood ravens hae haunted me these three days and nights-and the very children called aloud, see!-there'll be something seen of him.'-I shall teach thee to bring the shadows of the dead back!-home nor habitation shall be thine by to-morrow's sun-rise.'On him looked the old woman with a face of inimitable composure-and she even began to smile-I pray never to behold such a smile again-for death and judgment were in it, and she addressed him in a voice gentle and af fectionate as that of a mother who condoles with the babe of her bosom. Fair fall thee for thy bennison, my bonny lad!—and did my brood of blood ravens croak for a piece of the innocent lamb?-gowks that they were they'll never taste a morsel o' thy dainty limbs-Na! Na! the rack, the headsman's axe, and the hungry hound maun, and shall be served before all, the fowls of heaven. And I am to be turned out of hame and haddin?-But, my bonny bairn, the dust of Auld Janet Morison shall sleep sound and sound under the gowany turf, when the town dogs are toolying for thy bosom banes!-Now, gang yere ways, and if ony ane ask ye, say I said it.' "On concluding this fearful prediction, Janet Morison walked away to her cottage-agile and erectmingled wrath and desire of revenge supplied her with unusual strength.I stood one moment looking on this aged and singular being-and then on the young lord, who seemed lost for a moment in that pondering and bewildering stupor of a criminal who harkens his doom-a brace of dogs that had whined and cowered at his feet-laying their heads on the ground, as if expecting correction, while the mantled maiden remained, leaped up now, caressing and fawning on their master, and evidently partaking, with a kind of brute instinctive sympathy, in the anguish of his feelings:- Doomed,' said he, to the rack, the axe, and the hound, and that for shooting her damned ravens-and doing something that she counts as bad-if there's faith in flint and powder, I shall have a shot at another raven, and hinder her from croaking my death note;' and he began to re-load his carbine, whistling the while, though his hand shook, and his whole frame was disordered.I was revolving in my own mind how I should interpose to prevent the mischief I saw he was meditating, and had fairly resolved to argue the matter with tongue and with timber-an ancient custom in Scotland-when, on having loaded his piece, he looked, and something met his eye, which changed his resolution and his hue at once. He turned his head awaygave no second glance-and, diving into the groves of holly, disappeared, but the rapid crashing of the boughs betokened the anxiety of one too hurried to select his steps. "Though something very mysterious and boding hung over all that I had heard and witnessed, I felt no desire to be gone, and so firmly was I possess ed of the belief of Janet Morison's evil influence and power, that like him who wanders on a haunted road, I thought it more dangerous to return than proceed. Into the cottage I walked-not by a step and a stride-but silently and slow, inch after inchmoving as the shadow moves on a dial plate. The beautiful maiden who wore the black mantle was departed-but there sat the old woman herself-on the old square stone-her broad palms spread and clutched on her knees, her head declined on her breasts, and crooning in a low and mournful voice a broken and disjointed ballad-some of the lines seemed old-some seemed new, but they all related to her family name. I can only charge my remembrance with forgetting one verse. THE MORISONS. 1. "From Burnswark top to deep Glenae, They travelled the earth, and they stemmed the wave, The Morisons' might and the Morisons' glory. 2. But in the battle, when shafts flew thickest, An ancient curse still clung to their name.— 3. 'It is sad to hear-though its brief to tell, How the curse that maun cling to their name befel- In sorrow and shame!-and away let it pass- Shall be mute and be dry ere the sun-rise of morrow, Is the Morisons might and the Morisons glory.' "Her voice, mournful and low at the commencement of the ballad, waxed full and flowing as she proceeded, but sunk all at once into a kind of hollow and murmuring tone at the last verse, and she evidently laboured under some overmastering emotion. So intent was I in listening to, and learning this rude and traditional rhyme, that I took little notice of the old woman's altered mood and manner towards the close of the song. She sat uprighther looks changing as an April sky from brightness to gloom, and she looked as if she saw something opposite, that gave her pain. I now looked around from gazing on the old woman, and it was not without fear that I beheld seated on the square seat of stone, the same beautiful maiden I |