"In a lonesome glen-in a haunted house with a witch-woman in mine arms, was I thus left," said the Cameronian, continuing his narrative," and sore and sadly was I troubled, for her fit continued long; her whole frame and aspect seemed changed, and I dreamed that death was approaching. She gave a convulsive shudder, and a low moan, and arose suddenly from my arms, and stood before me.Poor lad! poor lad!" said Janet Morison, so all the world have left me to my last moments but thee! my faithful fremit lad.' While she uttered this, there was an unsettled light and motion in her eye, and a flushing and fading of colour in her face, which were fearful to look upon, She, however, walked about the apart ment with her customary agility and erectness of attitude, but it was plain she was pondering on some deep and solemn thing. She went to an old oaken wardrobe, and from among ancient silks and robes, covered with fur and richest lace, she brought a sheathed broadsword, with a crossletted hilt of pure gold; among the network, a raven was wrought in gold, and ravens also were chased on the blade. She laid it on the table. In the same place she found a roll of fine linen, which she unwound, and laid on the bed and it was not without fear that I saw it was a shroud, perfect and complete, with a raven wrought in black silk on the bosom. She looked on the ancient weapon, and on the shroud in silence, and commenced again her walk about the apartment. Hours passed away in this melancholy silence, and I never remember any sound so dismal as that of the old woman's voice, when, lifting the sheathed sword from the table, she thus addressed me-not in her usual soothing manner, but in a tone lofty and commanding. 'Mark Macrabin, the mid-day sun is now shining-when he sets shall I setlead me out, therefore, from aneath this wretched and miserable roof of

straw and turf, into the bearning of the blessed sun, and the fragrance of the kindly air-I shall pass away with the cieling shining with the fires of heaven alone above my head-the gushing of that pure mountain stream before me, and under my feet the earth's green and delicious floor-so shall the spirit pass freely-for it's soothing to hear the song of birds, and the melody of many waters; lead me out, therefore, and let me fade and fa' looking on the lands so long the inheritance of the bold and manly Morisons.' Taking her hand, we walked out together, and stood on the green platform before the door of the cottage.

"All before her breathed of peace and happiness; the farmer maidens were returning from fold and hillside, bearing stoups reeking with new milk, singing, as they descended into the vale, snatches of old ballads, and one girl in particular, lilted, with a clear and predominating voice, that fa mous old Dumfriesshire song, What ails the Kirk at me. In the very bosom of the vale, the peasants were engaged in the labour of the harvestfield-the ripe grain sank as the sickles moved, and behind them came the old men, binding the corn into sheafs, and erecting them into regular shocks. Through the valley winded the clear stream of Ae, gleaming in the sun, while the children of the reapers were bathing in its waters, or running wild and clamorous on its grassy margin. The old woman seated herself on a bank of green turf, and looked on the scene before her with a steady and continued gaze. 'Clear and lovely stream,' said Janet Morison, thou art beauteous in thy summer purity-and noble in thy wintery and flooded strength. All things change that live or grow beside thee-from these breathing and smiling and joyous images of God running gladsome on thy banks, to the decaying tree that has sheltered beneath its green boughs the love-trystes of many generations. Thou art living

and running and unchanged! Through thee has the war-horse rushed in his strength, when the trumpet called on his rider through thee has the sweet maiden waded in secret among the moonlight to meet with her first love -in thy stream has the deer stood gazing, ere he drank, on the shadow of his long branching horns; and in thee has the warrior washed the blood of a hard won battle from his brow. Oh that thou hadst never been reddened with other blood than that of enemies-the curse-lang looked for-slow coming and sure, had never come upon our house, and the name of the manly Morisons would have lived whilst thy

waters ran.'

"As she ceased, she looked on the sheathed sword, which like a blade prepared for battle, lay over her knees, and clasped her pale and shrivelled hands in silent agony of spirit, till the blood fled from their extremities. The harvest-horns now began to sound on all sides of the vale, summoning the reapers from their tasks; and the youths and maidens, running to the river, laved their hands and their brows, and, gathering round a small knoll by the stream, with bare head and obedient hand, awaited a serious and lengthened blessing from the goodman of the boondinner. The shepherd, too, received, from the hands of some kilted menial, his goan and his cake, and, seating himself on the green hill-side, with his dogs at his feet, with ready knife and willing tooth proceeded to discuss his roasted mutton, keeping his eyes all the while fixed on the flock which grazed beneath him. This specimen of pastoral delight, in which the feeling and glory of a shepherd's life appealed to the eye, and became sensible to the touch, failed not to interest me deeply. I had dreamed it was true of plumb-tree pipes, and sweet maidens, and obedient flocks, but I had never speculated on the enjoyment of the kind of pastoral meat-offering which was now presented to the shepherd on his hill-side. I felt anxious to commence; and the easy way in which a bason of sweet curds, or any other of those shepherd dishes which provoke one's appetite in song, would have glided into my affections, made me wish for so easy a sey-piece. The appearance of an old man with a young woman, walking step by step at his side, interrupted my meditations. He

was walking on the river side, and, turning at once from the current, he ascended the little promontory, on which we were seated, by a zig-zag footpath, which landed the old man and his companion in front of the cottage. He soon stood beside us, gathering his breath, and leaning over his staff, polished smooth as horn by long use. "He seemed in no haste to speak, but unbonneted, and smoothed with his hand, a head full of silver hairs, showing a high and brent forehead and swarthy eyes, which retained their hue amidst the changes of time. Over a complete suit of clothes, of the colour called raven-black, the prudence of age had thrown a Lowland mantle, or shepherd's maud, which, fastened by a silver skewer on the left shoulder, hung down to the knee, in a simple style of antique drapery. His legs were covered with a species of leggins, called Sanquhar-hose-certainly the most comfortable covering that ever the kindness of woman invented for the use of man;-they were of a deep black rib, and, reaching far on the shoe, nearly covered a pair of massy silver buckles. In his hand he held his bonnet, which presented a breadth of margin capable of shad ing even the colossal shoulders of the wearer himself, and, replacing this covering on his silver hairs, he turned on Janet Morison an eye of recognition, and began to speak; but the rustic uncouthness of his manner accorded ill with the gentleness of a religious mission, or even with the kindness of his own nature.

'It's a very odd thing, woman,' said the Cameronian elder, John Macmukle, with a prolonged low cough and a draunt of the tongue,

that ye should be groping at death's door without sending to a devout neighbour to prepare yere path through the sinks o' sin, and the deep mires o' unrighteousness, an' hing the gospel lamp afore ye, the burning an' the shining lights o' the covenant." As he spoke he placed his bonnet on the grass, seated himself above it, pulled out and unclasped a small black print bible, and, with a kind of mournful and sympathizing cough, dipped at once into the twelfth chapter of Revelations. This well meant and devotional overture seemed, perhaps, from the controversial commentary of the commencement, to jar with the train of Janet Morison's reflections;

she waved her hand in displeasure, and lowered her dark brows till they almost concealed her eyes. The Cameronian read on, John Macmukle,' said Janet Morison, thou art a douce man, and thou art a devout; but thy belief and my belief are sundered by a gulph.-Religion to thee is a tree stript by winter of its beauty, and the storm and the hail are busy with its branches.-Religion to me is a tree shooting out its bud and its blossom, and bringing forth its fruit to the dews of night and the morning sun, and filling the land with its fragrance, and the hungry with its fruit-I shall hear thee no longer.' The Cameronian read on, and read, too, with a saintlike resignation and fervour of face, and the old woman sat silent till he closed the book and said, 'let us pray,' throwing himself in the instant on his knees, and holding up his hands, and closing his eyes, uttering a preliminary sound, something between a cough and a groan. The habitual reverence which I entertained for devotion placed me on my knees beside him-the young woman knelt also, folding her white hands over her bosom, and bowing her head till her temple-locks touched the grass. Ja net Morison alone sat, and, with a brow dark, and even stern, awaited the forth-coming prayer. She did not wait long. The commencement seemed of a controversial nature-a kind of battle-array of creeds and persuasions, with an enumeration of the various heresies and sects which deform and distract Christianity, mislead the divine stream, render it impure, and pour its healing waters on desart places. From these he made a sudden transition; and, in the desire of his heart for pressing all kinds of figures and allusions into the service of devotion, he seized on the metaphorical tree of religion made use of by Janet Morison, and thus he employed it: Thou art a tree lovely and stately, beloved by softer minds in thy summer pride and beauty, by sterner minds in thy winter desolation and nakedness. When thy green head danceth in the dewy air with all thy fullness of leaf and blossom, the meek and the timid love thee; but when thy beauty is given to the blast-when the hail-wind bows thee-when against thee the feller whetteth his axe, and the snow-cloud leaves on thee its shroudlike livery-then dost thou

preach to man, lifting up thy voice like the voice of mighty waters-then.' This simile of thine, I tell thee, woman,' said the Cameronian, dropping his devotional, and assuming his usual tone, is a very odd one, and I shall follow it no farther, lest, peradventure'-a timely fit of gentle coughing came to his rescue and interposed, to save the humility of further admission; he felt evidently embarrassed by an intractable figure of speech, which threatened to lead him a de vious way, and had already confounded shadow and substance like the mixed allegory of an unskilful artist. A smile came to the face of Janet Morison, which, like a passing light on the face of a statue, brightened, without moving, the surface.

"The old man, nothing abashed by the unlucky application of the borrowed simile, took his station on more tenable and more frequented ground-addressing himself to Providence, he felt less embarrassed, and spoke in a manner much more unreserved and familiar than if he had courted the attention of the meanest magistrate. It is very odd,' said he, that in spite of all the outpowerings of thy precious word-in spite of the outworkings of professors, who toil as if they had salvation by task-work, and the inworkings of the spirit, that toils like dominie Milligan's half-crown when we sleep-that self-devotion, will-worship, pride-worship, vanity-worship, and woman-worship, and the worship of dumb stones and carved wood, should still be rife in this kingdom of saints. That men and women, (wo be on the latter, for they mislead spiritual love sorely by their lovelocks and their languishings) who bear thy image, should make gods of bread, and gods of strong drink, gods of silver and gods of gold, and lock their blessed and precious souls amang the filthy mools and muck o' this world, in a kist the fiend keeps the key of. Crack the credit and trust o' him who thinks to win the white robes o' saints, with his Latin words and his Greeks; and, aboon all, cast his timmer gods into the lake-even the lake hotter than that of Sodom and Gomorrah.' The face of the old woman darkened down as the Cameronian proceeded, but the mountain elder, nothing daunted by the ominous contraction of Janet's brows, continued in the same uncompromising strain to

deal out wo and doom and condemnation on all who had mitres on their heads, and all who had mitres in their heads-on masses and beads-surplices -printed prayers-read sermonsblack cloaks, even the cloak of Geneva -on crosses and signs, and pastoral crooks-and lastly on Christ's vicar, 'whom the reformation shook sair and sad', said John Maciukle, and cast them all into that foul pit and unfathomed void called Purgatory; and trouth e'en let them remain there they may gang farther and fare warse. And now having cleared the earth o this rubbish, we have room to look about us, and a bonnie land we hae made out.'

6

"This happy riddance gave room for the natural and kindlier workings of the old man's heart, and he proceeded in a softer and more impressive tone to the immediate object of his mission, Where art thou found? not in the palace, alas! nor in the gilded tabernacle, wo's me! but with them who kneel on mountain and moor, and in the waste places! With whom art thou found? not leaguing with the proud ones of the earth, nor holding up the train of the spiced and perfumed madam,-the mair's the pity-but thou walkest with the ploughman on the field, with the shepherd on the hill; and wherever there is a praying lad or lass by a thorn bush, there hast thou pitched thy pavilion and displayed thy banner. Thou followest not the clang of the trumpet, nor makest thy path where runneth the chariot wheelbut thou art found with the humbled and the broken spirit-with the heart which affliction has bowed down and trodden upon-on whom disasters have darkened as midnight, and destruction as a thunder cloud-to humble the hope and waste the glory of the noble and the far descended.' Janet Morison sank on her knees, and, with a sob and a sigh, laid her withered arm round the white neck of the Cameronian maiden, and bowed down her head till her brow touched the ground. 'Threescore and seven years hath thy servant lived in Glenae; and fourscore and fourteen years thy handmaid-useful hath she been in her day, and skilful in her generationpossessed of marvellous gifts and endowments-how she came by them, is mair than I can tell--that's between

her and thee; but my flocks have prospered under her eye, and my grain has come ready and ripe to the thrashing floor; and now when she is needed as mickle as ever, thou art going to lay the capstane of doom on the ancient name of Morison, and take away our kind and cannie cummer-but I cannie want her, and I winna want her! And, conscious of his irreverent conclusion, John Macmukle arose from his knees, and made no farther attempt to renew his intercession.

"The old woman continued to kneel, and seemed busy with internal prayer; she arose and seated herself beside us, and, taking the Cameronian maiden's hand, said, And how art thou, my ain sweet Mary Macmukle? thou comest but ance a year to my habitation, like the lily flower.' The damsel to whom this was addressed, merited the allusion to the fairest flower of the field, for she was one of the loveliest beings that ever claimed the homage of my youthful heart. I think I see her standing before me even now, in the very dress she wore, and with the same meek dark glance, and down-blushing cheek, with which she listened to me for some hours of the summer morn, among the green broom of Dalswinton. There are hours in a man's life well worth all its years, and these were some of them. The rustic dress of my maid of the moorlands by no means incommoded the agility of her motions

I mean she was not incumbered with her drapery-it was fashioned less for ornament than use. Her hair had something of a darker tinge than nut-brown, and the flapped flat straw cap that covered it from the sun, could neither conceal nor restrain its luxuriance. Her locks came flowing out in thick and shining rings, filling all the space between her bonnet and her white temples with their clusters, like the tendrils of the vine. A jacket of linsey-woolsey, of a dark silvery gray, closed over her bosom, and, rising like a fan from her shoulders, formed a back ground, and admitted the air to a glowing neck, round, and smooth, and long; while a petticoat of the same fabric reached more than mid-leg, showing white elegant ancles, and feet washen and perfumed among the gowan dew. In her left hand she held a basket stored with moorland delicacies, as an offering to the old woman, and her right hand found full

employment in shading the overflowing abundance of her curls from her large and lovely dark hazel eyes. When the old woman addressed her, Mary Macmukle rose and said, in a meek low tone of voice, I come owre seldom, Janet Morison, my auld frail mother, and a heavy milkness, keep me busy frae sunrise to sunset, and I daurnae trust myself in your lonesome glen i' the gloaming."

"The moorland maiden made a full pause, conscious that she had set her foot on the debateable land. 'And what would harm my bonnie bairn in the gloaming near my poor haddin',' said Janet. I canna weel tell ye,' said the Cameronian lass, its no the tale o' its being haunted with the spirit o' the auld persecutor, Andrew Morison, who slew seven o' the saints in the moorlands o' Carmichael-owre gude a hand has a haud o' him-he'll trouble earth nae mair, nor can I say it's the name ye have yerself, Janet Morison, o' being a dour an' determined witch; a player o' pranks wi' the wits of men amang the moonshine, an' wi' the wits o' women too, else yere no sae ill as yere ca'd; but its owre well kend, that a form I should like waur to meet than the melancholy spirits o' the wick ed dead, has lang haunted your habitation; and I am sure yere a meikle kindlier woman than yere said to be, if ye refrained from giving that wickedest piece of a' living flesh yere darkest and kittlest cast.'

"This was an evident allusion to the young huntsman who shot the ravens, and whose actions and appearance then seemed to excite no more than a corresponding agitation in the bosom of Janet to what she felt now. To say her looks darkened, says nothing her face grew as black as her own shadow, and her brows were pulled over her eyes, so that the flash of intolerable hatred and revenge was nearly extinguished. In this moment of emotion she laughed, or rather neighed aloud, and raised and fluttered her arms as a vulture does its wings, when with a scream it fixes upon and rends its prey, 'My darkest and kittlest cast saidest thou maiden? Na! na! his doom's as fixed as that rock is to its base, certain as the course of that stream which hastens to the sea, and sure as the setting and shining of that blessed sun; fearful shall be the close of his few and evil days.

Say, maiden, wouldest thou wish to see three short years before thee, and know the doom of that evil being, never to be named, then swathe this mantle of mine round thee like a shroud, turn thrice round, and look into that dark, and hollow, and haunted linn, and tell me what thou dost see. Hast thou courage to do what nane save a virgin dare, then take my mantle and do as I have bid thee.' -Aye, that I shall, Janet Morison, said the dauntless maiden, and, taking the witch's mantle as she spoke, proceeded to swathe herself, observing, ' unless my father says such a seeking into the future lacks Scripture war rant?"- Scripture warrant! I'll be thy warrant,' said the Cameronian, forgetting his habitual reverence to the Sacred Word, in his desire to pry into the destiny of man,- Hooly, hooly,' said he, laying his hand on the mantle which now nearly shrouded his obedient daughter, Warrant ! aye,-King Saul consulted the woman with the familiar spirit, and learned the evils that awaited his race, so thou mayest even do as the possest woman, Janet Morison, biddeth thee.'

"And, with this paternal permission, she shrouded herself, turned thrice round, the old woman bowing her head and muttering all the while, and then took one step, and gazed down the dark and profound linn, into which the river threw itself on its passage to the valley. In about a minute's space, the maiden began to shudder and shake, and then, uttering one fearful shriek, she leaped back into her father's arms, pale and agitated, casting from her the old woman's mantle, and exclaiming, Oh help him! help him! but there can be nae help frae sic doom as his.' Bless my bairn,' said John Macmukle, thou hast witnessed nae pleasant sight; oh, what didst thou see, Mary, what didst thou see?" She has seen something that gaurs me grane and laugh,' said Janet Morison, whilk o' the three fiends had the best rugg of him, maiden tell me that? Was it the fiend o' lucre, the fiend o' murder, or the fiend o' lust ?' The maiden sat silent for a space, and then said,- It was but a fiction o' the fiend's creation, and a christian would be unwise to credit it, and yet it may be a true tale after a', for, besides three fiends, I saw three other forms hovering near. One was bonny Madge o' Mireburn, the second was