had touched her brain, and when she opened her eyes which, as she thought, had been but a moment shut, she had scarcely time to recal to her recollection the image of her husband rushing out into the storm, and of a daughter therein lost, till she beheld that very husband kneeling tenderly by her bed-side, and that very daughter smoothing the pillow on which her aching temples reclined. But she knew from the white stedfast countenances before her that there had been tribulation and deliverance, and she looked on the beloved beings ministering by her bed, as more fearfully dear to her from the unimagined dan ger from which she felt assured they had been rescued by the arm of the Almighty.

There is little need to speak of returning recollection, and returning strength. They had all now power to weep, and power to pray. The Bible had been lying in its place ready for worship and the father read aloud that chapter in which is narrated our Saviour's act of miraculous power, by which he saved Peter from the sea. Soon as the solemn thoughts awakened by that act of mercy so similar to that which had rescued themselves from death had subsided, and they had all risen up from prayer, they gather ed themselves in gratitude round the little table which had stood so many hours spread-and exhausted nature was strengthened and restored by a frugal and simple meal partaken of in silent thankfulness. The whole story of the night was then calmly recited and when the mother heard how the stripling had followed her sweet Hannah into the storm, and borne her in his arms through a hundred drifted heaps and then looked upon her in her pride, so young, so innocent, and so beautiful, she knew, that were the child indeed to become an orphan, there was one, who, if there was either trust in nature, or truth in religion, would guard and cherish her all the days of her life.

It was not nine o'clock when the storm came down from Glen Scrae upon the Black-moss, and now in a pause of silence the clock struck twelve. Within these three hours

William and Hannah had led a life of trouble and of joy, that had enlarged and kindled their hearts within them

and they felt that henceforth they were to live wholly for each other's sakes. His love was the proud and exulting love of a deliverer who, under Providence, had saved from the frost and the snow the innocence and the beauty of which his young passionate heart had been so desperately enamour. ed-and he now thought of his own Hannah Lee ever more moving about in his father's house, not as a servant, but as a daughter--and when some few happy years had gone by, his own most beautiful and most loving wife. The innocent maiden still called him her young master-but was not ashamed of the holy affection which she now knew that she had long felt for the fearless youth on whose bosom she had thought herself dying in that cold and miserable moor. Her heart leapt within her when she heard her parents bless him by his name-and when he took her hand into his before them, and vowed before that Power who had that night saved them from the snow, that Hannah Lee should ere long be his wedded wife-she wept and sobbed as if her heart would break in a fit of strange and insupportable happiness.

The young shepherd rose to bid them farewell-"my father will think I am lost," said he, with a grave smile, "and my Hannah's mother knows what it is to fear for a child.” So nothing was said to detain him, and the family went with him to the door. The skies smiled as serenely as if a storm had never swept before the stars-the moon was sinking from her meridian, but in cloudless splendour-and the hollow of the hills was hushed as that of heaven. Danger there was none over the placid nightscene-the happy youth soon crost the Black-Moss, now perfectly still-and, perhaps, just as he was passing, with a

shudder of gratitude, the very spot where his sweet Hannah Lee had so nearly perished, she was lying down to sleep in her innocence, or dreaming of one now dearer to her than all on earth but her parents.

EREMUS.

MINE honest and ancient friend, the Cameronian, having forsaken the gentle lady of Lagghill, and her kind and enthusiastic followers, thus continued his narrative. "Truly, Miles Cameron, wise was he who rendered into rhyme that famous maxim of circumspection and prudence, Ay keep something to yoursel', you scarcely tell to ony, and wiser still would men be could they practise it. My next adventure was a strange one, and happened among a people of unstable residence, infirm faith, and imperfect morality. When I promised to relate my history, I might have held, by mental reservation, the right of exercising my own judgment on indiscreet or unseemly circumstances; and truly, my adventure with the hopeful progeny of Black-at-the-bane is a thing not to be proclaimed in the public places. The profane songs and profaner conduct of a moving camp of roving gypsies will sound unseemly after the enthusiastic hymns and hosannahs of my excellent friends the Buchanites. And yet there is a kind of pleasure in speaking of conduct and relating conversation, of which prudence cannot wholly approve-it relieves the monotony of sedate thought, brings the sunny morning of youth upon us again-it is a joy that the gravest indulge in-and so, with the quiet attention of my friend, and the inspiring aid of this potent 'peat reek,' I shall proceed.

"Leaving Lagghill and Lagg's ruined tower behind me, I ascended a green eminence on the opposite side, and, looking back from its summit, saw the camp of our lady descending into the plain towards the stream of Dalgonar. It was conducted with all the precision, and much of the pomp, of a regular march. Four men bearing green boughs marched in front two others followed, blowing at intervals on harvest horns-then came our lady, mounted on a white poney, a

present from the minister's wife of Kipplekimmer-a handmaiden on either side accompanied her on foot, and four men, bearing green branches, followed. The procession was closed by the congregation marching in mass, conducting a cavalcade of horses loaded with the travelling equipage of the establishment. The men and the women sung, alternately, verses of a wild hymn-between every verse the four men winded their horns, and thus they pursued their journey till they passed from my sight among the woods of the vale of Dalgonar.

"From gazing on those respectable enthusiasts, I turned my face towards the river Nith, my forlorn condition began to claim my concern, and I resolved to pass into the moorland part of the parish of Closeburn, and seek employment as a shepherd. I was acquainted with several opulent Came ronian moorland farmers, and I had a love for their patriarchal calling. I had acquired, from tale and from song, a great liking to shepherds' pipes, well replenished scrips, kilted damsels, and kitted whey. I thought, too, it was assuredly a pleasant thing to lie in the sun, on the green side of a high hill, with all my flocks around me, listening to the lilting o' the laverocks, and daun'er with them down the green margin of a burn among the flowers and the primroses. Resolving to prove the charms of this primitive vocation, I hastened on my way, making the uplands ring with the charming old Nithsdale song of the Wakerife Minnie.'

"I soon found myself on the borders of the old forest, which covers the eastern side of the hills of the Keir, and reaching down to the Nith, lines its margin with stately groves of ash, elm, and oak, the whole thickly interwoven with hazel, mountain-ash, sloethorn, and green holly. Through these ancient groves, and chiefly on the river bank, the laird had cut many