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indeed;"-but her happy father and mother | ticular place, innumerable years ago! It was knew, that in all common things-that is, in at the close of one of those midsummer days all the duties of an humble and innocent life, which melt away into twilight, rather than their Mary was by nature excellent as in the into night, although the stars are visible, and melodies and harmonies of song-and that bird and beast are asleep. All by herself, as while her voice in the evening-psalm was as she walked along between the braes, was she angel's sweet, so was her spirit almost pure as singing a hymnan angel's, and nearly inexperienced of sin.
Proud, indeed, were her parents on that May-day to look upon her-and to listen to her-as their Mary sat beside the young English boy-admired of all observers-and happier than she had ever been in this world before, in the charm of their blended music, and the unconscious affection-sisterly, yet more than sisterly, for brother she had none-that towards one so kind and noble was yearning at her heart.
Not that the child had any thought of death, for she was as full of life as the star above her was of lustre-tamed though they both were by the holy hour. At our bidding she renewed the strain that had ceased as we met, and continued to sing it while we parted, her voice dying away in the distance, like an angel's from a broken dream. Never heard we that voice again, for in three little weeks it had gone, to be extinguished no more, to join the heavenly choirs at the feet of the Redeemer.
Did both her parents lose all love to life, when their sole daughter was taken away? And did they die finally of broken hearts? No
Beautiful were they both; and when they sat side by side in their music, insensible must that heart have been by whom they were not both admired and beloved. It was thought that they loved one another too, too well; for Harry Wilton was the grandson of an English Peer, and Mary Morrison a peasant's child; but they could not love too well-she in her tenderness -he in his passion-for, with them, life and love was a delightful dream, out of which they were never to be awakened. For as by some secret sympathy, both sickened on the same day-of the same fever-and died at the same hour; and not from any dim intention of those who buried them, but accidentally, and because the burial-ground of the Minister and the Elder adjoined, were they buried almost in the same grave-for not half a yard of daisied turf divided them-a curtain between the beds on which brother and sister slept.
such is not the natural working of the human spirit, if kept in repair by pure and pious thought. Never were they so happy indeed as they had once been-nor was their happiness of the same kind. Oh! different far in resignation that often wept when it did not repine-in faith that now held a tenderer commerce with the skies! Smiles were not very long of being again seen at Mount Pleasant. An orphan cousin of Mary's-they had been as sisterstook her place, and filled it too, as far as the living can ever fill the place of the dead. Common cares continued for a while to occupy the Elder and his wife, for there were not a few to whom their substance was to be a blessing. Ordinary observers could not have discerned any abatement of his activities in field or market; but others saw that the toil to him was now but a duty that had formerly been a delight. Mount Pleasant was let to a relative, and the Morrisons retired to a small house, with a garden, a few hundred yards from the kirk. Let him be strong as a giant, infirmities often come on the hard-working man before you can well call him old. It was so with Adam Morrison. He broke down fast we have been told, in his sixtieth year, and after that partook but of one sacrament. Not in tales of fiction alone do those who have long loved and well, lay themselves down and die in each other's arms. Such happy deaths are recorded on humble tombstones; and there is one on which this inscription may be read-" HERE LIE THE BODIES OF ADAM MORRISON AND OF HELEN ARMOUR HIS SPOUSE. THEY DIED ON THE 1ST OF MAY 17-. HERE ALSO LIES THE BODY OF THEIR DAUGHTER, OF THEIR DAUGHTER, MARY MORRISON, WHO DIED JUNE 2, 17--" The headstone is a granite slab-as they almost all are in that kirkyard-and the kirk itself is of the same enduring material. But touching that grave is a Marble Monument, white almost as the very snow, and, in the midst of the emblazonry of death, adorned with the armorial bearings belonging to a family of the high-born.
Sworn Brother of our soul! during the
In their delirium they both talked about each other-Mary Morrison and Harry Wilton-yet their words were not words of love, only of common kindness; for although on their deathbeds they did not talk about death, but frequently about that May-day Festival, and other pleasant meetings in neighbour's houses, or in the Manse. Mary sometimes rose up in bed, and in imagination joined her voice to that of the flute which to his lips was to breath no more; and even at the very self-same moment-so it wonderfully was-did he tell all to be hushed, for that Mary Morrison was about to sing the Flowers of the Forest.
And must this body die?
This mortal frame decay?
And must these feeble limbs of mine
Methinks that no deep impressions of the past, although haply they may sleep for ever, and seem as if they had ceased to be, are ever utterly obliterated; but that they may, one and all, reappear at some hour or other however distant, legible as at the very moment they were first engraven on the memory. Not by the power of meditation are the long ago vanished thoughts or emotions restored to us, in which we found delight or disturbance; but of themselves do they seem to arise, not undesired indeed, hut unbidden, like sea-birds that come unexpectedly floating up into some inland vale, because, unknown to us who wonder at them, the tide is flowing and the breezes blow from the main. Bright as the living image stands now before us the ghost-for what else is it than the ghost-of Mary Morrison, just as she stood before us on one particular day-in one par
bright ardours of boyhood, when the present | now awaken from the hanging tower of the was all-sufficient in its own bliss, the past soon Old Castle" Wilton, Wilton!" The name forgotten, and the future unfeared, what might of the long-ago buried faintly and afar-off rehave been thy lot, beloved Harry Wilton, had peated by an echo! thy span of life been prolonged to this very A pensive shade has fallen across MAY-DAY; day? Better-oh! far better was it for thee and while the sun is behind those castellated and thine that thou didst so early die; for it clouds, our imagination is willing to retire into seemeth that a curse is on that lofty lineage; the saddest places of memory, and gather toand that, with all their genius, accomplishments, gether stories and tales of tears. And many and virtues, dishonour comes and goes, a fami- such there are, annually sprinkled all round liar and privileged guest, out and in their house. the humble huts of our imaginative and reShame never veiled the light of those boldligious land, even like the wild-flowers that, in eyes, nor tamed the eloquence of those sunny endless succession, disappearing and reappearlips, nor ever for a single moment bowed downing in their beauty, Spring drops down upon that young princely head that, like a fast-grow- every brae. And as ofttimes some one paring flower, seemed each successive morning to ticular tune, some one pathetic but imperfect be visibly rising up towards a stately man- and fragmentary part of an old melody, will hood. But the time was not far distant, when nearly touch the heart, when it is dead to the to thee life would have undergone a rueful finest and most finished strain; so now a faint transformation. Thy father, expatriated by the and dim tradition comes upon us, giving birth spells of a sorceress, and forced into foreign to uncertain and mysterious thoughts. It is an countries, to associate with vice, worthlessness, old Tradition. They were called the BLESSED profligacy, and crime! Thy mother, dead of a FAMILY! Far up at the head of yonder glen broken heart! And that lovely sister, who of old was their dwelling, and in their garden came to the Manse with her jewelled hair- sparkled the translucent well that is the But all these miserable things who could pro- source of the stream that animates the parish phesy, at the hour when we and the weeping with a hundred waterfalls. Father, mother, villagers laid thee, apart from the palace and and daughter-it was hard to say which of the the burial-vault of thy high-born ancestors, three was the most beloved! Yet they were without anthem or organ-peal, among the hum- not native here, but brought with them, from ble dead? Needless and foolish were all those some distant place, the soft and silvery acfloods of tears. In thy brief and beautiful cents of the pure English tongue, and manners course, nothing have we who loved thee to most gracious in their serene simplicity; lament or condemn. In few memories, indeed, while over a life composed of acts of charity doth thy image now survive; for in process was spread a stillness that nothing ever disof time what young face fadeth not away from turbed-the stillness of a thoughtful pity for eyes busied with the shows of this living world? human sins and sorrows, yet not unwilling to What young voice is not bedumbed to ears be moved to smiles by the breath of joy. In for ever filled with its perplexing din? Yet those days the very heart of Scotland was disthou, Nature, on this glorious May-day, re- tracted-persecution scattered her prayersjoicing in all the plenitude of thy bliss-we and during the summer months, families recall upon thee to bear witness to the intensity mained shut up in fear within their huts, as of our never-dying grief! Ye fields, that long if the snowdrifts of winter had blocked up and ago we so often trode together, with the wind- buried their doors. It was as if the shadow swept shadows hovering about our path-Ye of a thunder-cloud hung over all the land, so streams, whose murmur awoke our imagina- that men's hearts quaked as they looked up to tions, as we lay reading, or musing together in heaven-when, lo! all at once, Three gracious day-dreams, among the broomy braes-Ye Visitants appeared! Imagination invested their woods, where we started at the startled cushat, foreheads with a halo; and as they walked on or paused, without a word, to hear the crea- their missions of mercy, exclaimed-How ture's solitary moans and murmurs deepening beautiful are their feet! Few words was the the far off hush, already so profound-Ye Child ever heard to speak, except some words moors and mosses, black yet beautiful, with of prayer; but her image-like stillness breathed your peat-trenches overshadowed by the hea- a blessing wherever it smiled, and all the little ther-blossoms that scented the wilderness afar maidens loved her, when hushed almost into -where the little maiden, sent from the shiel- awe by her spiritual beauty, as she knelt with ing on errands to town or village in the coun- them in their morning and evening orisons. try below, seemed, as we met her in the sun- The Mother's face, too, it is said, was pale as shine, to rise up before us for our delight, like a face of grief, while her eyes seemed always a fairy from the desert bloom-Thou loch, happy, and a tone of thanksgiving was in her remote in thy treeless solitude, and with nought voice. Her Husband leant upon her on his | reflected in thy many-springed waters but those way to the grave-for his eye's excessive low pastoral hills of excessive green, and the brightness glittered with death-and often, as white-barred blue of heaven-no creature on he prayed beside the sick-bed, his cheek beits shores but our own selves, keenly angling came like ashes, for his heart in a moment in the breezes, or lying in the shaded sunshine, ceased to beat, and then, as if about to burst with some book of old ballads, or strain of in agony, sounded audibly in the silence. some Immortal yet alive on earth-one and Journeying on did they all seem to heaven; all, bear witness to our undying affection, that yet as they were passing by, how loving and silently now feeds on grief! And, oh! what how full of mercy! To them belonged some overflowing thoughts did that shout of ours blessed power to wave away the sword that
would fain have smitten the Saints. The dew-ness as the rattling peals shook the roof-tree, and drops on the greensward before the cottage- hid her face in her lover's bosom; the children door, they suffered not to be polluted with crept closer and closer, each to some protecting blood. Guardian Angels were they thought to knee, and the dogs came all into the house, and be, and such indeed they were, for what else lay down in dark places. Now and then there are the holy powers of innocence ?-Guardian was a convulsive, irrepressible, but half-stifled Angels sent to save some of God's servants on shriek-some sobbed-and a loud hysterical earth from the choking tide and the scorching laugh from one overcome with terror sounded fire. Often, in the clear and starry nights, did ghastly between the deepest of all dread repose the dwellers among all these little dells, and up along all these low hillsides, hear music flowing down from heaven, responsive to the hymns of the Blessed Family. Music without the syllabling of words-yet breathing worship, and with the spirit of piety filling all the NightHeavens. One whole day and night passed by, and not a hut had been enlightened by their presence. Perhaps they had gone away without warning as they had come-having been sent on another mission. With soft steps one maiden, and then another entered the door, and then was heard the voice of weeping and of loud lament. The three lay, side by side, with their pale faces up to heaven. Dora, for that is the name tradition has handed down Dorothea, the gift of God, lay between her Father and her Mother, and all their hands were lovingly and peacefully entwined. No agonies had been there-unknown what hand, | human or divine, had closed their eyelids and her not-see ye her not-father-mother? Lo! composed their limbs; but there they lay as if she beckons to me with a palm in her hand, asleep, not to be awakened by the burst of sun-like one of the palms in that picture in our Bishine that dazzled upon their smiling counte-ble when our Saviour is entering into Jerusanances, cheek to cheek, in the awful beauty of lem! There she comes, nearer and nearer the united death. earth-Oh! pity, forgive, and have mercy on me, thou most beautiful of all the Angels-even for His name's sake." All eyes were turned towards 'the' black heavens, and then to the raving child. Her mother clasped her to her bosom, afraid that terror had turned her brain
that which separates one peal from another, when the flash and the roar are as one, and the thick air smells of sulphur. The body feels its mortal nature, and shrinks as if about to be withered into nothing. Now the muttering thunder seems to have changed its place to some distant cloud-now, as if returning to blast those whom it had spared, waxes louder and fiercer than before-till the Great Tree that shelters the house is shivered with a noise like the masts of a ship carried away by the board. (6 Look, father, look-see yonder is an Angel all in white, descending from heaven!” said little Alice, who had already been almost in the attitude of prayer, and now clasped her hands together, and steadfastly, and without fear of the lightning, eyed the sky. "One of God's Holy Angels-one of those who sing before the Lamb!" And with an inspired rapture the fair child sprung to her feet. "See ye
The deep religion of that troubled time had sanctified the Strangers almost into an angelic character; and when the little kirk-bells were again heard tinkling through the air of peace, (the number of the martyrs being complete,) the beauty with which their living foreheads had been invested, reappeared in the eyes of imagination, as the Poets whom Nature kept to herself walked along the moonlight hills. "The Blessed Family," which had been as a household word, appertaining to them while they lived, now when centuries have gone by, is still full of a dim but divine meaning; the spirit of the tradition having remained, while its framework has almost fallen into decay.
and her father going to the door, surveyed an ampler space of the sky. She flew to his side, and clinging to him again, exclaimed in a wild outcry, "On her forehead a star! on her forehead a star! And oh! on what lovely wings she is floating away, away into eternity! The Angel, Father, is calling me by my Christian name, and I must no more abide on earth; but, touching the hem of her garment, be wafted away to heaven!" Sudden as a bird let How beautifully emerges that sun-stricken loose from the hand, darted the maiden from Cottage from the rocks, that all around it are her father's bosom, and with her face upward floating in a blue vapoury light! Were we so to the skies, pursued her flight. Young and disposed, methinks we could easily write a lit-old left the house, and at that moment the forktle book entirely about the obscure people thated lightning came from the crashing cloud, and have lived and died about that farm, by name struck the whole tenement into ruins. Not a LOGAN BRAES. Neither is it without its old hair on any head was singed; and with one traditions. One May-day long ago-some two accord the people fell down upon their knees. centuries since-that rural festival was there From the eyes of the child, the Angel, or vision interrupted by a thunder-storm, and the party of the Angel, had disappeared'; but on her reof youths and maidens, driven from the budding turn to heaven, the Celestial heard the hymn arbours, were all assembled in the ample that rose from those that were saved, and above kitchen. The house seemed to be in the very all the voices, the small sweet silvery voice of heart of the thunder; and the master began to her whose eyes alone were worthy of beholding read, without declaring it to be a religious ser- a Saint Transfigured. vice, a chapter of the Bible; but the frequent flashes of lightning so blinded him, that he was forced to lay down the Book, and all then sat still without speaking a word; many with pale faces, and none without a mingled sense of awe and fear. The maiden forgot her bashful
For several hundred years has that farm belonged to the family of the Logans, nor has son or daughter ever stained the name-while some have imparted to it, in its humble annals what well may be called lustre. Many a time have we stood when a boy, all alone, beginning
to be disturbed by the record of heroic or holy | tered like a star in the darkness o' that dismal lives, in the kirkyard, beside the GRAVE OF THE day. 'Mother, be not afraid,' she was heard MARTYRS-the grave in which Christian and to say, when the foam o' the first wave broke Hannah Logan, mother and daughter, were in- about their feet-and just as these words were terred. Many a time have we listened to the uttered, all the great black clouds melted away story of their deaths, from the lips of one who from the sky, and the sun shone forth in the well knew how to stir the hearts of the young, firmament like the all-seeing eye of God. The till "from their eyes they wiped the tears that martyrs turned their faces a little towards one sacred pity had engendered." Nearly a hun- another, for the cords could not wholly hinder dred years old was she that eloquent narrator them, and wi' voices as steady and as clear as the Minister's mother-yet she could hear a ever they sang the psalm within the walls oʻ whisper, and read the Bible without spectacles that kirk, did they, while the sea was mount-although we sometimes used to suspect her ing up-up from knee-waist-breast-neck of pretending to be reading off the Book, when, -chin-lip-sing praises and thanksgivings in fact, she was reciting from memory. The unto God. As soon as Hannah's voice was old lady often took a walk in the kirkyard- drowned, it seemed as if her mother, before and being of a pleasant and cheerful nature, the water reached her own lips, bowed and though in religious principle inflexibly austere, gave up the ghost. While the people were all many were the most amusing anecdotes that gazing, the heads of both martyrs disappeared, she related to us and our compeers, all huddled and nothing then was to be seen on the face o' round her, "where heaved the turf in many a the waters, but here and there a bit white mouldering heap." But the evening converse breaking wave or silly sea-bird floating on the was always sure to have a serious termination flow o' the tide into the bay. Back and back --and the venerable matron could not be more had aye fallen the people, as the tide was willing to tell, than we to hear again and again, roarin' on wi' a hollow soun'—and now that were it for the twentieth repetition, some old the water was high aboon the heads o' the tragic event that gathered a deeper interest martyrs, what chained that dismal congregafrom every recital, as if on each we became tion to the sea-shore? It was the countenance better acquainted with the characters of those o' a man that had suddenly come down frae to whom it had befallen, till the chasm that his hiding-place amang the moors—and who time had dug between them and us disap- now knew that his wife and daughter were peared, and we felt for the while that their bound to stakes deep down in the waters o' happiness or misery and ours were essentially the very bay that his eyes beheld rolling, and interdependent. At first she used, we well re- his ears heard roaring-all the while that there member, to fix her solemn spirit-like eyes on was a God in heaven! Naebody could speak our faces, to mark the different effects her story to him-although they all beseeched their produced on her hearers; but erelong she be- Maker to have compassion upon him, and not came possessed wholly by the pathos of her to let his heart break and his reason fail. own narrative, and with fluctuating features The stakes! the stakes! O Jesus! point out and earnest action of head and hands, poured to me, with thy own scarred hand, the place forth her eloquence, as if soliloquizing among where my wife and daughter are bound to the stakes-and I may yet bear them up out of 'Ay, ay, my dear boys, that is the grave o' the sand, and bring the bodies ashore-to be the Martyrs. My father saw them die. The restored to life! O brethren, brethren!-said tide o' the far-ebbed sea was again beginning ye that my Christian and my Hannah have to flow, but the sands o' the bay o' death lay been for an hour below the sea? And was it sae dry, that there were but few spots where from fear of fifty armed men, that so many a bairn could hae wat its feet. Thousands thousand fathers and mothers, and sons and and tens o' thousands were standing a' roun' daughters, and brothers and sisters, rescued the edge of the bay-that was in shape just them not from such cruel, cruel death?' After like that moon-and then twa stakes were uttering mony mair siclike raving words, he driven deep into the sand, that the waves o' suddenly plunged into the sea, and, being a the returning sea micht na loosen them-and strong swimmer, was soon far out into the my father, who was but a boy like ane o' bay-and led by some desperate instinct to yourselves noo, waes me, didna he see wi' his the very place where the stakes were fixed in ain een Christian Logan, and her wee dochter the sand. Perfectly resigned had the martyrs Hannah, for she was but eleven years auld-been to their doom-but in the agonies o' that hurried alang by the enemies o' the Lord, and horrible death, there had been some struggles tied to their accursed stakes within the power o' the mortal body, and the weight o' the o' the sea. He who holds the waters in the waters had borne down the stakes, so that, hollow o' his hand, thocht my father, will not just as if they had been lashed to a spar to suffer them to choke the prayer within those enable them to escape from shipwreck, baith holy lips-but what kent he o' the dreadfu' the bodies came floatin' to the surface, and his judgments o' the Almighty? Dreadfu' as hand grasped, without knowing it, his ain those judgments seemed to be, o' a' that crowd | Hannah's gowden hair-sarely defiled, ye may o' mortal creatures there were but only twa weel think, wi' the sand-baith their faces that drew their breath without a shudder-and changed frae what they ance were by the these twa were Christian Logan and her beau- wrench o' death. Father, mother, and daughtifu' wee dochter Hannah, wi' her rosy cheeks, ter came a'thegither to the shore-and there for they blanched not in that last extremity, was a cry went far and wide, up even to the ner blue ee, and her gowden hair, that glit-hiding-places o' the faithfu' among the hags
eyes will glance—however rapidly-over another page, nor fling it contemptuously aside, because amidst all the chance and change of administrations, ministries, and ministers in
and cleuchs i' the moors, that the sea had given up the living, and that the martyrs were triumphant, even in this world, over the powers o' Ŝin and o' Death. Yea, they were indeed triumphant;-and well might the faith-high places, there murmur along the channels of our memory "the simple annals of the poor," like unpolluted streams that sweep not by city walls.
Never were two brothers more unlike in all
fu' sing aloud in the desert,' O Death, where is thy sting? O Grave, where is thy victory?' for these three bodies were but as the weeds on which they lay stretched out to the pitying gaze of the multitude, but their spirits had things-in mind, body, habits, and disposition gane to heaven, to receive the eternal rewards-than Lawrie and Willie Logan-and we see, o' sanctity and truth." as in a glass, at this very moment, both their Not a house in all the parish-scarcely ex- images. "Wee Wise Willie"-for by that cepting Mount Pleasant itself—all round and name he was known over several parishesabout which our heart could in some dreamy was one of those extraordinary creatures that hour raise to life a greater multitude of dear one may liken to a rarest plant, which nature old remembrances, all touching ourselves, than sows here and there-sometimes for ever unLOGAN BRAES. The old people when we first regarded-among the common families of knew them, we used to think somewhat apt to Flowers. Early sickness had been his lotbe surly-for they were Seceders-and owing continued with scarcely any interruption from to some unavoidable prejudices, which we his cradle to school-years-so that not only were at no great pains to vanquish, we Manse- was his stature stunted, but his whole frame boys recognised something repulsive in that was delicate in the extreme; and his pale smallmost respectable word. Yet for the sake of featured face, remarkable for large, soft, downthat sad story of the Martyrs, there was always looking, hazel eyes, dark-lashed in their lustre, something affecting to us in the name of Logan had a sweet feminine character, that correBraes; and though Beltane was of old a Pagan sponded well with his voice, his motions, and Festival, celebrated with grave idolatries round his in-door pursuits-all serene and composed, fires a-blaze on a thousand hills, yet old Lau- and interfering with the outgoings of no other rence Logan would sweeten his vinegar aspect living thing. All sorts of scholarship, such as on May-day, would wipe out a score of wrinkles, the parish schoolmaster knew, he mastered as and calm, as far as that might be, the terrors if by intuition. His slate was quickly covered of his shaggy eyebrows. A little gentleness with long calculations, by which the most of manner goes a long way with such young puzzling questions were solved; and ere he folk as we were all then, when it is seen natu- was nine years old, he had made many pretty rally and easily worn for our sakes, and in mechanical contrivances with wheels and sympathy with our accustomed glee, by one pulleys, that showed in what direction lay the who in his ordinary deportment may have natural bent of his genius. Languages, too, added the austerity of religion to the vener- the creature seemed to see into with quickest ableness of old age. Smiles from old Laurence eyes, and with quickest ears to catch their Logan, the Seceder, were like rare sun-glimpses sounds-so that, at the same tender age, he in the gloom-and made the hush of his house might have been called a linguist, sitting with pleasant as a more cheerful place; for through his Greek and Latin books on a stool beside the restraint laid on reverent youth by feeling him by the fireside during the long winter akin to fear, the heart ever and anon bounded nights. All the neighbours who had any with freedom in the smile of the old man's books, cheerfully lent them to "Wee Wise eyes. Plain was his own apparel-a suit of Willie," and the Manse-boys gave him many a the hodden-gray. His wife, when in full dress, supply. At the head of every class he, of did not remind us of a Quakeress, for a course, was found-but no ambition had he to Quakeress then had we never seen-but we be there; and like a bee that works among often think now, when in company with a sen- many thousand others on the clover-lea, heedsible, cheerful, and comely-visaged matron of less of their murmurs, and intent wholly on that sect, of her of Logan Braes. No waster its own fragrant toil, did he go from task to was she of her tears, or her smiles, or her task-although that was no fitting name for the words, or her money, or her meal-either studious creature's meditations on all he read among those of her own blood, or the stranger or wrought-no more a task for him to grow in or the beggar that was within her gates. You knowledge and in thought, than for a lily of the heard not her foot on the floor-yet never was field to lift up its head towards the sun. That she idle-moving about in doors and out, from child's religion was like all the other parts of morning till night, so placid and so composed, his character-as prone to tears as that of other and always at small cost dressed so decently, children, when they read of the Divine Friend so becomingly to one who was not yet old, and dying for them on the cross; but it was prohad not forgotten-why should she not remem-founder far than theirs, when it shed no tears, ber it?—that she was esteemed in youth a and only made the paleness of his countenance beauty, and that it was not for want of a more like that which we imagine to be the richer and younger lover, that she agreed at paleness of a phantom. No one ever saw him last to become the wife of the Laird of Logan angry, complaining, or displeased; for angeliBraes. cal indeed was his temper, purified, like gold in fire, by suffering. He shunned not the com pany of other children, but loved all, as by them all he was more than beloved. In few
Their family consisted of two sons and a niece; and be thou who thou mayest that hast so far read our May-day, we doubt not that thine