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of our voice would pause for a little while, and before the tempest, she came upon us in the then pass by, like a white bird from the sea, midst of that dreary moss; and at the sound floating unscared close by the shepherd's head, of our voice, fell down with clasped hands at or alighting to trim its plumes on a knoll far our feet-“ My father's dead !” Had the hut up an inland glen! Death seems not to have put already on the strange, dim, desolate look touched that face, pale though it be-lifelike is of mortality ? For people came walking fast the waving of those gentle hands and the down the braes, and in a little while there was soft, sweet, low music which now we hear, a group round us, and we bore her back again steals not sure from lips hushed by the burial to her dwelling in our arms.

As for us, we mould! Restored by the power of love, she had been on our way to bid the fair creature stanās before us as she stood of yore. Not and her father farewell. How could she have one of all the hairs of her golden head was lived-an utter orphan—in such a world! singed by the lightning that shivered the tree The holy power that is in Innocence would for under which the child had run for shelter from ever have remained with her; but Innocence the flashing sky. But in a moment the blue longs to be away when her sister Joy has delight in her dewy eyes was dimmed-and parted; and it is sorrowful to see the one on never again did she behold either flower or earth, when the other has gone to Heaven! star. Yet all the images of all the things she This sorrow none of us had long to see; for had loved remained in her memory, clear and though a flower, when withered at the root, and distinct as the things themselves before unex- doomed ere eve to perish, may yet look to the tinguished eyes-and ere three summers had careless eye the same as when it blossomed in flown over her head, which, like the blossom its pride-yet its leaves, still green, are not as of some fair perennial flower, in heaven's once they were--its bloom, though fair, is gracious dew and sunshine each season lifted faded-and at set of sun, the dews shall find it its loveliness higher and higher in the light, in decay, and fall unfelt on its petals. Ere she could trip her singing way through the Sabbath came, the orphan child was dead. wide wilderness, all by her joyful self, led, as Methinks we see now her little funeral. Her all believed, nor erred they in so believing, by birth had been the humbles, of the humble; an angel's hand! When the primroses peeped and though all in life had loved her, it was through the reviving grass upon the vernal thought best that none should be asked to the braes, they seemed to give themselves into her funeral of her and her father but two or three fingers; and 'twas thought they hung longer friends; the old clergyman himself walked at unfaded round her neck or forehead than if the head of the father's coffin-we at the head they had been left to drink the dew on their of the daughter's—for this was granted unto native bed. The linnets ceased not their lays, our exceeding love ;—and thus passed away though her garment touched the broom-stalk for ever the Blind Beauty of the Moor! on which they sang. The cushat, as she thrid Yet sometimes to a more desperate passion her way through the wood, continued to croon than had ever before driven us over the wilds, in her darksome tree-and the lark, although did we deliver up ourselves entire, and pursue just dropped from the cloud, was cheered by our pastime like one doomed to be a wild her presence into a new passion of song, and huntsman under some spell of magic. Let us, mounted over her head, as if it were his first ere we go away from these high haunts and be matin hymn. All the creatures of the earth no more seen--let us away far up the Great and air manifestly loved the Wanderer of the Glen, beyond the Echo-Cliff

, and with our rifle Wilderness and as for human beings, she -'twas once the rifle of Emilius Godfrey-let was named, in their pity, their wonder, and us stalk the red-deer. In that chase or forest their delight, the Blind Beauty of the Moor! the antlers lay not thick as now they lie on the

She was an only child, and her mother had Athole Braes; they were still a rare sightdied in giving her birth. And now her father, and often and often had Godfrey and we gone stricken by one of the many cruel diseases up and down the Glen, without a single glimpse that shorten the lives of shepherds on the hills, of buck or doe rising up from among the heawas bed-ridden--and he was poor.

Of all ther. But as the true angler will try every words ever syllabled by human lips, the most cast on the river, miles up and down, if he has blessed is-Charity. No manna now in the reason to know that but one single fish has run wilderness is rained from heaven--for the up from the sea--so we, a true hunter, neither mouths of the hungry need it not in this our grudged nor wearied to stand for hours, still as Christian land. A few goats feeding among the heron by the stream, hardly in

ope, but the rocks gave them milk, and there was bread satisfied with the possibility, that a deer might for them in each neighbour's house–neighbour pass by us in the desert. Steadiest and strongthough miles afar--as the sacred duty came est is self-fed passion springing in spite of cirround—and the unrepining poor sent the grate- cumstance. When blows the warm showery ful child away with their prayers.

south-west wind, the trouts turn up their yellow One evening, returning to the hut with her sides at every dropping of the fly upon the curl usual song, she danced up to her father's face ing waterand the angler is soon sated with on his rushy bed, and it was cold in death. If the perpetual play. But once-twice-thrice she shrieked—if she fainted—there was but —during a long blustering day-the sullen one Ear that heard, one Eye that saw her in plunge of a salmon is sufficient for that day's her swoon. Not now floating light like a joy. Still, therefore, still as a cairn that stands small moving cloud unwilling to leave the for ever on the hill, or rather as the shadow on flowery braes, though it be to melt in heaven, a dial, that though it moves is never seen to but driven along like a shroud of flying mist I move, day after day were we on our station in


the Great Glen. A 'oud, wild, wrathful, and wet his hair in the misty cloud, pursuing the savage cry from some huge animal, made our ptarmigan, now in their variegated summerheart leap to our mouth, and bathed our fore- dress, seen even among the unmelted snows. head in sweat. We looked up and a red. The scene shifts-and high up on the heath deer--a stag of ten—the king of the forest- above the Linn of Dee, in the Forest of Braestood with all his antlers, snuffing the wind, mar, the Thane-God bless him-has stalked but yet blind to our figure overshadowed by a the red-deer to his lair, and now lays his unrock. The rifle-ball pierced his heart-and erring rifle at rest on the stump of the Witch's leaping up far higher than our head, he tum- Oak. Never shall Eld deaden our sympathies bled in terrific death, and lay stone-still before with the pastimes of our fellow men any more our starting eyes amid the rustling of the than with their highest raptures, their prostrong-bented heather! There we stood sur- foundest grief. Blessings on the head of every veying him for a long triumphing hour. true sportsman on flood, or field, or fell; Ghastly were his glazed eyes—and ghastlier shall we take it at all amiss should any one of his long bloody tongue, bitten through at the them, in return for the pleasure he may have very root in agony. The branches of his ant- enjoyed from these our Fyttes, perused in lers pierced the sward like swords. His bulk smoky cabin during a rainy day, to the peatseemed mightier in death even than when it reek flavour of the glorious Glenlivet, send us, was crowned with that kingly head, snuffing by the Inverness coach, Aberdeen steam-packthe north wind. In other two hours we were et, or any other rapid conveyance, a basket of down at Moor-edge and up again, with an game, red, black, or brown, or peradventure a eager train, to the head of the Great Glen, haunch of the red-deer. coming and going a distance of a dozen long Reader! be thou a male, bold as the Tercel miles. A hay-wagon forced its way through Gentle-or a female, fair as the Falcon--a the bogs and over the braes--and on our return male, stern as an old Stag_-or a female, soft into the inhabited country, we were met by as a young Doe-we entreat thee to think shoals of peasants, men, women, and children, kindly of Us and of our Article--and to look huzzaing over the Prey; for not for many years in love or in friendship on Christopher in his -never since the funeral of the old lord-had Sporting Jacket, now come to the close of his the antlers of a red-deer been seen by them Three Fyttes, into which he had fallen-out of trailing along the heather.

one into another--and from which he has now Fifty years and more—and oh! my weary been revived by the application of a little salt soul! half a century took a long long time to to his mouth, and then a caulker. Nor think die away, in gloom and in glory, in pain and that, rambling as we have been, somewhat pleasure, in storms through which were afraid after the style of thinking common in sleep, to fly even the spirit's most ,eagle-winged rap- there has been no method in our madness, no tures, in calms that rocked all her feelings like lucidus ordo in our dream. All the pages are azure-plumed halcyons to rest—though now to instinct with one spirit-our thoughts and our look back upon it, what seems it all but a feelings have all followed one another, actransitory dream of toil and trouble, of which cording to the most approved principles of the smiles, the sighs, the tears, the groans, association-and a fine proportion has been were all alike vain as the forgotten sunbeams unconsciously preserved. The article may and the clouds! Fifty years and more are be likened to some noble tree, which--algone-and this is the Twelfth of August, though here and there a branch have somewhat Eighteen hundred and twenty-eight; and all overgrown its brother above or below it, an the Highland mountains have since dawn been arm stretched itself out into further gloom on astir, and thundering to the impetuous sports- this side than on that, so that there are irregumen's joys! Our spirit burns within us, but larities in the umbrage is still disfigured not our limbs are palsied, and our feet must brush by those sports and freaks of nature working the heather no more. Lo! how beautifully on a great scale, and stands, magnificent obthese fast-travelling pointers do their work on ject! equal to an old castle, on the cliff above that black mountain's breast! intersecting it the cataract. Wo and shame to the sacrileinto parallelograms, and squares, and circles, gious hand that would lop away ore budding and now all astoop on a sudden, as if frozen to bough! Undisturbed let the tame and wild death! Higher up among the rocks, and cliffs, creatures of the region, in storm or sunshine, and stones, we see a stripling, whose ambition find shelter or shade under the calm circumit is to strike the sky with his forehead, and ference of its green old age.


MARGARET BURNSIDE was an orphan. Her happiness flowed, was now, when leisure per. parents, who had been the poorest people in mitted, seldom or never out of her hands; and the parish, had died when she was a mere in lonely places, where there was no human child; and as they had left no near relatives, ear to hearken, did the dying girl often support there were few or none to care much about her heart, when quaking in natural fears of the desolate creature, who might be well said the grave, by singing to herself hymns and to have been left friendless in the world. True psalms. But her hour was not yet come that the feeling of charity is seldom wholly though by the inscrutable decrees of Proviwanting in any heart; but it is generally but à dence doomed to be hideous with almost inex, cold feeling among hard-working folk, towards piable guilt. As for herself—she was innocent objects out of the narrow circle of their own as the linnet that sang beside her in the broom, family affections, and selfishness has a ready and innocent was she to be up to the last and strong excuse in necessity. There seems, throbbings of her religious heart. When the indeed, to be a sort of chance in the lot of the sunshine fell on the leaves of her Bible, the orphan offspring of paupers. On some the orphan seemed to see in the holy words, eye of Christian benevolence falls at the very brightening through the radiance, assurances first moment of their uttermost destitution of forgiveness of all her sins--small sins inand their worst sorrows, instead of beginning, deed-yet to her humble and contrite heart terminate with the tears shed over their pa- exceeding great-and to be pardoned only by rents' graves. They are taken by the hands, the intercession of Him who died for us on the as soon as their hands have been stretched tree. Often, when clouds were in the sky, and out for protection, and admitted as inmates blackness covered the Book, hope died away into households, whose doors, had their fathers from the discoloured page-and the lonely and mothers been alive, they would never creature wept and sobbed over the doom dehave darkened. The light of comfort falls nounced on all who sin, and repent notupon them during the gloom of grief, and whether in deed or in thought. And thus reliattends them all their days. Others, again, gion became within her an awful thing-till, are overlooked at the first fall of affliction, as in her resignation, she feared to die. But look if by some unaccountable fatality; the wretch- on that flower by the hill-side path, withered, edness with which all have become familiar, as it seems, beyond the power of sun and air no one very tenderly pities; and thus the or- and dew and rain to restore it to life. Next phan, reconciling herself to the extreme hard- | day, you happen to return to the place, its ships of her condition, lives on uncheered by leaves are of a dazzling green, its blossoms of those sympathies out of which grow both a dazzling crimson. So was it with this Orphan. happiness and virtue, and yielding by degrees Nature, as if kindling towards her in sudden to the constant pressure of her lot, becomes love, not only restored her in a few weeks to poor in spirit as in estate, and either vegetates life--but to perfect health; and ere-long she, like an almost worthless weed that is care- whom few had looked at, and for whom still lessly trodden on by every foot, or if by nature fewer cared, was acknowledged to be the fairborn a flower, in time loses her lustre, and all est girl in all the parish-while she continued her days leads the life not so much of a ser- to sit, as she had always done from her very vant as of a slave.

childhood, on the poor's form in the lobby of the Such, till she was twelve years old, had been kirk. Such a face, such a figure, and such a the fate of Margaret Burnside. Of a slender manner, in one so poorly attired and so meanly form and weak constitution, she had never placed, attracted the eyes of the young Ladies been able for much work; and thus from one in the Patron's Gallery. Margaret Burnside discontented and harsh master and mistress to was taken under their especial protectionanother, she had been transferred from house sent for two years to a superior school, where to house—always the poorest-till she came she was taught all things useful for persons in to be looked on as an encumbrance rather than humble life--and while yet scarcely fifteen, a help in any family, and thought hardly worth returning to her native parish, was appointed her bread. Sad and sickly she sat on the braes teacher of a small school of her own, to which herding the kine. It was supposed that she were sent all the girls who could be spared was in a consumption-and as the shadow of from home, from those of parents poor as her death seemed to lie on the neglected creature's own had been, up to those of the farmers and face, a feeling something like love was awa- small proprietors, who knew the blessings of kened towards her in the heart of pity, for a good educationand that without it, the which she showed her gratitude by still attend- minister may preach in vain. And thus Maring to all household tasks with an alacrity be-garet Burnside grew and blossomed like the yond her strength. Few doubted that she was lily of the field-and every eye blessed herdying--and it was plain that she thought so and she drew her breath in gratitude, piety, herself; for the Bible, which, in her friendless- and peace. ness, she had always read more than other Thus a few happy and useful years passed children who were too happy to reflect often, by-and it was forgotten by all—but herself-on the Word of that Being from whom their that Margaret Burnside was an orphan. But

and wept.

to be without one near and dear blood-relative of labour, and rarely long pursued against the in all the world, must often, even to the happy law without vitiating the whole character, was heart of youthful innocence, be more than a a favourite with all the parish. Singularly pensive-a painful thought; and therefore, handsome, and with manners above his birth, though Margaret Burnside was always cheer- Ludovic was welcome wherever he went, both ful among her little scholars, yet in the retire- with young and old. No merry-making could ment of her own room, (a pretty parlour, with deserve the name without him; and at all a window looking into a flower-garden,) and meetings for the display of feats of strength on her walks among the braes, her mien was and agility, far and wide, through more counsomewhat melancholy, and her eyes wore that ties than one, he was the champion. Nor had he touching expression, which seems doubtfully received a mean education. All that the parish to denote--neither joy nor sadness but a habit schoolmaster could teach he knew; and having of soul which, in its tranquillity, still partakes been the darling companion of all the gentleof the mournful, as if memory dwelt often on man's sons in the Manse, the faculties of his past sorrows, and hope scarcely ventured to mind had kept pace with theirs, and from them indulge in dreams of future repose. That he had caught unconsciously that demeanour profound orphan-feeling embued her whole so far superior to what could have been excharacter; and sometimes, when the young pected from one in his humble condition, but Ladies from the Castle smiled praises upon which, at the same time, seemed so congenial her, she retired in gratitude to her chamber-with his happy

with his happy nature as to be readily acknow

ledged to be one of its original gifts. Of his Among the friends at whose houses she sister, Alice, it is sufficient to say, that she was visited were the family at Moorside, the high- the bosom-friend of Margaret Burnside, and est hill-farm in the parish, and on which her that all who saw their friendship felt that it father had been a hind. It consisted of the was just. The small parentless grand-daughmaster, a man whose head was gray, his son ter was also dear to Margaret-more than perand daughter, and a grandchild, her scholar, haps her heart knew, because that, like herwhose parents were dead. Gilbert Adamson self, she was an orphan. But the creature was had long been a widower-indeed his wife had also a merry and a madcap child, and her never been in the parish, but had died abroad. freakish pranks, and playful perversenesses, He had been a soldier in his youth and prime as she tossed her head in untameable glee, and of manhood; and when he came to settle at went dancing and singing, like a bird on the Moorside, he had been looked at with no very boughs of a tree, all day long, by some strange friendly eyes; for evil rumours of his charac- sympathies entirely won the heart of her who, ter had preceded his arrival there—and in that throughout all her own childhood, had been peaceful pastoral parish, far removed from the familiar with grief, and a lonely shedder of world's strife, suspicions, without any good tears. And thus did Margaret love her, it reason perhaps, had attached themselves to might be said, even with a very mother's love. the morality and religion of a man, who had She generally passed her free Saturday afterseen much foreign service, and had passed the noons at Moorside, and often slept there all best years of his life in the wars. It was long night with little Ann in her bosom. At before these suspicions faded away, and with such times Ludovic was* never from home, some they still existed in an invincible feeling and many a Sabbath. he walked with her of dislike or even aversion. But the natural to the kirk—all the family together-and fierceness and ferocity which, as these peaceful once by themselves for miles along the moor dwellers among the hills imagined, had at first, -a forenoon of perfect sunshine, which rein spite of his efforts to control them, often turned upon him in his agony on his dying dangerously exhibited themselves in fiery out- day. breaks, advancing age had gradually subdued; No one said, no one thought that Ludovic Gilbert Adamson had grown a hard-working and Margaret were lovers-nor were they, and industrious inan; affected, if he followed though well worthy indeed of each other's it not in sincerity, even an austerely religious love; for the orphan's whole heart was filled life; and as he possessed more than common and satisfied with a sense of duty, and all its sagacity and intelligence, he had acquired at affections were centred in her school, where last

, if not won, a certain ascendency in the all eyes blessed her, and where she had been parish, even over many whose hearts never placed for the good of all those gladsome cream

nor warmed towards him—so that he tures, by them who had rescued her from the was now an elder of the kirk-and, as the l'penury that kills the soul, and whose gracious most unwilling were obliged to acknowledge, bounty she remembered even in her sleep. In a just steward to the poor. His gray hairs her prayers she beseeched God to bless them were not honoured, but it would not be too rather than the wretch on her knees--their much to say that they were respected. Many images, their names, were ever before her who had doubted him before came to think eyes and on her ear; and next to that peace of they had done him injustice, and sought to mind which passeth all understanding, and wipe away their fault by regarding him with comes from the footstool of God into the humesteem, and showing themselves willing to ble, lowly, and contrite heart, was to that orinterchange all neighbourly kindnesses and phan, day and night, waking or sleeping, the services with all the family at Moorside. His bliss of her gratitude. And thus Ludovic to son, though somewhat wild and unsteady, and her was a brother, and no more;,a name 100 much addicted to the fascinating pastimes sacred as that of sister, by which she always of flood and field, often so ruinous to the sons called her Alice, and was so called in return. But to Ludovic, who had a soul of fire, Mar-| porch, to train up the pretty creepers on the garet was dearer far than ever sister was to wall. In the kirkyard, a smiling group every the brother whom, at the sacrifice of her own Sabbath forenoon waited for her at the gatelife, she might have rescued from death. Go and walked, with her at their head, into the where he might, a phantom was at his side- House of God--a beautiful procession to all a pale fair face for ever fixed its melancholy their parents' eyes-one by one dropping away eyes on his, as if foreboding something dismal into their own seats, as the band moved along even when they faintly smiled; and once he the little lobby, and the minister sitting in the awoke at midnight, when all the house were pulpit all the while, looked solemnly down asleep, crying, with shrieks,“O God of mercy! upon the fair flock—the shepherd of their Margaret is murdered !” Mysterious passion souls! of Love! that darkens its own dreams of de- It was Sabbath, but Margaret Burnside was light with unimaginable horrors! Shall we not in the kirk. The congregation had risen call such dire bewilderment the superstition to join in prayer, when the great door was of troubled fantasy, or the inspiration of the thrown open, and a woman, apparelled as for prophetic soul!

the house of worship, but wild and ghastly in From what seemingly insignificant sources her face and eyes as a maniac hunted by evil --and by means of what humble instruments spirits, burst in upon the service, and, with -may this life's best happiness be diffused uplifted hands, beseeched the man of God to over the households of industrious men! Here forgive her irreverent entrance, for that the was the orphan daughter of forgotten paupers, foulest and most unnatural murder had been both dead ere she could speak; herself, during done, and that her own eyes had seen the corpse all her melancholy childhood, a pauper even of Margaret Burnside lying on the moor in a more enslaved than ever they had been one pool of blood! The congregation gave one of the most neglected and unvalued of all groan, and then an outcry as if the roof of the God's creatures-who, had she then died, would kirk had been toppling over their heads. All have been buried in some nettled nook of the cheeks waxed white, women fainted, and the kirkyard, nor her grave been watered almost firmest heart quaked with terror and pity, as by one single tear-suddenly brought out from once and again the affrighted witness, in the the cold and cruel shade in which she had same words, described the horrid spectacle, been withering away, by the interposition of and then rushed out into the open air, followed human but angelic hands, into the heaven's by hundreds, who for some minutes had been most gracious sunshine, where all at once her palsy-stricken ; and now the kirkyard was all beauty blossomed like the rose. She, who for in a tumult round the body of her who lay in so many years had been even begrudgingly fed a swoon. In the midst of that dreadful ferment, on the poorest and scantiest fare, by Penury there were voices crying aloud that the poor ungrateful for all her weak but zealous efforts woman was mad, and that such horror could to please by doing her best, in sickness and not be beneath the sun; for such a perpetrasorrow, at all her tasks, in or out of doors, and tion on the Sabbath-day, and first heard of in all weathers, however rough and severe just as the prayers of his people were about to was now raised to the rank of a moral, in-l ascend to the Father of all mercies, shocked tellectual, and religious being, and presided belief, and doubt struggled with despair as in over, tended, and instructed many little ones, the helpless shudderings of some dream of far, far happier in their childhood than it had blood. The crowd were at last prevailed on been her lot to be, and all growing up beneath by their pastor to disperse, and sit down on the her now untroubled eyes, in innocence, love, tombstones, and water being sprinkled over and joy inspired into their hearts by her, their the face of her who still lay in that mortal young and happy benefactress. Not a human swoon, and the air suffered to circulate freely dwelling in all the parish, that had not reason round her, she again' opened her glassy eyes, to be thankful to Margaret Burnside. She and raising herself on her elbow, stared on the taught them to be pleasant in their manners, multitude, all gathered there so wan and silent, neat in their persons, rational in their minds, and shrieked out, “ The Day of Judgment! pure in their hearts, and industrious in all The Day of Judgment!" their habits. Rudeness, coarseness, sullenness, The aged minister raised her on her feet, all angry fits, and all idle dispositions—the be- and led her to a grave, on which she sat down, setting vices and sins of the children of the and hid her face on his knees. 60 that I poor, whose home-education is often so miser- should have livea to see the day-but dreadful ably, and almost necessarily neglected—did are the decrees of the Most High-and she this sweet Teacher, by the divine influence of whom we all loved has been cruelly mur. meekness never rufiled, and tenderness never dered! Carry me with you, people, and I troubled, in a few months subdue and over- will show you where lies her corpse.” come-till her school-room, every day in the “ Where-where is Ludovic Adamson ?" week, was, in its cheerfulness, sacred as a cried a hoarse voice which none there had Sabbath, and murmured from morn till eve ever heard before; and all eyes were turned with the hum of perpetual happiness. The in one direction ; but none knew who had effects were soon felt in every house. All spoken, and all again was hush. Then all at floors were tidier, and order and regularity once á hundred voices repeated the same enlivened every hearth. It was the pride of words, “Where—where is Ludovic Adamher scholars to get their own little gardens son ?" and there was no reply. Then, indeed, behind their parents' huts to bloom like that was the kirkyard in an angry and a wrathful of the Brae--and, in imitation of that floweryferment, and men looked far into each other's

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