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influence on our whole frame of being. Without best loved the dead, came in with cheerful their performance conscience cannot be still; countenances, and acknowledged in their hearts with it

, conscience brings peace in extremity that since change is the law of life, there was of evil. Then occupation kills grief, and in- no one, far or near, whom they could have dustry abates passion. No balm for sorrow borne to see sitting in that chair but Alice like the sweat of the brow poured into the Gray. The husband knew their feelings from furrows of the earth, in the open air, and their looks, and his fireside blazed once more beneath the sunshine of heaven. These truths with a cheerful lustre. were felt by the childless widower, long before O gentle reader, young perhaps, and inexthey were understood by him; and when two perienced of this world, wonder not at this so years had gone drearily, ay dismally, almost great change! The heart is full, perhaps, of a despairingly, by—he began at times to feel pure and holy affection, nor can it die, even something like happiness again when sitting for an hour of sleep. May it never die but in among his friends in the kirk, or at their fire- the grave! Yet die it may, and leave thee sides, or in the labours of the field, or even blameless. The time may come when that on the market-day, among this world's con- bosom, now thy Elysium, will awaken not,

Thus, they who knew him and his with all its heaving beauty, one single passufferings, were pleased to recognise what sionate or adoring sigh. Those eyes, that now might be called resignation and its grave stream agitation and bliss into thy throbbing tranquillity; while strangers discerned in him heart, may, on some not very distant day, be nothing more than a staid and solemn demean- cold to thy imagination, as the distant and unour, which might be natural to many a man heeded stars. That voice, now thrilling through never severely tried, and offering no interrup- every nerve, may fall on thy ear a disregarded tion to the cheerfulness that pervaded their sound. Other hopes, other fears, other troubles, ordinary life.

may possess thee wholly-and that more than He had a cousin a few years younger than angel of Heaven seem to fade away into a himself, who had also married when a girl, and shape of earth's most common clay. But here when little more than a girl had been left a there was no change-no forgetfulness-no widow. Her parents were both dead, and she oblivion-no faithlessness to a holy trust. had lived for a good many years as an upper The melancholy man often saw his Hannah, servant, or rather companion and friend, in the and all his seven sweet children-now fair in house of a relation. As cousins, they had all life—now pale in death. Sometimes, perhaps, their lives been familiar and affectionate, and the sight, the sound-their smiles and their Alice Gray had frequently lived months at a voices-disturbed him, till his heart quaked time at the Broom, taking care of the children, within him, and he wished that he too was and in all respects one of the family. Their dead. But God it was who had removed them conditions were now almost equally desolate, from our earth—and was it possible to doubt and a deep sympathy made them now more that they were all in blessedness? Shed your firmly attached than they ever could have been tears over change from virtue to vice, happiin better days. Still, nothing at all resembling ness to misery; but weep not for those still

, love was in either of their hearts, nor did the sad, mysterious processes by which gracious thought of marriage ever pass across their ima- Nature alleviates the afflictions of our mortal ginations. They found, however, increasing lot, and enables us to endure the life which the satisfaction in each other's company; and Lord our God hath given us. Erelong, husband looks and words of sad and sober endearment and wife could bear to speak of those who gradually bound them together in affection | were now no more seen; when the phantoms stronger far than either could have believed. rose before them in the silence of the night, Their friends saw and spoke of the attach- they all wore pleasant and approving countement, and of its probable result, long before nances, and the beautiful family often came they were aware of its full nature; and no- from Heaven to visit their father in his body was surprised, but, on the contrary, all dreams. He did not wish, much less hope, in were well pleased, when it was understood this life, for such happiness as had once been that they were to be man and wife. There was his-nor did Alice Gray, even for one hour, something almost mournful in their marriage imagine that such happiness it was in her

no rejoicing-no merry-making-but yet power to bestow. They knew each other's visible symptoms of gratitude, contentment, hearts--what they had suffered and survived; and peace. An air of cheerfulness was not and, since the ineridian of life and joy was long of investing the melancholy Broom—the gone, they were contented with the pensive very swallows twittered more gladly from the twilight. window-corners, and there was joy in the coo- Look, there is a pretty Cottage—by name ing of the pigeons on the sunny roof. The LEASIDE-one that might almost do for a farm awoke through all its fields, and the farm- painter-just sufficiently shaded by trees, and servants once more sang and whistled at their showing a new aspect every step you take, and work. The wandering beggar, who remem- each new aspect beautiful. There is, it is bered the charity of other years, looked with true, neither moss, nor lichens, nor weatherno cold expression on her who now dealt out stains on the roof-but all is smooth, neat, trim, his dole; and, as his old eyes were dimmed deep thatch, from rigging to eaves, with a for the sake of those who were gone, gave a picturesque elevated window covered with the fervent blessing on the new mistress of the same material, and all the walls white as snow. house, and prayed that she might long be The whole building is at all times as fresh as spared The neighbours, even they who had l if just washed by a vernal shower. Competence breathes from every lattice, and that man from India, loves his poor father and porch has been reared more for ornament than mother as tenderly as if he had never left their defence, although, no doubt, it is useful both in roof; and is prouder of them, too, than if they March and November winds. Every field were clothed in fine raiment, and fared sumpabout it is like a garden, and yet the garden is tưously every day. Mr. Airlie of the Mount brightly conspicuous amidst all the surround- has his own seat in the gallery of the Kirking cultivation. The hedgerows are all clipped, his father, as an Elder, sits below the pulpitfor they have grown there for many and many but occasionally the pious and proud son joins a year; and the shears were necessary to keep his mother in the pew, where he and his brothem down from shutting out the vista of the thers sat long ago, and every Sabbath one or lovely vale. That is the dwelling of Adam other of his children takes its place beside the Airlie the Elder. Happy old man! This life venerated matron. The old man generally has gone uniformly well with him and his; leaves the churchyard leaning on his Gilbert's yet, had it been otherwise, there is a power in arm—and although the sight has long been so his spirit that would have sustained the sever- common as to draw no attention, yet no doubt est inflictions of Providence. His gratitude to there is always an under and unconscious God is something solemn and awful, and ever pleasure in many a mind witnessing the accompanied with a profound sense of his utter sacredness of the bond of blood. Now and unworthiness of all the long-continued mercies then the old matron is prevailed upon, when vouchsafed to his family. His own happiness, the weather is bad and roads miry, to take a prolonged to a great age, has not closed within seat home in the carriage—but the Elder his heart one source of pity or affection for his always prefers walking thither with his son, brethren of mankind. In his own guiltless and he is stout and hale, although upwards of conscience, guiltless before man, he yet feels threescore and ten years. incessantly the frailties of his nature, and is Walter, the second son, is now a captain in meek, humble, and penitent as the greatest I the navy, having served for years before the sinner. He, his wife, an old faithful female mast. His mind is in his profession, and he servant, and an occasional grand-daughter, is perpetually complaining of being unemnow form the whole household. His three sons ployed—a ship--a ship, is still the burden of have all prospered in the world. The eldest his song. But when at home-which he often went abroad when a mere boy, and many fears is for weeks together-he attaches himself to went with him-a bold, adventurous, and some all the ongoings of rural life, as devotedly as what reckless creature. But consideration if a plougher of the soil instead of the sea. came to him in a foreign climate, and tamed His mother wonders, with tears in her eyes, down his ardent mind to a thoughtful, not a why, having a competency, he should still wish selfish prudence. Twenty years he lived in to provoke the dangers of the deep; and beIndia—and what a blessed day was the day of seeches him sometimes to become a farmer in his return! Yet in the prime of life, by dis- his native vale. And perhaps more improbaease unbroken, and with a heart full to over- ble things have happened; for the captain, it flowing with all its old sacred affections, he is said, has fallen desperately in love with the came back to his father's lowly cottage, and daughter of the clergyman of a neighbouring wept as he crossed the threshold. His parents parish, and the doctor will not give his consent needed not any of his wealth ; but they were to the marriage, unless he promise to live, if blamelessly proud, nevertheless, of his honest allowed, on shore. The political state of acquisitions--proud when he became a land- Europe certainly seems at present favourable holder in his native parish, and employed the to the consummation of the wishes of all sons of his old companions, and some of his parties. old companions themselves, in the building of Of David, the third son, who has not heard, his unostentatious mansion, or in cultivating the that has heard any thing of the pulpit eloquence wild but not unlovely moor, which was dear to of Scotland ?-Should his life be spared, there him for the sake of the countless remembrances can be no doubt that he will one day or other that clothed the bare banks of its lochs, and be Moderator of the General Assembly, permurmured in the little stream that ran among haps Professor of Divinity in a College. "Be the pastoral braes. The new mansion is a that as it may, a better Christian never excouple of miles from his parental Cottage; but pounded the 'truths of the gospel, although not a week, indeed seldom half that time, some folks pretend to say that he is not evanelapses, without a visit to that dear dwelling. gelical. He is, however, beloved by the poor They likewise not unfrequently visit him-for-the orphan and the widow; and his minishis wife is dear to them as a daughter of their trations, powerful in the kirk to a devoutly own; and the ancient couple delight in the listening congregation, are so too at the sicknoise and laughter of his pretty flock. Yet the bed, when only two or three are gathered son understands perfectly well that the aged around it, and when the dying man feels how people love best their own roof--and that its a fellow-creature can, by scriptural aids, familiar quiet is every day dearer to their strengthen his trust in the mercy of his Maker. habituated affections. Therefore he makes no Every year, on each birthday of their sons, parade of filial tenderness--forces nothing new the old people hold a festival-in May, in upon them is glad to see the uninterrupted August, and at Christmas. The sailor alone tenor of their humble happiness; and if they looks disconsolate as a bachelor, but that are proud of him, which all the parish knows, reproach will be wiped away before autumn. so is there not a child within its bounds that and should God grant the cottagers a few more does not know that Mr. Airlie, the rich gentle-) years, some new faces will yet smile upon the holydays; and there is in their unwithered | all the air, and the glen is noiseless, except hearts warm love enough for all that may join with the uncertain murmur of the now unthe party. We too--yes, gentle reader-we swollen waterfalls. That is the croak of the too shall be there—as we have often been raven sitting on his cliff halfway up Ben-Oura; during the last ten years—and you yourself and hark, the last belling of the red-deer, as will judge, from all you know of us, whether the herd lies down in the mist among the last or no we have a heart to understand and enjoy ridge of heather, blending with the shrubless such rare felicity.

stones, rocks, and cliffs that girdle the upper But let us be off to the mountains, and en- regions of the vast mountain. deavour to interest our beloved reader in a Within the dimness of that hut you hear Highland Cottage—in any one, taken at hap- greetings in the Gaelic tongue, in a female hazard, from a hundred. You have been voice; and when the eye has by and by become roaming all day among the mountains, and able to endure the smoke, it discerns the perhaps seen no house except at a dwindling household—the veteran's ancient dame-a distance. Probably you have wished not to young man that may be his son, or rather his see any house, but a ruined shieling-a deserted grandson, but whom you soon know to be hut-or an unroofed and dilapidated shed for neither, with black matted locks, the keen eye, the outlying cattle of some remote farm. But and the light limbs of the hunter-a young now the sun has inflamed all the western woman, his wife, suckling a child, and yet heaven, and darkness will soon descend. with a girlish look, as if but one year before There is now a muteness more stern and her silken snood had been untied-and a lassie solemn than during unfaded daylight. List- of ten years, who had brought home the goats, the faint, far-off, subterranean sound of the and now sits timidly in a nook eyeing the bagpipe! Some old soldier, probably, playing stranger. The low growl of the huge, brindled a gathering or a coronach. The narrow dell stag-hound had been hushed by a word on your widens and widens into a great glen, in which first entrance, and the noble animal watches you just discern the blue gleam of a loch. his master's eye, which he obeys in his freeThe martial music is more distinctly heard- dom throughout all the forest-chase. A napkin loud, fitful, fierce, like the trampling of men in is taken out of an old worm-eaten chest, and battle. Where is the piper? In a cave, or spread over a strangely-carved table, that within the Fairies' Knowe? At the door of a seems to have belonged once to a place of hut. His eyes were extinguished by oph- pride; and the hungry and thirsty stranger thalmia, and there he sits, fronting the sun- scarcely knows which most to admire, the light, stone-blind. Long silver hair flows down broad banrocks of barley-meal and the huge his broad shoulders, and you perceive that, roll of butter, or the giant bottle, whose mouth when he rises, he will rear up a stately bulk. exhales the strong savour of conquering GlenThe music stops, and you hear the bleating of livet. The board is spread—why not fall to goats. There they come, prancing down the and eat? First be thanks given to the Lord rocks, and stare upon the stranger. The old God Almighty. The blind man holds up his soldier turns himself towards the voice of the hand and prays in a low chanting voice, and Sassenach, and, with the bold courtesy of the then breaks bread for the lips of the stranger. camp, bids him enter the hut. One minute's On such an occasion is felt the sanctity of the view has sufficed to imprint the scene for ever meal shared by human beings brought accion the memory--a hut whose turf-walls and dentally together—the salt is sacred-and the roof are incorporated with the living mountain, hearth an altar. and seem not the work of man's hand, but the No great travellers are we, yet have we seen casual architecture of some convulsion—the something of this habitable globe. The Hightumbling down of fragments from the mountain lands of Scotland is but a small region, nor is side by raging torrents, or a partial earthquake; its interior by any means so remote as the infor all the scenery about is torn to pieces--terior of Africa. Yet ’tis remote. The life of like the scattering of some wide ruin. The that very blind veteran might, in better hands imagination dreams of the earliest days of our than ours, make an interesting history. In his race, when men harboured, like the other youth he had been a shepherd-a herdsmancreatures, in places provided by nature. But a hunter-something even of a poet.

For even here, there are visible traces of cultivation thirty years he had been a soldier--in many working in the spirit of a mountainous region climates and many conflicts. Since first he -a few glades of the purest verdure opened bloodied his bayonet, how many of his comout among the tall brackens, with a birch-tree rades had been buried in heaps! flung into or two dropped just where the eye of taste trenches dug on the field of battle! How could have wished, had the painter planted the many famous captains had shone in the blaze sapling, instead of the winds of heaven having of their fame--faded into the light of common wafted thither the seed-a small croft of day--died in obscurity, and been utterly forbarley, surrounded by a cairn-.ike wall, made gotten! What fierce passions must have agiup of stones cleared from the soil, and a patch tated the frame of that now calm old man! of potatoe ground, neat almost as the garden On what dreadful scenes, when forts and towns that shows in a nook its fruit-bushes and a were taken by storm, must those eyes, now few flowers. All the blasts that ever blew withered into nothing, have glared with all the must be unavailing against the briery rock that fury of man's most wrathful soul! Now peace shelters the hut from the airt of storms; and is with him for evermore. Nothing to speak the smoke may rise under its lee, unwavering of the din of battle, but his own pipes wailing on the windiest day. There is sweetness in lor raging among the hollow of the mountains.

In relation to his campaigning career, his pre-| low, wide, solemn, and melancholy sound. sent life is as the life of another state. The Runlets, torrents, rivers, lochs, and seaspageantry of war has all rolled off and away reeds, heather, forests, caves, and cliffs, all are for ever; all its actions but phantoms now of sound, sounding together a choral anthem. a dimly-remembered dream. He thinks of his Gracious heavens! what mistakes people former self, as sergeant in the Black Watch, have fallen into when writing about Solitude ! and almost imagines he beholds another man. A man leaves a town for a few months, and In his long, long blindness, he has created an- goes with his wife and family, and a travelling other world to himself out of new voices—the library, into some solitary glen. Friends are voices of new generations, and of torrents thun- perpetually visiting him from afar, or the dering all year long round about his hut. Almost neighbouring gentry leaving their cards, while all the savage has been tamed within him, and his servant-boy rides daily to the post-village an awful religion falls deeper and deeper upon for his letters and newspapers. And call you him, as he knows how he is nearing the grave. that solitude ? The whole world is with you, Often his whole mind is dim, for he is exceed- morning, noon, and night. But go by youringly old, and then he sees only fragments of self, without book or friend, and live a month his youthful life-the last forty years are as if in this hut at the head of Glenevis. Go at they had never been--and he hears shouts and dawn among the cliffs of yonder pine-forest, huzzas, that half a century ago rent the air and wait there till night hangs her moon-lamp with victory. He can still chant, in a hoarse in heaven.

in a hoarse in heaven. Commune with your own soul, broken voice, battle-hymns and dirges; and and be still. Let the images of departed years thus, strangely forgetful and strangely tena- rise, phantom-like, of their own awful accord cious of the past, linked to this life by ties that from the darkness of your memory, and pass only the mountaineer can know, and yet feel- away into the wood-gloom or the mountaining himself on the brink of the next, Old Blind mist. Will conscience dread such spectres ? Donald Roy, the Giant of the Hut of the Three Will you quake before them, and bow down Torrents, will not scruple to quaff the “strong your head on the mossy root of some old oak, waters,” till his mind is awakened-brighten- and sob in the stern silence of the haunted ed-dimmed-darkened and seemingly ex- place? Thoughts, feelings, passions, spectral tinguished—till the sunrise again smites him, deeds, will come rushing around your lair, as as he lies in a heap among the heather; and with the sound of the wings of innumerous then he lifts up, unashamed and remorseless, birds—ay, many of them like birds of prey, to that head, which, with its long quiet hairs, a gnaw your very heart. How many duties unpainter might choose for the image of a saint discharged! How many opportunities neglectabout to become a martyr.

ed! How many pleasures devoured! How We leave old Donald asleep, and go with many sins hugged! How many wickednesses his son-in-law, Lewis of the light-foot, and perpetrated! The desert looks more grimMaida the stag-hound, surnamed the Throttler, the heaven lowers-and the sun, like God's

own eye, stares in upon your conscience! “Where the hunter of deer and the warrior trod,

But such is not the solitude of our beautfiul

young shepherd-girl of the Hut of the Three We have been ascending mountain-range Torrents. Her soul is as clear, as calm as the after mountain-range, before sunrise; and lo! pool pictured at times by the floating clouds night is gone, and nature rejoices in the day that let fall their shadows through among the through all her solitudes. Still as death, yet as overhanging birch-trees. What harm could life cheerful--and unspeakable grandeur in the she ever do? What harm could she ever think. sudden revelation. Where is the wild-deer She may have wept--for there is sorrow withherd ?-where, ask the keen eyes of Maida, is out sin; may have wept even at her prayersthe forest of antlers !-Lewis of the light-foot for there is penitence free from guilt, and inbounds before, with his long gun pointing to- nocence itself often kneels in contrition. Down wards the mists now gathered up to the sum- the long glen she accompanies the stream to mits of Benevis.

the house of God-sings her psalms—and reNightfall—and we are once more at the Hut turns wearied to her heather-bed. She is, inof the Three Torrents. Small Amy is grown deed, a solitary child; the eagle, and the raven, familiar now, and, almost without being asked, and the red-deer see that she is so—and echo sings us the choicest of her Gaelic airs—a few knows it when from her airy cliff she repeats too of Lowland melody: all merry, yet all sad the happy creature's song. Her world is within -if in smiles begun, ending in a shower-or this one glen. In this one glen she may live at least a tender mist of tears. Heard'st thou all her days—be wooed, won, wedded, buried. ever such a syren as this Celtic child? Did Buried-said we? Oh, why think of burial we not always tell you that fairies were indeed when gazing on that resplendent head? Interrealities of the twilight or moonlight world ? minable tracts of the shining day await her, And she is their Queen. Hark! what thunders the lonely darling of nature; nor dare Time of applause! The waterfall at the head of the ever eclipse the lustre of those wild-beaming great Corrie thunders encore with a hundred eyes! Her beauty shall be immortal, like that echoes. But the songs are over, and the small of her country's fairies. So, Flower of the singer gone to her heather-bed. There is a Wilderness, we wave towards thet a joyful-Highland moon !- lhe shield of an unfallen though an everlasting farewell. arch-angel. There are not many stars—but Where are we now? There is not on this those two-ay, that One, is sufficient to sustain round green earth a lovelier Loch than Achray. the glory of the night. Be not alarmed at that About a mile above Loch Vennachar and as

To his hills that encircle the sea."

we approach the Brigg of Turk, we arrive at of oaten reed, in a lovelier nook than where the summit of an eminence, whence we descry yonder cottage stands, shaded, but scarcely the sudden and wide prospect of the windings sheltered, by a few birch-trees. It is in truth of the river that issues from Loch Achray- not a cottage—but a very SHILING, part of and the Loch itself reposing-sleeping-dream- the knoll adhering to the side of the mountain. ing on its pastoral, its silvan bed. Achray, Not another dwelling——even as small as itselfbeing interpreted, signifies the “ Level Field,” within a mile in any direction. Those goats and gives its name to a delightful farm at the that seem to walk where there is no footing west end. On" that happy, rural seat of va- along the side of the cliff, go of themselves to rious view," could we lie all day long; and as be milked at evening to a house beyond the all the beauty tends towards the west, each hill, without any barking dog to set them home. afternoon hour deepens and also brightens it There are many footpaths, but all of sheep, exinto mellower splendour. Not to keep con- cept one leading through the coppice-wood to stantly seeing the lovely Loch is indeed im- the distant kirk. The angler seldom disturbs possible-yet its still waters soothe the soul, those shallows, and the heron has them to himwithout holding it away from the woods and self, watching often with motionless neck all cliffs, that forming of themselves a perfect pic- day long. Yet the Shieling is inhabited, and ture, are yet all united with the mountainous has been so by the same person for a good many region of the setting sun. Many long years years. You might look at it for hours, and yet have elapsed-at our time of life ten are many see no one so much as moving to the door. But

-since we passed one delightful evening in a little smoke hovers over it-very faint if it the hospitable house that stands near the be smoke at all-and nothing else tells that wooden bridge over the Teith, just wheeling within is life. into Loch Achray. What a wilderness of It is inhabited by a widow, who once was wooded rocks, containing a thousand little the happiest of wives, and lived far down the mossy glens, each large enough for a fairy's glen, where it is richly cultivated, in a house kingdom! Between and Loch Katrine is the astir with many children. It so happened, that Place of Roes-or need the angler try to pe- 'in the course of nature, without any extraordinetrate the underwood; for every shallow, nary bereavements, she outlived all the house. every linn, every pool is overshaded by its hold, except one, on whom fell the saddest own canopy, and the living fly and moth alone affliction that can befall a human being--the ever dip their wings in the chequered waters. utter loss of reason. For some years after the Safe there are all the little singing birds, from death of her husband, and all her other children, hawk or glead—and it is indeed an Aviary in the this son was her support; and there was no wild. Pine-groves stand here and there amid occasion to pity them in their poverty, where the natural woods--and among their tall gloom all were poor. Her natural cheerfulness never the cushat sits crooning in beloved solitude, forsook her; and although fallen back in the rarely startled by human footstep, and bearing world, and obliged in her age to live without at his own pleasure through the forest the sound many comforts she once had known, yet all the of his flapping wings.

past gradually was softened into peace, and the But let us arise from the greensward, and be- widow and her son were in that shieling as fore we pace along the sweet shores of Loch happy as any family in the parish. He worked Achray, for its nearest murmur is yet more at all kinds of work without, and she sat spinthan a mile off, turn away up from the Brigg ning from morning to night within-a constant of Turk into Glenfinglas. A strong mountain- occupation, soothing to one before whose mind torrent, in which a painter, even with the soul past times might otherwise have come too often, of Salvator Rosa, might find studies inexhaust- and that creates contentment by its undisturbed ible for years, tumbles on the left of a ravine, sameness and invisible progression. If not in which a small band of warriors might stop always at meals, the widow saw her son for an the march of a numerous host. With what a hour or two every night, and throughout the loud voice it brawls through the silence, fresh- whole Sabbath-day. They slept, too, under one ening the hazels, the birches, and the oaks, roof; and she liked the stormy weather when that in that perpetual spray need not the dew's the rains were on--for then he found some inrefreshment. But the savage scene softens as genious employment within the shieling, or you advance, and you come out of that silvan cheered her with some book lent by a friend, prison into a plain of meadows and corn-fields, or with the lively or plaintive music of his alive with the peaceful dwellings of indus- native hills. Sometimes, in her gratitude, she trious men. Here the bases of the mountains, said that she was happier now than when she and even their sides high up, are without had so many other causes to be so; and when neather-a rich sward, with here and there a occasionally an acquaintance dropt in upon deep bed of brackens, and a little sheep-shel- her, her face gave a welcome that spoke more tering grove. Skeletons of old trees of prodi- than resignation; nor was she averse to pargious size lie covered with mosses and wild take the socialty of the other huts, and sat flowers, or stand with their barkless trunks and sedate among youthful merriment, when sumwhite limbs unmoved when the tempest blows. mer or winter festival came round, and poverty Glenfinglas was anciently a deer-forest of the rejoiced in the riches of content and innocence. Kings of Scotland; but hunter's horn no more But her trials, great as they had been, were awakens the echoes of Benledi.

not yet over; for this her only son was laid A more beautiful vale never inspired pas- prostrate by fever-and, when it left his body, soral port in Arcadia, nor did Sicilian shep- he survived hopelessly stricken in mind. His berds of old ever pipe to each other for prize leyes, so clear and intelligent, were now fixed

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