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ice, leaving behind him at every repetition of the attitude,

a new and radiant star in the crystal sheet. But these were not the adjuncts which I now mean. I speak at present of skating as much elevated above the rusticity of those early days, as our Theatre-Royal above the cart of Thespis-I speak of Duddingstone Loch in all its glory. We pique ourselves upon our romantic situation, our Parthenons and High Schools, our artists and literati; and, in short, what is there, in our modest self-sufficiency, that we do not pique ourselves upon? All these are well enough in their way. We are, it must be confessed, a respectable, intelligent, rather conceited set of people. But vanity apart, we have one scene to show, which may confidently challenge the world; and that scene is now before us. Look at the crowds of youth and beauty, carefully packed up in furs and mittens! See how the skaters-the Solicitor-General himself— the best, if not the most graceful, among them—not excepted-wheel with a bolder curve, and in more grace. fully inclining attitudes, to catch the bright eyes looking out from the far recesses of those close bonnets! mark the young gentleman keeping up an animated conversation with that sparkler, and, in order to enjoy the sight of her countenance, skating backwards! These boys! why will they persist in carrying the dried reeds across the lake? He trips, he staggers, he-no, he has recovered himself; and right sad is he therefore, for, had he fallen, it must have been into her arms.

Nay,

"But all this gaiety, and all this tender by-play, may be seen with double splendour upon the Serpentine." Ay, but look around you. Look at the precipitous mountain which towers above us, its winding paths filled with crowds in gay apparel of the most varied dies, while, halfway down, the sound of warlike music spreads out upon the air. Look at those hills stretching away into the distance, over which hovers a canopy of burnished gold. Look at that undulating surface, where the purple glow dies away into the sober russet. And remember that every spot around us is hallowed by the abode of genius, or by the shadowy legends of past greatness, or by the creatures of romance. In these square embattled towers, our Mary held her court. Yon village spire nearly denotes the place where Jeanie Deans took leave of her lover, and moved to unwonted sentiment and generosity that glorious moon-calf Dumbiedykes. Away at the base of yon mountains, one lone grey stone marks where the prime warriors of the Covenant fell, in the fatal fight of Pentland. In that snug mansion on the brink of the lake, dwells the first of living landscape painters. Surrounded by forms of stern majesty, over which the richest tones of music, the most gorgeous witchery of colours, have cast their enhancing charm, with the thoughts of genius, valour, and love winding throughout them, like virgin gold through the clefts of the primeval granite, our spirits raised by this glorious exercise, which places us almost on a level with the birds, braced by the keen influence of our mountain breeze, how can we but exult in being denizens of such a land?

Sunny climes, gay flowers, rich odours, luscious fruits, for those who love them ;-Scotland and winter for me!

One year! alas! seven years have flown Since last we gazed upon thy brow! And still we wander sad and lone, While tidings of thy fate are none,

To tell what thou art now!

'Twas said, that thou hadst proud and cold
To all thy earlier friends become;
That thou hadst changed, for thirst of gold,
Thy soul's high purity of old,

And deep-warm love of home.

'Twas whisper'd, 'mid the great and vain,

Thy heart's best feelings had been lost; That pleasure first with golden chain Had lured thee on, then turn'd to painAnd hopes and joys were cross'd.

Last time thy name was breathed to me,
A stranger told the careless tale,
That once, long since, he met with thee
On a far land beyond the sea,

And that thy cheek was pale!

Oh! if the friends, who once caress'd,

Have fail'd thee in their heartless vow; If disappointment mars thy rest, If sorrow lives within thy breast, And shadows o'er thy brow;

Return! return! once more to find

The loved of youth, the true of faith,
The open hand, the pitying mind,
The tender voice, the spirit kind,

No power can chill but death!

Return! return! our quiet cot

Still in the lone green valley stands, And even thou hast ne'er forgot, Perchance, the roses round the spot,

Twined by our happy hands?

Return! return! oh, it is sad

To miss thy bright familiar face! To think of merry days we had When thou wert here, and all was glad, And sorrow had no place!

Return! return! I cannot look

Upon the blessed sun and skies, On fair Creation's glorious book, The hill, the vale, the grove, the brook— But memory dims my eyes!

Whate'er thou art, where'er thou be,

If still thy lamp of life doth burn, Oh, loved and lost! come back to me, Come back to hearts that live for thee, Or die,Return! return!

GERTRUDE.

GREAT MEN.

THE ABSENT ONE.

We saw the ship forsake the land,

That bore thee from thy home away;
And long we linger'd on the strand,
The last wave of thy parting hand
To watch-that mournful day.

I mind me well, with many a tear
Thy faint and low farewell was said;
And though we dreamt within a year
Thou wouldst return-thou wert so dear
We wept as thou wert dead.

By John Malcolm, Author of " Tales of Flood and Field," &c.

"GREAT men," says Byron, "were living before Agamemnon," and great men, we may add, are still living after Napoleon. For, not to mention his conqueror, Wellington, so great in war, we have Mr Owen, great in peace, and Dr Eadie coming after the man-destroyers, to heal the wounds of the nations. Antiquity cannot furnish more shining characters than our own Day, (Day and Martin,) or more striking ones than Tom Crib. We have great heroes-great statesmen-great poets-great

prosers great wits, and great idiots; and, in short, there is no department of human thought or action in which this little kingdom of Great Britain cannot marshal forth a multitude of great men.

But the personages of whom I mean to speak at present derive not their greatness from birth, acquirements, heroic deeds or talents, or worth, but simply from possessing the ineffable beatitude of being on the very best possible terms with themselves.

66

The symptoms of this grace are infallible. The great man of the above-mentioned class (if wealthy) is instantly known by the majesty of his walk-the sense of importance is indicated by the erectness of his carriage, the swing of his arms, and the shake of his hand, of which the two forefingers and thumb, thrust out to his friend, clearly insinuate condescension and patronage, or stuffed into his breeches pockets, give note of wealth, by producing a tinkling and silvery sound, in their mysterious depths. Puffed up with importance and port wine, his figure, in general, resembles a barrel; his face is round and rubicund-his nose turned up, as if the world were not in good odour with him, and as if something unpleasant came betwixt the wind and his nobility!" If his vaulting ambition is not satisfied with his own native greatness, he finds means to appropriate to himself some share of the reputation of others. Though not a genius himself, does he wish to wear its laurels ? he has only to become the patron of some poor poet, who, by the fever of his heart, and the labour of his brain, has obtained a name among men, and lo! the great man's fame forthwith becomes, somehow or other, identified with that of his protegé. Does the great man not shine in conversation? a shrewd shrug, or a significant shake of the head, speak more than volumes for him, and “expressive silence" hints darkly at wisdom too deep for words.

It must be owned, however, that wealth is not always the portion of great men; and ambition, "that last infirmity of noble minds," is often cruelly thwarted by a mysterious destiny. Such it surely was that chained down the lengthy limbs and lion heart of my warlike friend, Mr William Wildfire, behind the counter, where he pursued the peaceful and inglorious occupation of measuring off soft and shining silks, and doling out by the yard gaudy ribbons to mincing misses. Til did his martial port accord with the gentle craft-his swaggering mien with the suaviter in modo. His fiery-red whiskers, which should have frightened the foe, were only kindling flames in the hearts of his fair customers; a circumstance not much to be wondered at, since, if Pitscottie's definition of manly beauty be correct, then indeed was William an Apollo of the first order. For, in accordance with that author's description of a handsome man of the olden time, Mr Wildfire had "a broad face, large ears, a red nose, and was altogether of a very awful countenance, especially to his unfriends." Add to which, a turned-up chin, and a mouth of such fearful dimensions, that, take him altogether, it seemed clear he would not only kill his foes, but eat them also.

Pent up like the "prisoned eagle that dies with rage," did William Wildfire waste away his youth in scarlet fever-dreaming of bloody wars, of doing valorous deeds, and returning to the bosom of his grateful country, covered with wounds, crowned with laurels, serenaded by fame, and lighted through life with the smiles of the fair. At length, having realized a small independency, he gave vent to the vengeance which he had hoarded for years against the enemies of his country, and just when the war was at the hottest, in a very paroxysm of uncontrollable martial fury, he sunk the shop, and rushed into the yeomanry!

With similar longings for the "big war," and the "bubble reputation," surely it must have been owing to a pure love of the ludicrous, that Fortune sported with the feelings of Hector Blood, by adding to his name the

designation and address of tailor, Threadneedle Street, London. Placed in circumstances by which his legs, as well as his wishes, were crossed-as he could not become an army-man, he became an army-tailor, and supplied the trappings of war upon trust. The consequence was, that he soon acquired a numerous military acquaintance, and in collecting his accounts over the country, became generally known in stage-coaches by the travelling name of Colonel Blood. It must be owned, however, that his longing after the warrior's laurel caused him some serious losses and untoward accidents, of which, as an instance, take the following:

One morning, while munching his muffins and perusing the article "Army" in the newspapers, he was startled by the following announcement :—“ The — regiment of foot arrived at Portsmouth yesterday morning, on its way to join the glorious army of Wellington in the Peninsula." If Mr Blood pricked up his ears at this piece of news, it was no great wonder, seeing that a dashing young captain of the said corps was his debtor to the amount of one hundred pounds, The captain, like the tailor, was a great man in his own way and in his own opinion; but as it pleased his ambition to be a great dandy rather than a great captain, the assistance of the tailor was indispensable.

It has been said, that a good man struggling with distresses and rising superior to them, is a sight which the immortals themselves survey with delight. If the same holds true with respect to a great man, how must their godships have giggled at beholding the difficulties to which the captain was often reduced for want of cash, and the exquisite cunning or bold strokes by which he surmounted them all.

As the regiment was on the point of embarkation, Blood took his seat in the stage-coach for Portsmouth, where the first person he met was the gay Lothario of whom he was in quest. "Ha! Blood," exclaimed the exquisite, "delighted to see you the very man I wished to meet come to look after your small account, no doubt, -aye, aye, that's all right; but," continued he, looking at his watch, "it is rather past bank hours-I can't get at the cash to-day-but never mind that-'tis neither here northere, and it will be quite the same to-morrow,—meantime you must dine with me at our mess-I will positively take no excuse—so come along."

Blood was delighted at this unprecedented honour, and was introduced to the officers as a friend of the captain, who had just come from London for the benefit of seabathing and change of air. When dinner was over, the bottle began to circulate with considerable vivacity; but, in consequence of the necessary arrangements preparatory to embarkation, which was to take place on the following morning, the president and senior officers retired at an early hour, gradually followed by others, until only a few of the juniors remained. The tailor now began to find the use of his tongue, while his entertainer plied him with bumper after bumper, and finally proposed that he should take the chair, and do the honours of the table during the remainder of the evening.

Bewitched with the idea of presiding at a military mess, the knight of the needle staggered up to the head of the table, and planting himself in the president's seat, forthwith began to make speeches and give toasts—some of which rather too strongly indicated the nature of his calling. In drinking the health of the regiment, he said he hoped to see it return a glorious remnant of the war, and a pattern to other corps; that success might attend all its measures, and that it might get some pretty clippings in the way of prize-money. He calmly talked of blood, and wounds, and cold steel-from which last, by the way, he had never received greater scath than the prick of a needle

and thus continued to prate till, overcome with the protracted debauch, his powers of speech began to fail— his head dropped upon his breast, and profound insensibility ensued.

Hereupon the captain, with the assistance of two of the waiters of the hotel where the officers had dined, succeeded in conveying him down stairs, and saw him safely packed into the night coach for London,-in which, with the kindest consideration, a seat had been previously secured for him by his excellent and judicious friend, who, after merely observing that the gentleman was a little the worse of liquor, resigned him to the care of the coachman, and left him to repose.

At nearly the same hour next morning, debtor and creditor arrived at their different destinations; the former embarked in a transport, and the latter reached the very same spot from which on the preceding day he had started on his ill-starred expedition. He was still in a profound sleep when the coach stopped, till, awakened by the driver, he began to look up, and rubbing his eyes, asked if he was at the "Blue Posts," (the name of the inn at which he had dined the day before.)

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What, measter," replied coachee, "still dreaming of Portsmouth? Why, no, I'se thinking you're at the Saracen's Head, Lunnon."

The astonished tailor for some moments doubted whether he was not in a dream, until, descending into the street, with his gradually returning senses the scene of the preceding day came back upon his recollection, and a horrid conviction of trickery flashed upon his amazed and bewildered mind.

Having afterwards grown rich, his ambition took another direction he became a Parliament man, and joined the then opposition. Inflated with pride and other ingredients, the once slim Mr Blood slipt from the restraints of prejudices and stays, and drank porter until he himself became brown stout. When he rose, (if that expression can be applied to him who is taller sitting than standing,) the eyes of the whole House were riveted upon him. Having reached the perpendicular, and thrust his hands into his breeches pockets, he gave notice of his intention to speak by three hems (natural enough in a tailor;) but his speeches were of such a kind that his friends were ashamed of him, and, finding that their cause became ridiculous in the hands of such an advocate, attempted to cough him down, while he was greeted with laughter and loud cheers from his political opponents, till, stunned and deafened, he resumed his seat amidst the mingled uproar which his obtuse and egregious vanity never failed to translate into unqualified thunders of applause. In treating of the varieties of great men, Heaven forbid that we should omit the poets-the most numerous class of all. Before the beard begins to bud, the bard is in bloom; and Love is his inspirer and his theme. But, alas! my young minstrel, sonnets on ladies' eyebrows are older than Shakspeare; and love songs, than those of Solomon. Upon the tender passion, Fancy has run riot,-words have run to waste,--and poetry and even prose have run mad; and after Thomas Little little, I ween, hast thou to say.

Yet be not discouraged, neither; but sing thou on of love and the ladies; they are the very makers of a young poet. From them shalt thou have albums and evening invitations. Should the subject of thy sonnet be plain, be thou pleasant; nor fear to be thought a flatterer, for dear to maiden's heart is the poet's praise; and, in return, there is nothing so grateful to thy gullibility, as its honeyed accents from a woman's lips.

But, to be serious; how shalt thou become a great and original poet, now that there is nothing new under the sun? Attend to the following rules:In the first place, be as unlike other men, in every respect, as possible. Let thy dress be odd, negligent, and dirty. Wander about the town like a man in a brown study or beside bimself. If thou hast bright eyes, keep them rolling (the more wildly the better) from earth to heaven, and vice versa; or if dull as those of a dead cod, even still turn up their whites, as doth a duck in thunder. So shall thy leaden orbs be declared full of genius-deep,

dim, and dreamy. But beware of a ruddy cheek; and by a spare and vegetable diet, or, if need be, even the use of vinegar, see that thou blench its bloom; for the pale cast suits Parnassus-the Muse is no laughter-loving dame, and wills that her votaries be wan.

Get thee also a rhyming dictionary, and array thine own inanity and other people's thoughts in words quaint and queer, mixed up with not a few jawbreakers of thy own; and thus shall thy incurable commonplace masquerade it in the guise of originality, and, spite of fate and of the critics, shalt thou, in thy day and generation, and in thy own shining circle, be verily deemed a very great poet.

IN HONOUR AND PRAISE OF KNAVERY.

By the Author of "Fitful Fancies," "The Arrow and the Rose," &c.

LET parsons, and poets, and old ladies prate
As much as they choose of his happy estate,
Who trims all his actions by plummet and line,
And folds up his conscience in motives divine;
For me, I'll have nothing to do with a school,
That teaches dull methods of playing the fool-
The learning I've sought, and the learning I have-
I love to speak plainly-is playing the Knave.

Your conscience, though doubtless a mighty fine thing,
Is a bad introduction to courtier or king;
Place Honesty's foot upon Luxury's floor,
And the word is at once,
66 Show that fellow the door!"
But, hark to the flourish of trumpets and drums,
Mark the smiles and the nods when Sir Knavery comes!
Of all Fortune's favours just one do I crave,
To be to a tittle a high-polish'd Knave.

In the camp, as the court, I'd have honours each game;
I'd lecture at length on the General's fame;
I'd dine on his wisdom-get drunk on his wit-
At each flash in the pan falling into a fit:
And when Honesty's furlough was given for life,
With an Ensign's half pay, seven brats, and a wife,
My speedy promotion would prove that the brave
Are nothing the worse of a touch of the Knave.

Then to see how I'd leave the poor dolt in the lurch,
Who went with his great wooden phiz to the church;
While he took the air on the mountains of Wales,
I'd manage to sail under pleasanter gales :
True Christians are told to keep seeking the Lord,
And I, a divine, should improve on the word—
Both prelates and peers my attendance should have,
Till patience produced a Right Reverend Knave.

As long as this world holds money and men,
Clown Honesty's chance is as nothing to ten;
Whoever the players whatever the play→→→
Friend Knavery always will carry the day.
Would you gorge in the city-look big at the bar—
Or lace your blue jacket-a jolly Jack tar—

The truth on the land is no bam on the wave,
And the best berth in both is the lot of the Knave.

There's one thing-a trifle-our grandmothers say,
Who follows this faith, has the Devil to pay;
And that your starch'd Josephs, who walk the straight
road,

Are promised at last a celestial nbode :

I know the Old Gentleman's wrong'd by report→→
He's one of the civilest persons at Court;
And as for the promise, it's not worth a rush-
"A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush."

LINES

Written by Dr Southey in a Lady's Album.

[We cannot as yet boast of Dr Southey as a regular contributor to the Edinburgh Literary Journal, for this among other reasons, that he has never contributed at all. We ourselves, however, have no doubt derived certain portions of our intellectual strength from the study of his multifarious and delightful writings, as have also many of our Contributors. Through the medium, then, of our mental machinery, the Laureate may be said to have frequently enlightened the readers of this Journal, and we know that the consideration of this fact will tend to brighten the blaze of the Poet's fireside during this inclement season of the year. The pleasant little poem, or copy of small verses, which we now introduce into our columns, is here printed for the first time.-Ed. Lit. Journal.]

WHILE this fair page before me open lies,
It were an easy thing to write upon it-
Of sorrows, sensibilities, and sighs,

In sympathetic song, and plaintive sonnet :-
But yet, methinks, 'tis better not to try

Such sentimental theme to show my art in,
Lest you should, reading of my tearful eye,
Think of your own, perhaps, and-Betty Martin!

A STORY OF THE BLACK ART.

PART I.

By the Ettrick Sheph rd.

But

THERE was once a beautiful lady in the north of Scotland, whose beauty exceeded that of all others, and her name shall, for the present, be Lady Elizabeth. that which has rendered her name famous in legendary lore, was a certain art, in which it afterwards appeared she had excelled all living men or women. Where she was initiated into these unholy mysteries is not known, or whether she was initiated into them or not; but certain it is, she had the power of personifying more people than one, and was brought up in a celebrated convent in France, which, for its notorious offences against order and decency, was long ago put down and annihilated. Her parents meant her to have taken the veil; but her extraordinary beauty and rare accomplishments induced her father to bring her home, in order to strengthen his interest by a marriage between her and some of the powerful nobles of the land,-for the aristocracy then carried all before them, and combinations were the order of the day.

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Such an acquisition was an easy matter to this lady; and had there been a king in Scotland at that time, as there was none, she could as easily have secured him for her husband as any other. Her father had no doubt of this, but he judged merely from her beauty and sweet demeanour; for he knew nothing of her powers, nor were they known to any without the walls of that convent. He had not seen her for five years; and when she was introduced to him, he was so much astonished at the elegance of her form and features, that, for a good while, he was struck motionless. At length he took her in his arms, and wept over her, and said, "My dear daughter, I hope the Holy Virgin will forgive me, but I must deprive her of your services. Such a flower was never planted by God to wither in a convent."

Then the lady rejoiced exceedingly, and embraced her father, and danced around him, screaming for joy at one time, and weeping at another, until the Lady Abbess became exceedingly wroth, and rebuked both her and her father, denouncing curses on them both, on account of this sinful alienation; and after throwing every possible obstacle in the way, and having very nearly effected her purpose, she said at length to her father, "Then, since you will have her away, take her with you; but you shall repent it while you live, for she is one of the very worst of women. I hoped, in the course of time, to have purified her from her sin; but as yet she is reeling in the middle of its vortex, which will soon swallow her up

and devour her. And I conjure you to remember this, that whatever you see of her, blame not our convent, where every thing has been done for her as far as human power extends; but the bonds of Satan are riveted upon her, and great is the woe she will bring upon thee. Blame not me, else it shall be the worse for both thyself and her."

"I will consider of it before I remove her finally," said her father, and went home to his hostel somewhat cast down; and, calling his daughter to him, he said, “ Elizabeth, my dear girl, I believe I must still leave you in this country and this convent."

"Do with me whatever you please, sir," said she, with a cheerful countenance; "I know my duty better than once to complain of what my father wills me to do." The good old nobleman kissed her, again bestowed his blessing on her, and sat down and wept when he thought of the character that the Lady Abbess had given so lovely and so dutiful a child. The young lady retired from her father's presence in great good humour, quite satisfied what the result would be, and prepared to put in practice a specimen of that art in which, perhaps, she excelled all who ever drew the breath of human life.

Though I believe this story to be founded on truth, and the greater part of the incidents literally true, yet, lest they should not be so, I forbear giving the family names of the noblemen that figure in it, although tradition bears them all, and shall only distinguish each by his Christian name.

When the lady departed, then, Lord Robert sat down in a painful reverie, and in vain tried to reconcile one part of what he had heard and seen with another; and, after sitting a good space in this abstracted state of mind, the door again opened, and a very extraordinary visitant entered. This was no other than his lady, who had been in her grave nine years. She was clothed in her usual way, and beautiful and cheerful as in her best days; and she had in her hand a small flowering shrub, with which she played in a careless manner. He was so much taken by surprise, that he sprung to his feet, and was going to embrace her, but a motion that she made, holding out both her hands, restrained him, and brought him to himself. Still he was nowise overcome with terror, for it was fair forenoon, and the form of his once dearly be loved wife had nothing in it repulsive. He retired a few steps, and sat down on a sofa, with a movement as soft as if afraid that every breath would dissolve the vision, and then uttering a deep sigh, he breathed her name in a whisper.

"You are astonished at seeing me here, my lord," said she; "and well you may. But I saw your perplexity, and am commissioned to set you right. I now charge you, by our earthly love, and the oaths that bound us together, to remove our child from this place. It is the lap of hell, and the nursery of every horrible and unheard-of vice; and the Abbess, in place of being concerned about our daughter's well-being, is only afraid of her own courses being exposed. Fly, therefore, without delay, else they will find means to detain Elizabeth, either by right or wrong and if they do, she is lost. the crisis of her fate; for if she escape, a high destiny awaits her in her native country. Adieu, my lord. Lay to heart what I have told you." And having said so, she retired with a graceful curtsey, as any other high-born dame would retire from a nobleman's presence.

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Lord Robert was petrified with astonishment. had, however, the presence of mind to haste to the window to see the mysterious visitor depart, but there was no person left the house. He then made enquiry at all the menials concerning the lady, but they denied all knowledge of her, assuring him that there was no lady in the hostel but his own daughter. His resolution was soon taken, for he was conscious of the reality of all he had seen and heard. It was no dream or vision of the imagination; it was his wife herself. He knew her eye,

her voice, her manner in every respect, and the words that she addressed to him sunk deep into his heart. He summoned his daughter again into his presence, desired her to make herself ready for immediate departure, and that night they reached the harbour where the ship lay at anchor, and without loss of time they went on board and set sail.

This ship was a splendid yacht, which belonged to the earl, his brother, and was manned by their own vassals. The captain was a Mr John Lesley, a firm adherent of Lord Robert, a very brave and honest man, but abundantly ignorant and superstitious withal. He was married to one Janet Elphingston, the same who had nursed this young lady, and attended her from the time she was weaned till the death of her mother, when she was sent abroad; and this connexion bred an instant friendship between the young lady and Johnnie Lesley, but in the end it proved a dear intimacy to him. He was the only man she conversed with besides her father, and his broad and homely dialect amused her exceedingly. His wife, her beloved Jenny Elphingston, was the theme of her constant enquiries, until Johnnie became rather impatient; and one day, while she was sitting beside him at the helm, the following confabulation ensued:

"Do you know, Captain, that I am wearying exceedingly to see your wife, my own dear Jenny Elphingston? Why did you not bring her with you?"

"Becass I thught she wuld ruther be butter at heeme, me ledy. They're nee gueed sheepmeets, the wimmun." "Has she a large family of children ?"

"I cudnee be saying."

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and seizing him by the breast, cried, "Tell me, you ras-. cal, what is it?"

"Fwat is it?" cried Johnnie, with a quivering voice. "Oh, gueed my lord, it is the ghust of my weef cum to akkuse me for a theeng o' neething. Oh, gueed my lord, lay her! Lay her in the deips of the sea that she has cum out of, or else we are all dead mun; for how can we sail wi' a ghust on beerd?"

"Not so fast, John Lesley," said the apparition, moving towards him with a cloudlike motion; "I retire no again to the elemental world till I have reproved you for your insolence, and likewise read to you your doom." Here the uproar grew excessive on board, for every one of the crew knew Jenny Elphingston, and all of them were horrified, and, roaring aloud, sought shelter, some in one hole, and some in another. As for Lesley, he fled backward by instinct, as far as he could get, and at length, coming in contact with the windlass, he leant his › back to that, held both his hands and one of his feet out: as his last defence, and brayed most lustily. The apparition, perceiving all things in this state of utter confusion, only shook her closed fist at her husband, and said, 'Well, craven, you are not fit to be spoken to now; but -we shall soon meet again !"

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"Oo! nu-nu-nu-no meet again! I beg your pardon a thousand tumes, but no meet again,” cried Johnnie Lesley, as the vision retired astern, where it vanished behind the binnacle.

Great was the consternation aboard that ship, and every man wished himself heartily ashore, for this appa

"What! do you not know how many children you rition, like the other, appeared in fair daylight, and not have?"

"Ay, mine are nee sae ill to count. But how munny she might have had whun she leeved in your grand house, that's another quastion."

"O fie, Captain, to speak that way of your own wife!" "There's name of you wimmen foks meekle to luppen tee, and I'll wurrant she's nee butter nor her nubbers." "Well, Captain, I regard such a speech as a sort of blasphemy,—an insinuation that deserves some manifest judgment from heaven. I would not wonder to see your wife rise out of the waves and reprove you for such a breach of duty."

"Ah! Gueed forbud that uver ye see sucken a sught as that, my ledy!"

The lady retired to her gilded cabin, while Johnnie Lesley kept his post at the helm, whistling on the southland breeze, and singing the following rude stanzas be

tween:

"O weel mut the keel row,

The keel row, the keel row, Weel mut the keel row,

That my young leddy's in; She has an ee o' meenlight,

O' meenlight, o' meenlight, She has a smile o' queenlight,

And a dumple on her chin!

Blow now, sweet breeze! Blow from that wucked keentry o' France, and bring me in sight of me awn neetaf hulls again!—Gueed be my salveetion, wha have we here!"

Johnnie turned round his face from the stern, whither he had been propitiating the southern wind, and lo! and behold! on the seat which the lady lately occupied, there sat his own wife, Janet Elphingston, looking him ruefully in the face. "Gueed be my salveetion, wha have we here!" and before the apparition had time to make any reply, Johnnie-broke from his post, and ran along the deck bellowing like one distracted, his eyes like to leap from their sockets, and his hair standing like bulrushes. The sailors sprung from their berths, and gathered round him; but he could do nothing but roar, and offer to

like other phantoms, at the close of twilight, or at the still hour of midnight, and it was likewise visible to all on board. But there was none who laid the circum

stance so deeply to heart as Lord Robert. It was so strange that both the dead and the living should thus appear in their bodily shapes, and that only in the place favoured with the presence of his daughter. He recalled to mind the words of the Lady Abbess, and likewise his own daughter's words, of the vices nursed in that abode of iniquity. But always in Lady Elizabeth's presence, she was so kind, so courteous, and so like an angel, that it was impossible for a fond parent to believe any thing evil of her.

Johnnie Lesley continued in a very restless and unquiet state of mind, his nerves having got such a shock that he was startled by every sound and every sight. Whenever a head rose slowly from the forecastle or companion-door, his jaws fell down, and he was rendered speechless for some time; once more during the voyage, and once only, he perceived her rising from the companion-door, having her eyes fixed on him, on which he raised the same commotion as before, and the being vanished without having been seen by any other person.

I pass over all the other incidents of the voyage, the surmises that passed, the searching of Lady Elizabeth's cabin, from a belief that the real Jenny Elphingston was there concealed, and shall now carry our party to their own home, an ancient seaport town in the north, near which Lord Robert's castle stood. Great was the anxiety of the crew, as well as of the good nobleman himself, to visit Johnnie Lesley's abode, which was close on the quay at the foot of The Town, for so the village was uniformly denominated.

Accordingly, no sooner did they set foot on shore, than they went in a body to Lesley's house, with Lord Robert at their head, and their captain in the rear, whose mind seemed visited by some strange misgivings, from a conviction either that his wife, Jenny Elphingston, was dead, and he had seen her ghost, or else that she was a witch, and had the power of transporting herself through the air; and in either of these cases he naturally conceived that he stood rather on ticklish ground. However, Jenny came bustling out as usual, and welcomed them all home

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