east of all does she neglect her master-piece and darling-the poetic soul! Neither can we believe that it is in the power of any external circumstances, utterly to ruin the mind of a man; nay,-if proper wisdom be given him,-even so much as to affect its essential health and beauty. The sternest sumtotal of all worldly misfortunes is Death; nothing more can lie in the cup of human woe: yet many men, in all ages, have triumphed over death and led it captive; converting its physical victory into a moral victory for themselves-into a seal and immortal consecration for all that their past life had achieved. What has been done may be done again; nay, it is but the degree, and not the kind, of such heroism, that differs in different seasons: for, without some portion of this spirit, not of boisterous daring, but of silent fearlessness-of SELF-DENIAL in all its forms, no great man, in any scene or time, has ever attained to be good.

XVIII. THE ELDER'S DEATH-BED.-Wilson.

FOR six years' Sabbaths, I had seen the Elder in his accustomed place beneath the pulpit;-and, with a sort of solemn fear, had looked on his steadfast countenance, during sermon, psalm, and prayer. I met the Pastor, going to pray by his death-bed:-and, with the privilege which nature gives us to behold, even in their last extremity, the loving and beloved, I turned to accompany him to the house of sorrow, of resignation, and of death.

And now, for the first time, I observed, walking close to the feet of his horse, a little boy about ten years of age, who kept frequently looking up in the Pastor's face, with his blue eyes bathed in tears. A changeful expression of grief, hope, and despair, made almost pale, cheeks which otherwise were blooming in health and beauty; and I recognised, in the small features and smooth forehead of childhood, a resemblance to the aged man, who, we understood, was now lying on his death-bed. "They had to send his grandson for me through the snow, mere child as he is," said the Minister, looking tenderly on the boy; "but love makes the young heart bold;and there is ONE, who tempers the wind to the shorn lamb."

As we slowly approached the cottage through a deep snowdrift, we saw, peeping out from the door, brothers and sisters of our little guide, who quickly disappeared; and then their mother showed herself in their stead; expressing, by her raised eyes, and arms folded across her breast, how thankful she was

to see, at last, the Pastor,-beloved in joy, and trusted in

trouble.

A few words sufficed to say who was the stranger:-and the dying man, blessing me by name, held out to me his cold shrivelled hand, in token of recognition. I took my seat at a small distance from the bed-side, and left a closer station for those who were more dear. The Pastor sat down near his Elder's head; and by the bed, leaning on it with gentle hands, stood that matron, his daughter-in-law; a figure that would have sainted a higher dwelling, and whose native beauty was now more touching in its grief.

"If the storm do not abate," said the sick man after a pause, "it will be hard for my friends to carry me over the drifts to the church-yard." This sudden approach to the grave, struck, as with a bar of ice, the heart of the loving boy:-and, with a long deep sigh, he fell down, his face like ashes, on the bed; while the old man's palsied right hand had just strength enough to lay itself upon his head.

"God has been gracious to me, a sinner!" said the dying man. "During thirty years that I have been an Elder in your church, never have I missed sitting there one Sabbath. When the mother of my children was taken from me,-it was on a Tuesday she died,—and on Saturday she was buried. We stood together, when my Alice was let down into the narrow house made for all living. On the Sabbath, I joined in the public worship of God. She commanded me to do so, the night before she went away. I could not join in the psalm that Sabbath, for her voice was not in the throng.-Her grave was covered up, and grass and flowers grew there."

The old man then addressed himself to his grandchild :"Jamie, thy own father has forgotten thee in thy infancy, and me in my old age; but, Jamie, forget not thou thy father, or thy mother; for that, thou knowest and feelest, is the commandment of God."

The broken-hearted boy could give no reply. He had, gradually, stolen closer and closer unto the loving old man; and now was lying, worn out with sorrow, drenched and dissolved in tears, in his grandfather's bosom. His mother had sunk down on her knees, and hid her face with her hand. "Oh! if my husband knew but of this, he would never, never desert his dying father!"—And I now knew, that the Elder was praying, on his death-bed, for a disobedient and wicked

gon.

The door was suddenly opened, and a tall fine-looking man

entered; but with a lowering and dark countenance, seemingly in sorrow, in misery, and remorse. Agitated, confounded, and awe-struck by the melancholy scene, he sat down on a chair, and looked with a ghastly face towards his father's death-bed. The Elder said, with a solemn voice, “Thou art come in time to receive thy father's blessing. May the remembrance of what will happen in this room, before the morning again shine over the Hazel-glen, win thee from the error of thy ways! Thou art here to witness the mercy of thy God and thy Saviour, WHOM THOU HAST FORGOTTEN.”

The young man, with much effort, advanced to the bedside; and, at last, found voice to say, "Father, I am not without the affections of nature; and I hurried home, the moment I heard that the Minister had been seen riding towards our house. I hope that you will yet recover; and if I have ever made you unhappy, I ask your forgiveness; for, though I may not think as you do on matters of religion, I have a human heart. Father, I may have been unkind, but I am not cruel. I ask your forgiveness."

"Come near to me;-William, kneel down by the bed-side, and let my hand feel the head of my beloved son; for blindness is coming fast upon me. Thou wert my first-born, and thou art my only living child. All thy brothers and sisters are lying in the church-yard, beside her, whose sweet face, thine own, William, did once so much resemble. Long wert thou the joy, the pride of my soul,-ay, too much the pride; for there was not, in all the parish, such a man, such a son, as my own William. If thy heart has since been changed, God may inspire it again with right thoughts. I have sorely wept for thee-ay, William, when there was none near me;—even as David wept for Absalom-for thee, my son! my son!"

A long deep groan was the only reply: but the whole body of the kneeling man was convulsed; and it was easy to see his sufferings, his contrition, his remorse, and his despair. The Pastor said, with a sterner voice and austerer countenance than were natural to him, "Know you whose hand is now lying on your rebellious head? But what signifies the word father,' to him who has denied God, the Father of us all?""Oh! press him not too hardly," said his weeping wife, coming forward from a dark corner of the room, where she tried to conceal herself in grief, fear, and shame. Spare, oh! spare my husband! he has ever been kind to ME;" and, with that, she knelt down beside him, with her long, soft, white arms, mournfully and affectionately laid across his neck. "Go thou

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likewise, my sweet little Jamie," said the Elder, "go even out of my bosom, and kneel down beside thy father and thy mother; so that I may bless you all at once, and with one yearning prayer." The child did as the solemn voice commanded, and knelt down somewhat timidly by his father's side; nor did the unhappy man decline encircling with his arm his son, too much neglected, but still dear to him as his own blood-in spite of the deadening and debasing influence of infidelity!

"Put the Word of God into the hands of my son, and let him read aloud, to his dying father, the eleventh chapter of the Gospel according to St. John." The Pastor went up to the kneelers, and said, "There was a time when none, William, could read the Scriptures better than couldst thou;-can it be that the son of my friend hath forgotten the lessons of his youth?" He had not forgotten them; there was no need of the repentant sinner to lift up his eyes from the bed-side. The sacred stream of the Gospel had worn a channel in his heart, and the waters were again flowing. With a choked voice, he read, "Jesus said unto her, I am the resurrection, and the life: and whosoever liveth, and believeth in me, shall never die. Believest thou this? She said unto him, Yea, Lord: I believe thou art the Christ, the Son of God, which should come into the world."

"That is not an unbeliever's voice," said the dying man triumphantly; "nor, William, hast thou an unbeliever's heart. Say that thou believest in what thou hast read, and thy father will die happy!" "I do believe, and as THOU forgivest me, so may I be forgiven by my FATHER, who is in heaven." The Elder seemed like a man suddenly inspired with a new life. His faded eyes kindled,-his pale cheeks glowed,-his palsied hands seemed to wax strong, and his voice was clear, as that of manhood in its prime.-"Into thy hands, O God! I commit my spirit-" and so saying, he gently sank back on his pillow: and I thought I heard a sigh. There was then a long, deep silence; and the father, the mother, and the child, rose from their knees. The eyes of us all were turned towards the white, placid face of the figure, now stretched in everlasting rest; and without lamentations, save the silent lamentations of the resigned soul, we stood around THE DEATH-BED IF THE ELDER.

XIX.-PUNISHMENT OF A SPY.-Sir Walter Scott.

I SHALL never forget the delightful sensation with which 1 exchanged the dark, smoky, smothering atmosphere of the Highland hut, for the refreshing fragrance of the morning air, and the glorious beams of the rising sun, which, from a tabernacle of purple and golden clouds, were darted full on such a scene of natural romance and beauty, as had never before greeted my eyes. To the left lay the valley, down which the Forth wandered on its easterly course, surrounding the beautiful detached hill with all its garland of woods. On the right, amid a profusion of thickets, knolls, and crags, lay the bed of a broad mountain-lake, lightly curled into tiny waves by the breath of the morning breeze; each glittering in its course, under the influence of the sunbeams. High hills, rocks, and banks, waving with natural forests of birch and oak, formed the borders of this enchanting sheet of water; and, as their leaves rustled to the wind and twinkled in the sun, gave to the depth of solitude a sort of life and vivacity. Man alone seemed to be placed in a state of inferiority, in a scene where all the ordinary features of nature were raised and exalted.

It was under the burning influence of revenge that the wife of Macgregor commanded that the hostage, exchanged for her husband's safety, should be brought into her presence. I believe her sons had kept this unfortunate wretch out of her sight, for fear of the consequences; but, if it was so, their humane precaution only postponed his fate. They dragged forward, at her summons, a wretch already half dead with terror, in whose agonised features I recognised, to my horror and astonishment, my old acquaintance Morris.

He fell prostrate before the female chief, with an effort to clasp her knees, from which she drew back, as if his touch had been pollution; so that all he could do, in token of the extremity of his humiliation, was to kiss the hem of her plaid. I never heard entreaties for life poured forth with such agony of spirit. The ecstacy of fear was such, that, instead of paralysing his tongue, as on ordinary occasions, it even rendered him eloquent; and, with cheeks as pale as ashes, hands compressed in agony, eyes that seemed to be taking their last look of all mortal objects, he protested, with the deepest oaths, his total ignorance of any design on the life of Rob Roy, whom he swore he loved and honoured as his own soul. In the inconsistency of his terror, he said he was Lut the agent of others, and he muttered the name of Rash