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again to Lommio, and drew Catel was left behind, for being him down to the sea. Near neither Basque, Breton, or morning she left him, and he Bigauden, one place was as slept a troubled sleep.

another to her.

She was a The sun was an hour high sea-wise maid who knew and when he awakened. About loved only the moors and the him the yellow dunes marched sea, and she felt little need of down to the sea. The tiny other companionship. To her valleys between the dunes were door came Lommio, mazed with scantily sown with coarse herb- his visions, empty, and heavy age and flowering thorn. Lom- with sleep. mic arose from his sandy bed “I am hungry,” he said and shook himself sluggishly, simply as Catel stood at her not noticing that the wrinkled open door. sea was dazzling blue, or that She turned back into the a fleet of white clouds moved windowless shelter, stirred up majestically overhead. Hunger the fire of driftwood on the sent him wandering without smouldering hearth, and put settled purpose. Instinctively a black iron pot on the coals. he followed the indented shores Thereafter Lommio ate generof the sea.

ously, a hunch of broad in his Over the dunes curled a thin hand, a basin of steaming broth wisp of blue smoke. It came of fish and potatoes on his from a tiny cabin thrown up knees. He forgot to thank with wreckage and thatch in Catel for her hospitality. An the lee of a hill of drifting sand. hour after the meal was finished, Beyond the cabin the foreshore the while he sat on a rude rose rapidly to a crumbling bench at the door staring out cliff, where the hungry sea had toward the distant horizon, he eaten the moor away.

wandered away without looking In the cabin Catel Zévédé backward. lived alone, daughter of a Once in the morning, as Basque cagot and his woman Catel climbed to the water pool of the Bigaudens. Zévédé, the on the moor, she saw Lommic pariah, outcast by his car- at a distance, running aimlessly, penter's craft in the Basque throwing his hands over his Provinces, was no more than head. In the evening she saw sea wrack cast up on the a black figure crouched at the beaches of Morbihan. Where edge of the cliff motionless he drifted ashore he remained against the red bars of sunset until the sea took him again. When the sun was high again His woman, who disliked all the next morning, turning from Bretons as much as they mis- some simple task in the cabin, trusted her, wandered away she saw the fool's shadow fallwestward toward Combrit- ing athwart the door. He Tréméoc to join her own people looked at her dumbly, twisting after the death of her man. his thick red hands. As he VOL. CCXVIII.—NO. MCCCXIX.

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" Why

ate the food which she gave for Lommic over the moor, him, she came out and stood and presently saw him going beside him.

down to the sea. She did not You are Lommic the Pip- approach him, but only watched er?" she asked wistfully. from a distance as again he

should you ask, crouched on the cliff, motionAhès ? "

less, gazing seaward. Patient "I saw you once at a fair as a waiting animal the girl in Kerimor,” Catel replied with remained hidden in the dewout understanding his question. damp gorse while sunset faded, "Perhaps, now, you would play dusk shadowed the moor, and for me here ?

a thin moon swung upward He took the flageolet from floating among blowing misty his pocket, screwed the two clouds. halves together, and raised it Catel crept closer. Lommic to his lips.

was muttering and singing low Stop!” cried Catel with to himself. Some of the words her hands over her ears. After could be heard, but they meant an interval, while Lommic nothing to the girl. looked at her beneath lowered brows, she said, “When I

When I Abės, enchantress, mistress of dark heard you playing the biniou Beautiful, cruel, cold as the crawling

se&-ways, in Kerimor, the people were

sea, dancing. There was joy in Crying and calling ever over Ker-ys, that music, and then I wanted Drowned Ker-ys, where sea-damned

souls are bound, to dance. Now your music How long, how long, Ahès ? frightens me.”

-Ahès, how long?" "It is a song of the damned, Ahès. Very well you should Suddenly the shadow that know it."

was Lommic arose in place. Now Catel saw for a certainty Catel saw two arms like the that all his wits were scattered vanes of a windmill threshing on the wind. In her there was against the sky, heard a shuda great pity for Lommic the dering cryFool. He was sad and suffer- I see! I hear! I follow, ing, and she wanted to com- Ahès !" fort him without knowing at The fool dashed forward beall what to say or to do. Soon, fore Catel could move. She without saying anything fur- saw him poised for a moment ther, he left the cabin and went at the edge of the cliff. He away between the dunes. flung himself outward. There

The thoughts of Catel did was no sound. not cease to trouble her. Late The girl dropped her heavy in the afternoon when she had skirts as she ran. Below, pallid gathered driftwood from the against the black water, there beach and finished work in was a swirl of foam. Catel her little garden, she sought knew that there was no rock at that place. She leaped, “I am not Ahès, whoever curving downward swift as a the hussy may be !” she said cormorant. The water closed sharply. “I am Catel Zévédé. over her. As she came up

And you are a fool for all that beneath Lommio she clutched you are a fine poet. Trouble at him. Struggling together, enough you have given me !" they sank until Catel felt weed- When she had prepared hot slimed rock beneath her feet, broth for him to drink, she and her breath burst in bubbles told him, “Now, you will go from her straining lungs. The to sleep before the fire here, ebb and suck of the retreating and let me hear no more from tide drifted them outward. Ris- you until morning." ing, the girl had one glimpse Obediently Lommic slept. of the receding line of surf at That night not even in his the base of the cliff. Close to dreams did the enchantress her own face in the dim light visit him. she saw the contorted face of Toward noon, her pail being the fool.

empty, Catel must go up to A hand closed on her hair, the water pool on the moor. dragging her head beneath the She sat Lommic down on the wave again. Sinking, she bench beside the door. grasped Lommic by the throat “Sit there," she said, “until with both strong hands. She I retum. And if you move did not relax that firm grip from that bench, I shall be until she felt his struggling after you with a thick stick body grow limp beside her. at your back." When the two heads appeared

Lommic sat

though at the surface again, the fool chained to that bench until floated heavily. Catel's hand Catel released him. On the was entangled in his towsled third day, at dusk, wearing his hair. She turned on her back, own dried garments again, he and swam strongly and surely took his flageolet from a pocket, toward the sandy beach where wiped it carefully on his knees, the dunes fell away to the breathed through the tubes sea.

before screwing the parts toWhen Lommic opened his gether. Catel sat in the dooreyes he was prone on the way.

Before them was the earthen floor of Catel's cabin. murmurous sea. Over their He was wrapped in a blanket. heads late homing gulls rose Fire gleamed on the hearth. and fell on the seaward breeze. Catel stooped over him. She The first few notes of the had put on a dry skirt, but music Catel recognised as the her blouse clung damply to weird and terrible song of the her splendid body. She had drowned damned. She snatched twisted her dark hair in gleam- the flageolet from Lommic's ing wet masses about her head. hand. Ahès !” he muttered.

"Make other music," she

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cried, “or I shall take this biniou on a gay silken ribbon plaything away from you!” over his shoulder. Perhaps Lommio cried out in dismay. Lommic has forgotten that time “Very well, then,” said Catel, of darkness before the sea returning the flageolet. “But closed over him. Certainly play something gay.” A mo- now no one hears anything ment later she added, looking further of the history of Prinout toward the opal sea,

coss Ahès. That ballad is one world is too beautiful that Catel has strictly forShe did not know how to bidden. finish the thought that was in “One must have someone her.

to care for,” she told Father "The world is beautiful,” Mathieu, the priest, when, just Lommic repeated, looking at at first, he offered certain objecthe girl, his am ber eyes misty tions to the celebration of a wide with dumb obedience and sacrament which Catel proposed unquestioning devotion.

to him. "He belongs to me, There is no more of this for I saved him. He is my story except that now, as Lom- poet ; he tells me all that I mio and Catel attend fairs, feel but can never say. All feasts, and weddings together, men are fools from what I Catel pockets the money which have seen of them, but he is Lommic earns by his music- less foolish than others. To making. The people of the them, their fields; to us the parish of Kerimor often thought clouds over the moors and the that they granted a favour in wind over the sea. As we are permitting Lommic the Fool to content with each other, so make their music for them. will the good God be content Now, when they dance they with us." pay, and Catel drives a hard It was the longest speech bargain. When Catel is present any one had ever heard from no one would dare to call her Catel, that silent maid. The man Lommic the Fool. Now, priest was convinced by it. in truth, he wears a brave Indeed, he saw in the miracle green jacket, good leather shoes of Lommic's healing a direct on his feet, and he slings the answer to his suppliant prayers.

GEORGE BUCHANAN.

BY REV. J. A. NAIRN, LITT.D. (oxoN. ET CANTAB.).

THE revival of interest in life of a wandering scholar of the Stewarts, the most gifted, the sixteenth century. and the most unhappy, of our He was born near the village native dynasties, has led to a of Killearn in Stirlingshire, renewed study of the works within sight of Ben Lomond, of George Buchanan, who Ben Venue, Ben Ledi, and taught Latin to Mary, Queen other monarchs of the Western of Scots, and to her son, James Highlands. Not far away is Sixth of Scotland and First of the district subsequently assoGreat Britain.

ciated with the exploits of Buchanan's fame once stood Rob Roy. Buchanan's father high. His abilities as a Latinist, was of Celtic descent, conas a poet, and historian won nected with the family of the applause of such men as Lennox. His mother, Agnes Roger Ascham and Philip Heriot, came of a family of Sidney in the sixteenth century; considerable importance in the Milton, Cowley, and Dryden in county of Haddington. Those the seventeenth ; and Dr John- who are curious in such matters son in the eighteenth century. may trace back to this blending “What would you have said,” of the Celtio and the Teutonio a Scotsman once asked Dr stocks the combination of quick Johnson, "had Buchanan been temper and of shrewdness which an Englishman“Why, is to be witnessed through sir," replied Johnson, “I would Buchanan's life. His true not have said, had he been an affinities were with his father's Englishman, what I will say people ; and his sympathy with of him as a Scotsman, that he the Highlanders is often shown was the only man of genius in his writings, especially in whom his country ever pro- his longest and most ambitious duced.”

work, the ‘History of Scotland.' Buchanan is not unworthy Buchanan's father died in of this high commendation. middle age, leaving to his But, before considering the posi- widow the task of educating tion which he occupies in the a family of five sons and three estimation of scholars, it will daughters. George, wbo was be convenient to give some the third son, attended school account of his life the typical first at Killearn, afterwards at

There are several biographies of Buchanan. That by Dr Macmillan has been of most use to mo.

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