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sister-only living relative indeed. Warm and cordial was the welcome I received from the minister, but it was otherwise from my aunt. No sooner had I set foot in the manse than she gave me "a regular blowing-up" for having been so long in coming south. Had the minister's reception been of a similar nature, I simply would have returned home-but it was entirely different. I took to him at once, and he took to me. Sympathy, you know.

My aunt was an indescribable kind of woman, like nobody I had ever met before. My mother, her sister, was one of the most delightful of womankind no two sisters could have been more unlike each other. Mrs. Brown seemed to be always on the search for the unattainable; seeking to put away out of sight what she had already got, and yearning for something which seemed to be as indefinite and as impossible to get as the moon.

In short, my aunt was an unhappy and a thoroughly discontented woman. The minister, Dr. Brown, was a patient, resigned, and lovable old man-one of the gentlest gentlemen I had ever known. He and I had long walks and drives together over the Border country. Not a word of reproach or impatience ever escaped from his lips that I ever heard. On my expressing surprise that he bore everything at home so quietly, and advising him to flare up and assert his own position, the minister quietly replied: "She's my cross, Jack; the only cross I have to bear. I married her for better or for waur; it's been for the waur, so we'll e'en say nae mair about it."

In one of his pastoral visits, Dr. Brown asked me to accompany him to Whistlefield a lonely moorland farm-where it was arranged that we should remain over night and return home next day. I gladly agreed to accompany him, and it was with great pleasure that I accepted the Doctor's invitation to take the reins and drive the old mare when "the minister's man brought her and the gig round to the manse door.

A warm and hospitable welcome we received from Mr. and Mrs. Jardine of Whistlefield. This being a pastoral and professional visit, every soul about the "farm town" were assembled to meet the minister-master, mistress, children, domestics, shepherds, ploughmen, hinds, hinds, labourers-all and sundry were assembled in the spacious kitchen and seated round the great table. The minister took his seat at the head of the table, and opened the proceedings with praise and prayer. The Bible and the Shorter Catechism were then submitted as the subjects of study and examination. A chapter was read from the Scriptures, not by the minister, but "verse about" by every person present except

the young children. The chapter selected was the eleventh of Hebrews, and the reading was led off by Mrs. Jardine, who sat on Dr. Brown's right. Down the group the reading continued, bringing out every conceivable variety of accent and pronunciation. There was considerable stumbling over the long words, which caused not a little suppressed laughing now and again; one of the ploughmen bogled at the expression, "an innumerable company of angels," but he bravely surmounted it by rendering it an abominable company of angels, which was not an improvement. On the whole, however, the reading was very well done, and the Scriptural information elicited seemed to be quite satisfactory to the minister.

The men, women, and elder children composing the company grouped around the kitchen. table may safely be described, in so far as reading was concerned, the people of one book. Newspapers and magazines had not found their way as yet to Whistlefield; books were scarce and dear, and consisted mainly of The Pilgrim's Progress, Robinson Crusoe, and some religious literature such as Boston's Crook in the Lot, Alleine's Alarm to the Unconverted, or Baxter's Saint's Rest. But the Bible was the one book that was mostly handled and mostly read in that upland country stretching away to Lauderdale and the Lammermoors.

After the examination on the eleventh chapter of Hebrews was closed, Dr. Brown asked the company to shut their Bibles. He then asked for a repetition from memory of some verses here and there taken at random from the Psalms, the Gospels, and the Epistles, all of which verses were correctly and unhesitatingly given.

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Now for the open Bible once more," said the minister. "Who first can find the twelfth verse of the thirty-fourth chapter of the prophecies of Ezekiel will please read it aloud.”

Instantly the whole company of readers, young and old, were on the search for Ezekiel. The rustling of leaves, the finding of the prophetical book, the turning over for the particular chapter and verse, formed an animated scene. The first to find the passage was a fairhaired girl of twelve or thirteen, who was invited to read it aloud. In a fine, clear voice she read it without a single mistake.

"As a shepherd seeketh out his flock in the day that he is among his sheep that are scattered, so will I seek out my sheep, and will deliver them out of all places where they have been scattered in the cloudy and dark day."

"In the cloudy and dark day," repeated the venerable minister in soliloquy, and in a tone of what seemed to be a presentiment of coming

trial on the morrow. But he speedily regained his usual cheerfulness, and praised the girl for her smartness in being the first to find out the passage. After a few more exercises of a similar nature, the Shorter Catechism was next taken in hand. It also was shown to have been carefully studied, for the various doctrines selected for examination were all "proved" from Scripture to the entire satisfaction of everybody present— minister included.

The catechising over, Dr. Brown invited a few questions on any point of Scripture that might be troubling his hearers; but whether from bashfulness in asking, or from the entire absence of trouble or doubt of any kind, there was neither doubt nor trouble expressed. Whereupon the minister rose from his seat, uplifted his hands, and pronounced a solemn and, as it proved to be, a prophetic farewell.

The touch of sadness in Dr. Brown's voice and manner soon wore away in the general hospitality that followed the pastoral examination. All who had been engaged in it were entertained to supper, the minister and myself as guests in the dining room, and the others in the kitchen.

There was great glee consequent upon what was going on in the latter place, for on the previous day, the Martinmas term, there had been a fat ox slaughtered to provide entertainment for a grand supper in honour of the pastoral visitation. What was not reserved for that occasion was salted, stowed away in tubs, and kept for the winter's supply of beef. Everyone who had listened to the minister got a slice of roast along with a boiled potato, both of which were held in the fingers and eaten with immense enjoyment and appetite while sitting round the long kitchen table. Plenty of everything, as the potatoes disappeared another potful was toppled out by the servants into a great "ashet" and everybody invited to "pit out the hand an' make yoursel's at hame."

Meanwhile Mr. and Mrs. Jardine were entertaining the minister and myself in the diningroom with stewed rabbit, roasted duck, corned beef, and boiled chicken. One of the servants from the kitchen waited the table, and was kept continually in motion by her mistress, who seemed to take very little herself, as she was constantly looking after the interests and tempting the appetites of her two guests. This was called "pressing to eat," a custom in universal practice then, meant no doubt for kindness and hospitality, but sadly subversive of real enjoy ment to those who ate but sparingly, as did Dr. Brown and myself.

"Doctor," Mrs. Jardine would call out, "I'm

perfectly affronted to see ye eatin' sae little; a bit wingie o' the chicken now?”

"Thank you, Mrs. Jardine, I'm making a most excellent supper; no more, I thank you." "Mr. Grey, it's perfect nonsense you sittin' there dabbin' away like a bird at the back o' that rabbit. Here's a juck's leg to keep it company."

"Not a bit more, thank you, Mrs. Jardine: I'm eating the biggest supper I ever ate in all my life before."

"Whistlefield," said Mrs. Jardine, next addressing her husband, "there's nae kennin' what you're about there; you're at the lug o' the law and maun help yoursel', as I make no doubt ye're doin'."

Whistlefield was all right, he said. There he sat, enjoying his supper with splendid appetite and saying but lit le. The conversation at and after supper fell principally on farming topics, when Whistlefield came out specially strong, but he relapsed into silence when it drifted into other channels.

Ere retiring to rest, Dr. Brown asked me if I would have any objections to both of us occupying the same bedroom for the night. "I feel wearied and depressed beyond expression," the Doctor continued, "and would greatly desire your company through the night. It's a singular request to make, Jack, but something within compels me to ask this favour of you."

Of course I replied that I would be delighted. Accordingly, we wished our host and hostess good-night, and retired to the spare bedroom in the farmhouse of the lonely Whistlefield.

The minister and I occupied the same bed-a vast construction of four upright posts, with scarlet canopy and blue hangings. So soft was the bedding that the minister gradually sank into a trough, and I into another, with a high wall between. Good night was wished out of the depths of bedclothes.

Dr. Brown appeared to fall asleep very soon after sinking to rest. It was different, however, with me, who turned uneasily from side to side in my trough. Sleep fled from my eyes, and slumber from my eyelids. Then I sat up, but the room was as dark as pitch; the only thing stirring was the night wind, which was coming in fitful gusts and moaning round and round the house appropriately named Whistlefield.

As the clock on the staircase struck twelve, I saw, mind you, did not fancy I saw, but really saw, the figure of an elderly female carrying a lighted lantern enter the apartment, walk straight past the bed on which I still was sitting up, and disappear on the opposite side. The figure neither looked to the right nor the left, made no

attempt to speak, but came in at the one side of the bedroom and as silently left on the opposite side. In speechless horror and terror I sat up in bed, trembling and perspiring in every pore of my body. Unable to speak I yet retained the consciousness of gratitude in having the minister beside me. I shuddered to think, when I was able to think, of what might have happened had I been alone in that strange bedroom with the apparition of the woman and the lighted lantern.

The long, long November night seemed a month in length, but the wished-for morning came at last. Dr. Brown rose and dressed and as he did so, he remarked to his companion for the night that the fears of the previous evening had been all dispelled, as he had slept well and soundly the whole night through. I, however, said little about my sleeplessness, and nothing whatever about the strange visitor with the lighted lantern. Within the next twelve hours, I was to see the same form, but in widely different circumstances.

After breakfast, Mr. Jardine, or Whistlefield as he was usually called after the name of his farm, was anxious to show us over the yard, the byres, the stables, etc. Seeing that it would disappoint him if we did not comply with his wishes, we accompanied him, and really we saw much to interest us; but so long did it occupy us to do the inspection that when we returned to the house, we found that Mrs. Jardine had prepared an early dinner, or luncheon as it would now be called. On protesting against sitting down to eat so soon after a hearty breakfast, the hospitable lady said that it would be a "perfect temp'in o' Providence to gang owre the muir on em'ty stamacks. Na, na, Doctor," she continued, "ye gi'e us plenty gude meat in the pu'pit, I'll take care ye dinna starve when ye come to Whistlefield."

Accordingly we sat down to luncheon, and while engaged in discussing it, a messenger was announced from the neighbouring farm of Janefield to say that the mistress there had taken suddenly ill during the night, and that the family would like very much if Dr. Brown would call on his way down.

At length the minister's mare and gig were brought round, and we bade good bye to the hospitable home of Mr. and Mrs. Jardine. Calling at Janefield on our way, we found that death had been there before us, and that the gentle lady was no more. In such circumstances, the minister remained a while to comfort the bereaved family, and it was not until the evening that we resumed our journey.

On starting for home, the darkness had set in.

Not only that, but the rain was falling in torrents -a blinding, drenching rain up-to-date November. Asking me to take the reins as before, Dr. Brown settled himself down in the gig, and was so completely encased in wraps and haps that conversation was out of the question.

Giving the mare her head, away she rattled homeward. The darkness and the rain were nought to her: present discomfort was all forgotten in the cheery prospect of reaching home in less than an hour. A smart run down the country at last brought us to the river on the opposite bank of which we could see the lights of the manse at the end of the village. Fearing that the ford might be too heavy in flood, I stooped down from my driving seat and asked the doctor if we might venture to cross. was no reply. Feeling that the mare herself was anxious to go on, I let her have her own way. In she plunged, and after a stiff pull, managed to reach the opposite bank and commenced the ascent to the village.

There

Right ahead, in the pitchy darkness of the night, there stood a something waving a lighted lantern! It was being waved in exactly the same way that I had seen the figure do in the bedroom at Whistlefield! In my terror, I cried aloud to the Doctor, but he still made no reply. At length a shrill voice called out, it was the voice of my aunt, "A fine time this to come back, keeping me waiting dinner since four o'clock. I'm ashamed of ye both!"

Turning round, my aunt went on before, waving her lantern, and did not halt until we arrived at the manse door. There the minister's man was waiting us While he caught the mare's head, I threw off the reins, climbed down from the gig, and congratulated the Doctor that we had arrived all safely. But there was no response.

"Lend me that lantern, aunt," I called out. Holding up the light to the face of the Doctor, I saw what I shall never forget-the eyes of my uncle staring into the darkness! The features were set and rigid, and cold as ice. The gentle minister was no longer amongst us, and I had been sitting beside a corpse all the way down from Janefield.

The Eildon bills.

O' a' the bonnie sichts I've seen
This bonnie country through,
The bonniest is the Eildon Hills
As I think I see them noo.
The sunshine fa's on the Bowden side
On heather and turf and stane,
And lichts the purple and green and broon
Wi' a beauty o' its' ain.

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J

Carlyle's Brother Jamie.

HE father of the Carlyles was altogether an original man, being known far and wide as a man "wi' heaps o' knowledge," and as a sagacious and clever workman.

An apprentice of his who lived to a good old age, used to say that the Carlyles were "a' pithy speakin' bodies," and that the father of the "book maker" was one who would "sit on nae man's coat-tails, an' sic stories he could tell. He used sayin's an' words that were never heard o' before."

It would seem that Carlyle's younger brother "Jamie o' Scotsbrig" inherited his father's gift to a marked degree, for he was a man "wi’ an unco pooer o' langwidge."

When a lad he was always regarded as much smarter than his brother, and for clever sayings, and scathing speeches, Tom was never in it with Jamie.

To-day, throughout the parish of Middlebie, and even in Ecclefechan, Jamie is held in greater admiration than the famous sage. His sayings are remembered where Carlyle's books are either not known, or spoken of with contempt.

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"Jamie we kent; he could ferm, but Tam," said one, we can see naething in him, an' less in his books to mak' a sang aboot." "There wasna his match in a' the country for breedin' pigs," said another.

His doings and speeches are to be met with on almost every farm in Dumfriesshire. The following, which are taken at random, are distinctly Carlylean, and show that Jamie possessed that graphic and original speech which belonged

to the clan.

A servant man lost the barn door key, and when all was ready for thrashing it was nowhere to be found. Jamie "open'd oot on 'im," and exclaimed "Ye slowsterin' slink, e' slack-lippit slabber gae 'wa an' look the weeks o' 'er mooth for the key."

On another occasion he spoke of a servant lass's sweetheart as a "puir, insigneeficant, gleemerin', trough-heeled, slack-backit sluggard." He was very particular about the cutting of his corn, and gave his sheare's strict injunctions to "tak' time an' cut it cloose an' clean."

During one harvest season the workers got into a "kemp," that is a competition, and made some rough work. Jamie came on the scene, and was neither "tae haud nor bin," and perfectly shook with rage. He dismissed every one on the spot, using some very strong language. One he described as "craw-fitted," another as "shool-backit," whilst a third was addressed thus "Thou's a hich shearer, an' a

leach shearer, an' a' thegither a coorse shearer, sae sklent the bogs wi' thy as'bucket feet, thou skull-backit goniol, an' ne'er show thy auld wussen'd face aboot this ferm toon."

When raising potatoes, a raw slip of a lad came on to the field to order a cart load. Jamie, pointing to a cart already loaded, said, "If thou can pit the yad intae the shafts, thou can'st ha'e th' lot for thy trouble.” To the surprise of all, the young fellow accomplished the task, and Jamie, as good as his word, refused payment.

At another time when carting turnips from a field, the horse "took the sturdy," and would not budge, Jamie lost his temper over it, and flinging the reins in its face, he said "stan' there," and left the animal in the field where it was found next morning.

When Jamie and a friend were driving from Lockerbie Lamb Fair, where they had got a "wee drap in their e'e," they fell out by the way. The gig happened to belong to the one, and the horse to the other. The former was laying on the lash somewhat heavily, and when asked to desist ordered the other out of his gig. Jamie deliberately got down and unyoked the horse, leaving his friend all alone in his glory in the middle of the highway, and a long way from home.

On another occasion a party of Americans met Jamie near Ecclefechan, and asked him to point the way to Carlyle's grave. Which Carlyle?" said he. "Thomas, of course-the great Carlyle." In his abrupt fashion he gave them the needed directions, and was moving away, when an ardent worshipper of the sage exclaimed-"We have come all the way from America to lay this wreath on our great teacher's grave.”

Ha, ha, ha," he laughed, and said sarcastically" It's a gey an' harmless occupation 'e a' hae," and with another laugh turned away.

G. M. R.

LITERARY NOTE. THE "Life and Letters of John Gibson Lockhart," by Mr. Andrew Lang, will be published shortly by Mr. John C. Nimmo. The work is drawn from Abbotsford and Milton Lockhart MSS. and other original sources, and the son-inlaw and biographer of Scott will declare himself in his own correspondence with friends such as Sir Walter, Dean Milman, Southey, Mr. Jonathan Christie, Professor Wilson, and Mr. Carlyle, also with various members of his own family. Much light should be thrown by the work upon the society, literature, and, in a minor degree, the politics of 1814-54.

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