on the green sides of the hills, been lying deep keep the thocht away that it was he wha helped among their dark feet in the lake, it would not those poor creatures to their end." She then have shown a ripple the more.

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er than the wind, who sank them in the lake, and could have raised them from it, but it was no His pleasure. The puir leddy would ha' been nane the happier if Andrew had been ta'en as well, and I and the bairns muckle the waur." Then observing where Miss Campbell stood, she continued, in a voice of much emotion, Ah! I mind them weel as they came awa' down here; the bairnie was playing by as Andrew loosened the boat-the sweet bairnie! so happy and thochtless as he gaed in his beautiful claes-I see him noo!" and the poor woman wiped her eyes. "But there's something ye'll like to see. Jeanie! gang awa' up, and bring the little bonnet that hangs on the peg. Andrew went out again with the boat the night, and picked it up. But it will no be dry."

proceeded earnestly to exculpate her husband, asMiss Campbell, meanwhile, wandered slowly suring Miss Campbell that in spite of the heavy on, and though apparently unmindful of the beau- wind and the entangled rope, all might even yet ty of the scene, she was evidently soothed by its have been well if the gentleman had kept his seat. influence. All that dreary night long had she" But I just tell him that there's Ane above, strongcried unto God in ceaseless prayer, and felt that without His help in her heart, and His word on her lips, she had been but as a strengthless babe before the sight of that anguish. But here beneath His own heavens her communings were freer; her soul seemed not so much to need Him below, as to rise to Him above; and the solemn dejection upon a very care worn but sweet face, became less painful, but perhaps more touching. In her wanderings she had now left the hotel to her left hand, the boatman's clay cottage was just above, and below a little rough pier of stones, to an iron ring in one of which the boat was usually attached. She had stood on that self-same spot the day before and watched Captain H- and his little son as they walked down to the pier, summoned the boatman, and launched into the cool, smooth water. She now went down herself, and stood with a feeling of awe upon the same stones they had so lately left. The shores were loose and shingly, many footsteps were there, but one particularly riveted her gaze. It was tiny in shape and light in print, and a whole succession of them went off towards the side as if following a butterfly, or attracted by a bright stone. Alas! they were the last prints of that little foot on the shores of this world! Miss Campbell had seen the first thunderbolt of misery burst upon his mother; she had borne the sight of her as she lay stunned, and as she rose frenzied, but that tiny footprint was worse than all, and she burst into a passionate fit of tears. She felt as if it were desecration to sweep them away, as if she could have shrined them round from the winds and waves, and thoughtless tread of others; but a thought came to check her. What did it matter how the trace of his little foot, or how the memory of his short life, were obliterated from this earth? There was One above who had numbered every hair of his innocent head, and in His presence she humbly hoped both father and child were now rejoicing.

The child returned with a sad token. It was the little fellow's cap; a smart town-made article, with velvet band, and long silk tassel, that tassel which had been his first vanity, and his mother had coaxed it smooth as she pulled the peak low down over his fair forehead, and then, fumbling his little fingers into his gloves, had given him a kiss which she little thought was to be the last!

"I was coming awa' up wi' it mysel' but the leddy will no just bear to see it yet.'

No, not yet," said Miss Campbell, “if ever. Let me take it. I shall remain with her till better friends come here, or she goes to them;" and giving the woman money which she had difficulty in making her accept, she possessed herself of the cap and turned away.

She soon reached the hotel, it was just five o'clock, all blinds were down, and there was no sign of life; but one figure was pacing up and down, and seemed to be watching for her. It was Sir Thomas. His sympathy had broken his sleep in the morning, though it had not disturbed it at night. He began in his abrupt way :

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Madam, I have been watching for you. I heard you leave the house. Madam, I feel almost ashamed to lift up my eyes to you; whilst we have all been wishing and talking, you alone have been acting. We are all obliged to you madam; there is not a creature here with a heart in them to whom you have not given comfort!"

Miss Campbell tried to escape from the honest overflowings of the old man's feelings.

She was just turning away when the sound of steps approached, and the boatman's wife came up. Her features were coarse and her frame gaunt, as we have said, but she was no longer the termagant of the day before, nor was she ever so. But the lower classes in the most civilized lands, are often, both in joy and grief, an enigma to those above them; if nature, rare alike in all "You have only done what you liked: very ranks, speak not for them, they have no conven- true, madam. It is choking work having to pity tional imitation to put in her place. The feeling without knowing how to help; but I would sooner of intense suspense was new to her, and the vio-give ten thousand pounds than see what you have lence she had assumed had been the awkwardness seen. I would do anything for the poor creature, which, under many eyes, knew not otherwise how to express or conceal; but she had sound Scotch sense, and a tender woman's heart, and spoke them both now truly, if not gracefully.

"Ye'll be frae the hotel, yonder?" she said; can ye tell me how the puir leddy has rested? I was up mysel' to the house, and they tell't me they could hear her greeting!"

Miss Campbell told her in a few words what the reader knows, and asked for her husband.

"Oh! he's weel enough in body, but sair disquieted in mind. No that he's unmindfu' of the mercy of the Lord to himsel', but he can no just

anything, but I could not look at her." He then told her that his men had been sent with the earliest dawn to different points of the lake, but as yet without finding any traces of the late fatal accident; and then his eyes fell upon the cap in Miss Campbell's hand, and he at once guessed the history. "Picked up last evening, you say-sad, sad-a dreadful thing!" and his eyes filling more than it was convenient to hold, he turned away, blew his nose, took a short turn, and coming back again continued, " But tell me how has she rested? what has she taken? You must not let her weep too much!"

writhed through, ground through, we scarcely | not, and to which she was only slowly and painknow or remember how, before the knowledge of the bereavement has become habitual-while it is still struggle and not endurance-the same ceaseless recoil from the same ever-recurring shock. It was a blessing that she was ill, very ill; the body shared something of the weight at first.

fully to be inured, if ever. In these times she would love to tell Catherine-what Catherine most loved to hear-how that her lost husband was both a believer and a doer of Christ's holy word, and that her lost child had learned at her knee what she herself had chiefly learned from his father. For she had been brought up in ignorance and indifference to religious truths, and the greatest happiness of her life had commenced that knowledge, which its greatest sorrow was now to complete.

"I have been such a happy woman," she would say, "that I have pitied others less blessed, though I trust they have not envied me." And then would follow sigh on sigh and tear on tear, and again her soul writhed beneath the agony of that implacable mental spasm.

Let no one, untried by such extremity, here lift the word or look of deprecation. Let there not be a thought of what she ought to have done, or what they would have done. God's love is great, and a Christian's faith is strong, but when have the first encounters between old joys and new sorrows been otherwise than fierce? From time to time a few intervals of heavenly composure, wonderful and gracious to the sufferer, may be permitted, and even the dim light of future peace discerned in the distance; but, in a moment, the gauntlet of defiance is thrown again-no matter Sometimes the mourner would appear to lose, what-an old look, an old word, which comes instead of gaining ground, and would own with rushing unbidden over the soul, and dreadful feel- depression, and even with shame, her fears that ings rise again only to spend themselves by their she was becoming more and more the sport of unown violence. It always seems to us as if sorrow governable feeling. "My sorrow is sharp enough." had a nature of its own, independent of that she would say, "but it is a still sharper pang when whereon it has fallen, and sometimes strangely at I feel I am not doing my duty under it. It is not variance with it-scorching the gentle, melting thus that he would have had me act. And her the passionate, dignifying the weak, and prostrat-kind companion, always at hand to give sympathy ing the strong-and showing the real nature, or comfort, would bid her not exact or expect anyhabits, or principles of the mind, only in those thing from herself, but to cast all upon God, redefences it raises up during the intervals of relief. minding her in words of tenderness that her soul With Mrs. H- these defences were reared on was as a sick child, and that strength would not the only sure base, and though the storm would be required until strength was vouchsafed. sweep down her bulwarks, and cover all over "Strength," said the mourner, no more strength with the furious tide of grief, yet the foundation or health for me." And Miss Campbell would was left to cling to, and every renewal added whisper that, though "weariness endureth for a some object to its strength. night, joy comes in the morning." Or she would be silent, for she knew, as most women do, alike how to soothe and when to humor.

Three days were spent thus, but the fourth she was better, and on Miss Campbell's approaching her bedside, she drew her to her, and, putting her arms round her neck, imprinted a calm and solemn kiss upon her cheek.

It was a beautiful and a moving sight to see two beings thus riveted together in the exercise and receipt of the tenderest and most intimate feelings, who had never known of each other's existence till the moment that made the one dependent and the other indispensable. All the shades and grades of conventional and natural acquaintance

"Oh! what can I ever do for you, dear friend and comforter? God, who has sent you to me in my utmost need, He alone can reward you. I don't even know your name; but that matters not, I know your heart. Now you may tell me all-ship, all the gradual insight into mutual charall; before, I felt as if I could neither know nor acter, and the gradual growth into mutual trust, forget what had happened, before, it was as if which is so sweet to look back upon from the high God had withdrawn His countenance; but now ground of friendship, were lost to them, but it He is gracious, He has heard your prayers." mattered not,-here they were together, the one adAnd then, with the avidity of fresh, hungry sor-mitted into the sanctuary of sorrow, the other sharrow, she besought Miss Campbell to tell her all she knew; she besought and would not be denied, for sorrow has royal authority, its requests are commands. So, with the hand of each locked together, and the eyes of each averted, they sat questioning and answering in disjointed sentences till the whole sad tale was told. Then, anxious to turn a subject which could not be banished, Miss Campbell spoke of the many hearts that had bled, and the many prayers that had ascended for her, and told her of that kind old man who had thought, acted, and grieved for her like a father.

ing in the fulness of love, with no reminiscence in common but one, and that sufficient to bind them together for life.

Meanwhile the friend without was also unremitting in his way. He crossed not her threshold in person, nor would have done so for the world, but his thoughts were always reaching Mrs. Hin some kind form. Every delicate dainty that money could procure-beautiful fruits and flowers which had scarce entered this valley before-everything that could tempt the languid appetite or divert the weary eye was in turn thought of, and each handed in with a kind heart, hearty inquiry, till the mourner listened with pleasure for the step and voice. Nor was Miss Campbell forgotten; all the brief snatches of air and exercise she enjoyed were in his comPassionate bursts of grief would succeed such pany, and often did he insist on her coming out conversations; nevertheless they were renewed for a short walk or drive when the persuasions of again and again, for, like all sufferers from severe Mrs. H had failed to induce her to leave a bereavements, her heart needed to create a world room where she was the only joy. But now a fresh for itself, where its loved ones still were, as a object attracted Sir Thomas' activity, for after ance against that outer one where they were many days the earthly remains of one of the suf

"God bless him-God bless them all; but chiefly you, my sister. I want no other name.' "Call me Catherine," said the faithful companion.

ferers was thrown up. It was the body of the | just buried-who had gone on from sin to sin, little boy. Sir Thomas directed all that was ne- hardening his own heart, and wringing those of cessary to be done, and having informed Miss others, till none but a mother's love remained to Campbell, the two friends, each strange to the him, and that he outraged. She told, in short, so other, and bound together by the interest in one much of the sad realties of life, in which, if there equally strange to both, went out together up the was not more woe, there was less comfort, that hill above the hotel, and were gone longer than Mrs. H- acknowledged in her heart that such usual. The next day the intelligence was com- griefs had indeed been unendurable, and returned municated to Mrs. H- —, who received it calmly, with something like comfort to the undisturbed but added, "I could have wished them both to have sanctity of her own. rested together; but God's will be done. I ought not to think of them as on the earth."

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The grave of little Harry H- was dug far from the burial-ground of his fathers, and strangers followed him to it; but though there were no familiar faces among those who stood round, there were no cold ones; and when Sir Thomas, as chief mourner, threw the earth upon the lowered coffin, warm tears fell upon it also. Miss Campbell had watched the procession from the window, and told how good the old man walked behind the minister, the boatman and his wife followed him, and how a long train succeeded, all pious and reverential in their bearing, with that air of manly decorum which the Scotch peasantry conspicuously show on such occasions. And she who lay on a bed of sorrow and weakness blessed them through her tears, and felt that her child's funeral was not lonely.

About this time a summons came which required Sir Thomas to quit the valley in which these scenes had been occurring. Mrs. H could have seen him, and almost longed to see him; but he shrunk from her, fearing no longer her sorrow so much as her gratitude.

"Tell her I love her," he said, in his abrupt way, "and always shall; but I can't see her-at least, not yet." Then explaining to Miss Campbell all the little arrangements for the continuation of the mourner's comfort, which his absence might interrupt, he authorized her to dispose of his servants, his horses, and everything that belonged to him, and finally put into her hands a small packet directed to Mrs. H- with instructions when to give it. He had ascertained that Mrs. H was wealthy, and that her great afflictions entailed no minor privations. you, my dear, are poor; at least, I hope so, for I could not be happy unless I were of service to you. I am just as much obliged to you as Mrs. H- is. Mind, you have promised to write to me and to apply to me without reserve. No kindness, no honor-nonsense. It is I who honor you above every creature I know, but I would not be a woman for the world; at least the truth is I could not." And so he turned hastily away.

"But

And now the time approached when she, who had entered this valley a happy wife and mother, was to leave it widowed and childless, a sorrowing and heavy-hearted woman, but not an unhappy one. She had but few near relations, and those scattered in distant lands: but there were friends who would break the first desolation of her former home, and Catherine had promised to bear her company till she had committed her into their hands.

From this time the mourner visibly mended. The funeral and the intelligence that preceded it had insensibly given her that change of the same theme, the want of which had been so much felt at first. She had now taken up her burden, and, for the dear sakes of those for whom she bore it, it became almost sweet to her. She was not worshipping her sorrow as an idol, but cherishing it as a friend. Meanwhile she had received many kind visits from the minister who had buried her child, and had listened to his exhortations with humility and gratitude; but his words were felt as admonitions, Catherine's as comfort. To her, now dearer and dearer, every day she would confess aloud the secret changes of her heart; how at one time the world looked all black and dreary before her, how at another she seemed already to live in a brighter one beyond; how one day life was a burden she knew not how to bear, and another how It was a lovely evening, the one before their dethe bitterness of death seemed already past. Then parture; Mrs. H— was clad for the first time in with true Christian politeness she would lament all that betokened her to be a mourner; but, as over the selfishness of her grief, and ask where Catherine looked from the black habiliments to Miss Campbell had learned to know that feeling that pale face, she felt that there was the deepest which she felt henceforth was to be the only solace mourning of all. Slowly the widow passed of her life-viz., the deep, deep sympathy for through that side-door we have mentioned, and others. And Catherine would tell her, with that stood once more under God's heaven. Neither care-worn look which confirmed all she said, how had mentioned to the other the errand on which she had been sorely tried, not by the death of those they were bound, but both felt that there was but she loved, but by what was worse-their suffer- one. Slowly and feebly she mounted the gentle ings and their sins. How she had been laden with slope, and often she stopped, for it was more than those misfortunes which wound most and teach weakness or fatigue that made her breath fail. least, and which, although coming equally from The way was beautiful, close to the rocky bed and the hand of God, torment you with the idea that, leafy sides of that sweetest of all sweet things in the but for the wickedness or weakness of some human natural world, a Scotch burn. And now they turnagent, they need never have been; till she had ed, for the rich strip of grass, winding among bush felt, wrongly no doubt, that she could have better and rock, which they had been following as a path, borne those on which the stamp of the Divine Will here spread itself out in a level shelf of turf, where was more legibly impressed. She told her how the burn ran smoother, the bushes grew higher, and the sting of sorrow, like that of death, is sin; how where the hill started upward again in bolder comparatively light it was to see those you love lines. Here there was a fresh covered grave. dead, dying, crippled, maniacs, victims, in short, The widow knelt by it, while Catherine stood of any evil, rather than victims of evil itself. back. Long was that head bowed, first in anShe spoke of a heart-broken sister and of a hard-guish, and then in submission, and then she turned hearted brother; of a son-an only son, like him her face toward the lake, on which she had not

looked since that fatal day, and gazed steadily ful has happened to you-more fool she to care a upon it. The child lay in his narrow bed at her straw about you! This is all nothing. Oh no! feet, but the father had a wider one far beneath. when a woman 's once married she's a slaveCatherine now approached and was folded in a worse than a slave-and must bear it all! silent embrace; then she gave her that small packet which Sir Thomas had left, and begged her to open it upon the spot. It was a legal deed, making over to Mary H- in free gift, the ground on which she stood—a broad strip from the tip of the hill to the waters of the lake. The widow's tears rained fast upon it.

But there's one comfort-one great comfort; it can't last long; I'm sinking-I feel it, though I never say anything about it but I know my Catherine trembled; she stood silent a minute, own feelings, and I say it can't last long. And and then, with a low, firm voice, replied, "Here, then I should like to know who 'll sit up for you! on your child's grave, I promise you. Your peo- Then I should like to know how your second wife ple shall be my people, and your God my God."—what do you say? She kept her promise, and never repented it.