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blame which the other did not deny, only there were different ways of speaking about it. On the third day, which was Friday, old Isaac appeared at breakfast in his Sunday clothes, giving thus an intimation of a second intended visit to the house of Gawin the shepherd. The first dish of tea was not well poured out, till the old subject was renewed, and the debate seasoned with a little more salt than was customary between the two amiable disputants. Matilda disapproved of the visit, and tried to make it appear indecorous, by all the eloquence she was mistress of. Isaac defended his measures on the score of disinterestedness and purity of intention; but finding himself hard pressed, he brought forward his promise, and the impropriety of breaking it. Matty would not give up her point; she persisted in it, till she spoiled her father's breakfast, made his hand shake so, that he could scarcely put the cup to his head, and, after all, staggered his resolution so much, that at last he sat in silence, and Matty got all to say herself. She now accounted the conquest certain, and valuing herself on the influence she possessed, she began to overburden her old father with all manner of kindness and teasing officiousness. Would he not take this, and refrain from that, and wear one part of dress in preference to another that he had on? There was no end of controversy with Isaac, however kind might be the intent. All that he said at that time was, "Let me alone, dear Matty; let me have some peace. Women are always overwise always contrary.'

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When matters were at this pass, the maid came into the room, and announced that a little girl of shepherd Gawin's wanted to speak with the minister. "Alas, I fear the young man will be at his rest!" said Isaac. Matilda grew pale, and looked exceedingly alarmned, and only said, "she hoped not." Isaac enquired at the maid, but she said the girl refused to tell her any thing, and said she had orders not to tell a word of aught that had happened about the house.

"Then something has happened," said Isaac. "It must be as I feared! send the little maid ben."

Ellen came into the parlour with a beck as quick and as low as that made by the water ouzel, when standing on a stone in the middle of the water; and without waiting for any enquiries, began her speech on the instant, with, "Sir-hem-heh-my father sent me, Sir-hem-to tell ye that ye warna to forget yer promise to come ower the day, for that there's muckle need for yer helping hand yonder-Sir, that's a, Sir." I hope there is no change taken place, my dear?"-" D'ye, Sir? ye're surely very kind, Sir.""For the worse, I

mean; I hope there has nothing serious happened, my little dear?""I ha'e nae mair to tell, Sir.""You surely know, Ellen," said Matilda, "whether your brother is better or worse, and whether he is dead or alive, do you not?"What's to hinder me, Miss-Madam ?-I mean my mother bade me ca' ye Madam.' "Then tell me, little Ellen, what way he is, and all that has happened, and I will give you some good things."-" Aha, Miss! are ye but there yet?—Madam, I mean; my mother charged me to ca ye Madam an ye spoke to me. He! he! he! Some things folk may tell, an' some things they manna tell, ye ken, Miss-Madam."

"Did ever any body hear such impudence as that!"

She is but a child, Matty, my dear, and has not learned her manners as yet. You may tell your father, that I will come as soon as I am able. I will by twelve o'clock be there, God willing."

"Are you wise enough, my dear father, to send such a message? You are not able to go a journey to-day. I thought I had said enough about that before."- "Sae ye maybe did, Miss-Madam." "You may tell your dad, Miss Pert, that my father cannot come the length of his house to-day, nor does it behove him to come, after such a message, delivered by such a messenger, and from such a pack."

"Thank ye, Madam. I'll tell my father what the minister bade me. He! he! he! Ye think to get folk's secrets for yer good things, d'ye, Madam? I never saw nane o' them yet, nor nane o' the parishers for me, I reckon.'ll say, Sir, that ye'll be

there by twall o'clock, will I, Sir?”— "Yes, if you please; and go away. Go just your way, like a good child." "Yes, Sir. By twall o'clock, God willing?-Fare ye weel, Miss-Madam. He! he! he! Gude-bye. Ye manna ken a' things."

"A proper twig of a goodly bush!" exclaimed Matilda, as the elf made her abrupt curtsey, and skipped out of the room. "Who would be connected with such a family, far less maltreated and mocked by it? Were I you, I would scorn to enter their door, after the manner in which the profligate villain has behaved: first to make up to your grandson at the college-pervert all his ideas of rectitude and truth-then go home with him to his father's house, during the vacation, and there live at heck and manger, no lady being in the house save your simple and unsuspecting Phemy, who now is reduced to go to a shepherd's cottage, and beg to be admitted to the family's alliance, the best of whom are not entitled to aught higher than cleaning her shoes. Wo is me that I have seen the day! I shall cry till my laces give way, and burst from top to bottom."

"If the picture be correctly drawn, it is indeed very bad; but I hope his recent sufferings will have the effect of restoring him to the principles in which he was bred, and to a better sense of his heinous offences. I must go and see how the family fares, as in duty and promise bound. Content yourself, dear daughter; perhaps the unfortunate youth has already appeared at that bar from which there is no appeal."

This consideration, as it again astounded, so it put to silence the of fended dame, who suffered her father to depart on his mission of humanity without farther opposition; and old Isaac was again on the road, meditating as he went, and often conversing with himself on the sinfuless of man, and the great goodness of God. So deeply was he wrapt in contemplation, that he scarcely cast an eye over the wild mountain scenery by which he was surrounded, but plodded on his way, with eyes fixed on the ground, till he approached the cottage of Gawin the shepherd. He was there aroused

from his reverie, by the bustle that appeared about the door. The scene was changed indeed from that to which he introduced himself two days before. The collies came yelping and wagging their tails to meet him, while the inmates of the dwelling were peeping out at the door, and as quickly vanishing again into the interior. There were also a pair or two of neighbouring shepherds sauntering about the side of the kailyard dike, all dressed in their Sunday apparel, and every thing be speaking some great occasion, as any uncommon occurrence is generally denominated over a large department of the country.

"What can it be that is astir here to-day?" said Isaac to himself."Am I brought here to a funeral or corpse-chesting, without being apprised of the event? It must be so. What else can cause such a bustle about a house where trouble has so long prevailed? Ah! there is also old Robinson, my session-clerk and precentor. He is the true emblem of mortality: then it is all over with poor Graham indeed!"

Now Robinson had been at so many funerals all over the country, and was so punctual in his attendance on all that were within his reach, that to have seen him pass with his staff, and black coat without the collar, was the very same as if a coffin had gone by. A burial was always a good excuse for giving the boys the play, for a refreshing walk into the country, and was, besides, a fit opportunity for moral contemplation, not to say any thing of hearing the country news. But there was also another motive, which some thought was the most powerful inducement of any with the old dominie. It arose from that longing desire after pre-eminence which reigns in every human breast, and which no man fails to improve, however small the circle may be in which it can be manifested. At every funeral, in the absence of the minister, Robinson was called on to say grace; and when they were both there, whenever the parson took up his station in one apartment, the dominie took up his in another, and thus had an equal chance, for the time, with his superior. This is a true picture of country life; often

have I witnessed it, and listened with gravity and attention both to the one and the other. It was always shrewdly suspected that the clerk tried to outdo the minister on such occasions, and certainly made up in length what he wanted in energy. The general remarks that I have heard on this important point amounted to this, "that the dominie was langer than the minister, and though he was hardly just sac conceese, yet he meant as weel;" and that, "for the most part, he was stronger on the grave." This interlude comes in by the bye, but as I am sketching pictures, not telling a tale, it will be excused. Suffice it, that the appearance of old Robinson confirmed Isaac in the solemnity of the scene awaiting him; and as his mind was humbled to acquiesce in the Divine will, his mild and reverend features were correspondent therewith. He thought of the disappointment and sufferings of the family, and had already begun in his heart to intercede for them at the throne of Mercy.

When he came near to the house, out came old Gawin himself. He had likewise his black coat on, and his Sunday bonnet, and a hand in each coat-pocket; but for all his misfortune and heavy trials, he strode to the end of the house with a firm and undismayed step. 66 Aye, he is quite right," thought Isaac to himself; "that man has his trust where it should be, fixed on the Rock of Ages; and he has this assurance, that the Power on whom he trusts can do nothing wrong. Such a man can look death in the face, undismayed, in all his steps and inroads."

Gawin spoke to some of his homely guests, then turned round, and came and met father Isaac, whom he saluted, by taking off his bonnet, and shaking him heartily by the hand. The bond of restraint had now gone off both Gawin's lips, and his eye met the minister's with the same frankness it was wont. The face of affairs was changed since they had last parted.

"How's a' w'ye the day, Sir?How's a' w'ye?--I'm unco blithe to see ye," said Gawin." Oh, quite well, thank you. How are you yourself? And how are all within ?"

"As weel as can be expectit, Sir -as weel as can be expectit.”

VOL. IX.

"I am at a little loss, Gawin.Has any change taken place in family circumstances since I was here?"

“Oh, yes; there has indeed, Sir; a material change-I hope for the better."

Gawin now led the way, without further words, into the house, desir ing the minister to follow him, and "tak' care o' his head and the bauks, and no fa' our the bit stirk, for it was sure to be lying i' the dark."

When Isaac went in, there was no one there but the goodwife, neatly dressed in her black stuff gown, and check apron, with a close 'kerchief on her head, well crimped in the border, and tied round the crown and below the chin with a broad black ribbon. She also saluted the minister with uncommon frankness"Come away, Sir, come away. Dear, dear, how are ye the day? It's but a slaitery kind o' day this, as I was saying to my man, there; dear, dear, Gawin, says I, I wish the auld minister may be nae the waur o' coming ower the muir the day. I wat weel that's very true, says I. And dear, dear, Sir, how's Miss Matty? Oh, it is lang sin' I ha'e seen her. I like ay to see Miss Matty, ye ken, to get a rattle frae her about the folks, ye ken, an' a' our neighbours, that fa' into sinfu' gates, for there's muckle sin gangs on i' the parish. Ah, aye! I wat weel that's very true, Miss Matty, says I. But what can folk help it; ye ken folks are no a' made o' the same metal, as the airn tangs, like you-" "Bless me with patience!" said Gawin in his heart; "this poor woman's misfortunes have crazed her! What a salutation for the house of mourning!" Isaac looked to the bed, at the side of which he had so lately kneeled in devotion, and he looked with a reverend dread, but the corpse was not there! It was neatly spread with a clean coverlit. "It is best to conceal the pale and ghostly features of mortality from the gazer's eye," thought Isaac."It is wisely done, for there is nothing to be seen in them but what is fitted for corruption."

"Gawin, can nae ye tak' the minister ben the house, or the rest o' the clan-jamphery come in?" said the wife."Hout, aye, Sir, step your ways ben the house. We have a ben

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end and a but end the day, as weel as the best o' them. And ye're ane o' our ain folk, ye ken. Ah, aye! I wat weel that's very true! As I said to my man, Gawin, quo' I, whenever I see our auld minister's face, I think I see the face of a friend."

"Goodwife, I ha'e but just ae word to say, by way o' remark," said Gawin; "folk wha count afore the change-keeper, ha'e often to count twice, and sae has the herd, wha counts his hogs afore Beltan.-Come this way, Sir; follow me, an' tak' care o' your head and the bauks."

Isaac followed into his rustic parlour Gawin, who introduced him to one he little expected to see sitting there. This was no other than his son, who had so long been attended on as a dying person, and with whom Isaac had so lately prayed, in the most fervent devotion, as with one of whose life few hopes were entertained. There he sat, with legs like two poles, hands like the hands of a skeleton, yet were his emaciated features lighted up with a smile of serenity and joy. Isaac was petrified. He stood still on the spot, even though the young man rose up to receive him. He deemed he had come there to see his lifeless form laid in the coffin, and to speak words of comfort to the survivors. He was taken by surprise, and his heart thrilled with unexpected joy.

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My dear young friend, do I indeed see you thus ?" said he, taking him kindly and gently by the hand. "God has been merciful to you, above others of your race. I hope, in the mercy that has saved you from the gates of death, that you feel grateful for your deliverance; for, trust me, it behoves you to do so, in no ordinary degree."

"I shall never be able to feel as I ought, either to my deliverer or to yourself," said he. "Till once I heard the words of truth and seriousness from your mouth, I have not dared, for these many years, to think my own thoughts, speak my own words, or perform the actions to which my soul inclined. I have been a truant from the school of truth; but have now returned, with all humility, to my Master, for I feel that I have been like a wayward

boy, groping in the dark, to find my way, though a path splendidly lighted up lay open for me. But of these things I long exceedingly to converse with you, at full length and full leisure. In the mean time, let me introduce you to other friends who are longing for some little notice. This is my sister, Sir; andshake hands with the minister, and go away, Jane-And do you know this young lady, Sir, with the mantle about her, who seems to expect a word from you, acknowledging old acquaintance?"

My eyes are grown so dim now," said old Isaac, "that it is with difficulty I can distinguish young people from one another, unless they speak to me-Eh? But she wont look up. Is this my dear young friend Miss Mary Sibbet?"

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Nay, Sir, it is not shc. But I think, as you two approach one another, your plaids appear very nearly the same."

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Phemy! My own child Phemy! Is it yourself? Why did you not speak?-But you have been an alien of late, and a stranger to me. Ah, Phemy! Phemy! I have been hearing bad news of you. But I did not believe them-no, I would not believe them."

Euphemia for a while uttered not a word, but keeping fast hold of her grandfather's hand, she drew it below her mantle, and crept imperceptibly a degree nearer to his breast. The old man waited for some reply, standing as in the act of listening; till at length, in a trembling whisper, scarce ly audible, she repeated these sacred words" Father, forgive me, for I knew not what I did!" The expression had the effect desired on Isaac's mind. It brought to his remembrance that gracious petition, the most fully fraught with mercy and forgiveness that ever was uttered on earth, and bowed his whole soul at once to follow the pattern of his great Master. His eye beamed with exultation in his Redeemer's goodness, and he answered, "Yes, my child, yes. He whose words you have unworthily taken, will not refuse the petition of any of his repentant chil dren, however great their enormities may have been; and why should such a creature as I am presume to

1821.]

Pictures of Country Life.

pretend indignation and offence, at aught further than his high example warrants? May the Almighty forgive you as I do!

"May Heaven bless and reward you!" said the young man. "But she is blameless-blameless as the babe on the knee. I alone am the guilty person, who infringed the rights of hospitality, and had nearly broken the bonds of confidence and love. But I am here to-day to make, or offer at least, what amends is in my power— to offer her my hand in wedlock; and, since I seduced her from her father's house, that whether I live or die, she may live without dishonour. But, reverend Sir, all depends on your fiat. Without your approbation she will consent to nothing; saying, that she had offended deeply by taking her own will once, but nought should ever induce her to take it unadvisedly again. It was for this purpose that we sent for you so expressly today, namely, that I might intreat your consent to cur union. I could not be removed from home, so that we could not all meet, to know one another's mind, in any other place. We therefore await your approbation with carnest anxiety, as that on which our future happiness depend."

was

After some mild and impressive reprehensions, Isaac's consent given in the most unqualified manner, and the names were given in to the old dominie's hand, with proper vouchers, for the publication of the banns. The whole party dined to gether at old Gawin's. I was there among the rest, and thought to enjoy the party exceedingly: but the party was too formal, and too much on the reserve before the minister. I noted down, when I went home, all the conversation, as far as I could remember it, but it is not worth copying. I see that Gawin's remarks are all measured and pompous, and, moreover, delivered in a sort of bastard English, a language which I detest. He considered himself as now to be nearly connected with the Manse family, and looking forward to an eldership in the church, deemed it incumbent on him to talk in a most sage and inThe young shepstructive manner. herd, and an associate of his, talked of dogs, Cheviot tups, and some rcmarkably bonny lasses that sat in the

John

west gallery of the church.
Tweedie of the Hope recited what
they called "lang skelps o' metre,"
a sort of homely rhymes, that some
of them pronounced to be "far ayont
Burns's fit." And the goodwife ran
bustling about; but whenever she
without regard
could get a little leisure, she gave her
tongue free vent,

either to minister or dominie. "Dear,
dear, Sirs, can nae ye cat away? Ye
ha'e nae the stamacks o' as mony
cats. Dear, dear, I'm sure an' the
flesh be nae good, it sude be good,
for it never saw either braxy or
break wind, bleer ee nor Beltan pock,
but was the cantiest crack of the
Kaim-law.

Dear, dear, Johnie
Tweedie, tak' another rive o't, an' set
a good example; as I said to my
man there, Gawin, says I, it's weel
kend ye're nae flae-bitten about the
gab, and I said very true too."

"

Many such rants did she indulge
"that it was a
in during that afternoon, always re-
minding her guests,
names-gieing-in, whilk was, o'a' ither
things, the ane neist to a wedding,'
and often hinted at their new and
honourable alliance, scarcely even
able to keep down the way in which
"As I said to
it was brought about, for she once
went so far as to say,
my goodman, Gawin, says I, for a'
the fy-gae-to ye ha'e made, it's weel
kend faint heart never wan fair lady.
Aye, weel I wat that's very true, says
Won a' to an' fill
I; a bird in the hand is worth twa
on the bush.
yoursels, Sirs; there's routh o' mair
where that came frae. It's no aye
the fattest foddering that mak's the
fu'est aumry-an' that's nae lee."

Miss Matilda, the minister's maid-
en daughter, was in high dudgeon
about the marriage, and the connec-
tion with a shepherd's family; and
that she would never countenance her
it was rumoured over all the parish
But the last time I
niece any more.
was at the Manse, the once profligate
and freethinking student was become
helper to old Isaac, and was beloved
and revered by all the parish, for the
warmth of his devotion, and sound-
ness of his principles. His amiable
wife Euphemia had two sons, and
their aunt Matty was nursing them
with a fondness and love beyond
that which she bore to life itself,
which brought to my mind a line of

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