glanced to the yellow sunset, and the still gray trees that he should never see again. I mounted beside them, gave the word to the postilions, and the light chariot glided through the sand, and swept away down the road.

The quick short clatter of the armed horsemen followed fast under the trees, and before we came out upon the moor, the smooth even rumble of the wheels, and the gingle of the swords and bridles, were all that discovered the progress of the carriage through the wood.

We travelled all night without resting, except to change horses, and before day reached the skirt of Lammermuir. As we came up by the stones of Abbots Cross, the dawn broke cold and still upon the dark wide solitary waste; and beyond the faint gray gleam of the sea came dimly out of the sky. The brown ferny knolls lay quiet, in the still dew of an October morning; but as the light grew clear I could see a deep blue shade approaching on the sea. The sun rose dim and red through the heavy clouds, as we drove up on the bleak downs over the beach, for a moment its sullen eye looked out upon the water; but it faded slowly into the rising cloud, and the dark horizon grew fainter and fainter, till the deep shroud of heaven closed round upon it. For a short distance we drove along the edge of the cliff, and I could see the long swell break white upon the shore; but at last the road turned and descended into a woody ravine, and we past slowly down the steep declivity, till suddenly we came out on the damp quiet sand of a little sequestered creek, almost concealed by the jutting headland and hanging woods. The light, gallant, slender mudgeon, lay tilting like a wild duck upon the water, not a cables length from the shore; and as we came in sight, the dark heads of the crew appeared above her side, and moved quickly among the ropes. The Iolair leaned eagerly from the window of the carriage.

"Look at the bonnie birdie!" said he, "and O! when you see her white wings fly!"

The bride reclined on the elbow of the chariot-her dark sad eye fixed upon the heavy cloud.

"Look in the wind!" said I.

The keen eager eye of the Iolair darkened, as he glanced to the black streak which stretched like a ridge along the blue water. "Yes!" said he, "but she will go within two points, and once clear of the creek and we may run."

I did not answer; and Angus sat on his horse, his gray gathered brow fixed where the red sun had gone.

The boat was now advancing from the schooner, and the white canvass began to flap at her long jib, and the black sweeping boom that raked over her stern. In a few minutes the boat ran up on the sand, and the Iolair sprung from the carriage: the cheek of the bride became pale as the cold seawind blew in her face; and, giving each an arm, we led her towards the water. The Iolair did not speak as we walked, but his lips closed fast and his cheek grew paler and keener. As we passed under the cliff we came to a small mossy basin of the rock, where a little silver hill burnie' plashed out of the craig, and a deep bush of heather, and one white rose-the last lingering withered flower of the autumn-hung over the bubbling brink. The Iolair stopped suddenly, and pointed to the flowers, and grasped my hand, and turned away his head, but did not speak. For several moments his hand locked in mine, the plaid rose and fell heavy on his breast, and I heard his breath come and go thick-thick-but I could not look in his face. At last he turned suddenly.

"Bring the cuach," said he, in his wonted steady voice.

Angus brought the cup, and the Iolair filled it in the well, and dipt his hand in the water, and touched his brow, and kissed the pale lips of the bride, and held the cuach to her lips. "Drink mo nighean!" said he. "Tir nam beann's nan sneachd 's nan Iolair !"†

Her fluttering breath drew the water for a moment; he gave his hand to me. "Mhác charaid m'athair!"‡ said he.

His voice stopped, he pointed to the sea, and the far snowy hills, but did not speak.

At last," You will see them," said he; "and the deer, and the heath, and my own kind people. Speak to them of me; sing for me to the wind and the stream, and the deep voice of the hills that has sung to me; and call to the eagle and the storm, and the dark blue lonely mountain, and say, “ Beannachd leibh! Beannach leibh! Beannachd leibh a dh' Albainn-Albainn mo mhathair— ghradhach ghloirmhòr uasal gu brath!"*

His hand wrung upon mine, and the tears fell fast in the cuach, as he lifted it to his lips, and drank the drink and gave it to me.

I drank the water, and grasped their hands, and held them till they were in the boat. The slender barge glided away through the sand, the oars dashed in the water, once more their faces turned towards me-once more I saw their pale, tearful, parting smile. The boat turned and their faces-for ever!

I watched the gliding shallop as she receded from the shore, till at length she disappeared under the vessel, and I saw the white shadow of the bride go up the side. The boat was hoisted in; there was a brief, still, busy pause, and suddenly the slender ship began to move. In another instant the broad white canvass went up to the mast; she filled round to the wind, and slow, and tall, and stately, glided from the creek.

For a while she went steady through the rippling water, her close still sails hauled to the wind and her sharp long hull drawing through the tide like a

duck; but as she came out to the white line which rolled beyond the bay, her tall masts went down suddenly, her white wings opened to the wind, and she swept out through the surf and spray like a wild swan.

As I watched, a little snow-white ensign ran fluttering up to the mast head. At the instant I heard a sudden breath behind me. I looked round, Angus was hastily filling his pipes; and, as the pale flag flew out in the wind, he blew up The Bratach geal.' While the receding ship passed away, he walked to and fro on the strand, playing the pibroch with a wild eager step, the fast tears running on his cheeks, and his dark eye flashing under his bonnet as it was said of his ancestor Murrach morah-Albain, when he blew up the extempore cry of Pibroch Dhomhnuil dhue to the battle-clash of Inverlochie.

As the wild war-clamour went and came through the sea-roar, the lightning began to flash, and the clouds to mutter as if they answered back the stormy call from heaven. All was deathly hushed and still upon the sand; but ever as the ship went away upon the water, the sky lightened and flashed above, and the blackness of darkness gathered round her till the white sails faded like a sea

can judge in so short a time; for he only came yesterday, and I have neither seen nor heard him to-day as yet."

"He is an invalid, perhaps?"

"I really don't know; but I should think not, from his saying he should be a great deal at home, reading and writing."

"I shall be something like him, if I take your apartments; and they have one great recommendation-no opposite neighbours to sit at their windows and keep me from mine. Have you any children?'

"Seven dear pledges of the late Mr. Thwackery's

"What! seven children in the house?" "Oh dear, no sir! My eldest boy is in the Charterhouse: two sweet girls are with their grandmother; another son is at a boarding-school in the country, near Bagnigge-wells. Only the three youngest are at home. That's one of them you hear the little puss-she is crying for her dinner. They are excellent children, and go about the house like mice."

At that moment there was a chase up stairs, not exactly corresponding with this description. One of the dear pledges, about eight years old, had feloniously absconded with half a Banbury cake: the other, two years her junior, set up a hueand-cry; the third, a squab little urchin, waddled after both as fast as two fat legs, six inches long, would allow. They came galloping into the room-but, seeing a stranger, the eldest retreated; the second made a lucky snatch at the Banbury cake, and carried it off in triumph; while the last of the pledges stood at the door, with a dirty thumb in its mouth, irresolute whether to stay or go.

Mr. Ironsides felt no such irresolution. He bade Mrs. Thwackeray good morning, assuring her he could live in no house where there were children; and Mrs. Thwackeray, as soon as he was gone, flogged the pledges all round, for daring to show their faces when any body came to look at the lodgings.

Mr. Ironsides spent the remainder of that day, and the greater part of the ensuing one, perambulating the suburbs of London, in search of quiet lodgings. He would not allow he was difficult to please; but he complained sadly of the difficulty of finding what would please him. At length he was suited to his mind. The house stood by itself, in a street without a thoroughfare, and facing a dead wall; so there could be neither opposite neigh

bours, nor much noise from carts or carriages. It was kept by a retired porkbutcher, who was an old bachelor; so there could be no pledges of mutual love; and at the time of his taking possession of the first floor, there was no lodger in the second floor; so he had nothing to fear from above. Finally, he took it for six months certain; so he was certain of six month's comfort.

But what are the hopes of man? The very first night Mr. Ironsides never closed his eyes. On the same floor, and divided from his bed-room only by a thin partition, was the dormitory of Mr. Okey, the retired pork-butcher aforesaid; and Mr. Okey was a martyr to the tic douloureux, which generally seized him the moment he got warm in bed. The pain was excruciating. Young says, "Sighs and groans by nature grow on pain!" Poor Mr. Okey! His sighs and groans were distressing to hear-(particularly to any one who heard them all night)-for when the fit came on it seldom went off till it wore itself out and while that was doing, Mr. Okey walked up and down his room like one distracted.

In the morning, after breakfast, he waited upon Mr. Ironsides to express his fears that he had disturbed him over night, as he heard him coughing once or twice; describing at the same time what a sufferer he had been for years. Mr. Ironsides shook his head, and advised him never to get warm in bed, since he could not do so without having the tic douloureux; but at all events, it was indispensable that he should move into the garret if he, Mr. Ironsides, was expected to remain in the first floor. Mr. Okey consented, and Mr. Ironsides, to prevent the possibility of future annoyance, agreed to pay an additional rent for the third room, as a dressing closet; result neither unforeseen nor undesired by the afflicted Mr. Okey, in the midst of all his sufferings the preceding night.

"You have brought me good luck, sir," said Mr. Okey to Mr. Ironsides, about a week after the latter had begun to feel comfortable in his new lodgings.

"I am glad of it, Mr. Okey," replied Mr. Ironsides. "Has your tic douloureux left you?-By the by, Mr. Okey, I was thinking the other day, that the worst species of tic, is that which prevails in the King's Bench."

The chuckle which accompanied this