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indeed, had a fearful struggle and fearful wanderings; but, in endeavouring to avoid the dangerous, because precipitous, Head Scaur, they had wandered from their track and from the object of their travel; and, after having been inclined once or twice to lie down and take a rest (the deceitful messenger of death), they had at last got upon the track of Caple Water; and, by keeping to its windingswhich they had often traced at the risk of being drowned-they had at last weathered the old cham'er, the byre, and peat-stack, and were now, thank God! within "bigget wa's."

But where, alas! was Willie Wilson? Him, in consequence of their deviations, they had missed; and over him, thus exposed, the tem

"The varnished clock that clicked behind the door," with a force and a stroke loud and painful in the extreme, struck first ten, then eleven, then twelve; but there was no return. Again and again were voices heard commingling with the tempest's rush; again and again did the outer door seem to move backwards on its hinges; but nothing entered save the shrill pipe of the blast, accompanied by the comminuted drift, which penetrated through every seam and cranny. This state of uncertainty was awful; even the ascertained reality of death, partial or universal, had perhaps less of soul-benumbing cold in it than this inconceivable suspense. It required Willie Wilson's utmost efforts and mine to keep the frantic woman from madly rushing into the drift; and the voice of lamen-pest was still renewing at intervals its hurritation was sad and loud amongst the children and the servant lasses-each of the latter class lamented, indeed, the fate of all, but there was always an under prayer offered up for the safety of Geordie, or Will, or Jamie, in particular. At last the three lads who had encompassed the Dod arrived-alive, indeed, but almost breathless and frozen to death. They had, however, surmounted incredible difficulties, and had succeeded in placing their hirsel in a position of comparative security; but where were Jamie Hogg and the guidman? The violence of the storm had nothing abated, the snow was every moment accumulating, and the danger and difficulty increasing tenfold. Spirits, heat, and friction gradually restored the three lads to their senses, and to the kind attentions of their several favourites of the female order; but there sat the mother and the daughter, whilst the father was either, in all probability, dead or dying. The very thought was distracting; and, accordingly, the young bride, now turning to her lover with a look of inexpressible anguish, exclaimed

"O Willie! my ain dear Willie, ye maun gang, after a', ye maun gang this instant" (Willie was on his feet and plaided whilst yet the sentence was unfinished), "and try to rescue my dear, dear faither from this awfu' and untimely end; but tak care, oh tak care o' the big Scaur, and keep far west by Caplecleuch, and maybe ye'll meet them coming back that way." These last words were lost in the drift, whilst Willie Wilson, with his faithful follower, Rover, were penetrating, and flouncing, and floundering their way towards the place pointed out.

In about half an hour after this, the howl and scratch of a dog were heard at the door-back and Help immediately rushed in, the welcome forerunner of his master and Hogg. They had,

cane gusts. There was one scream heard, such as would have penetrated the heart of a tiger, and all was still. There she lay, the beauteous, but now marble bride; her head reposing on her mother's lap, her lips pale as the snowdrop, her eyes fixed and soulless, her cheek without a tint, and her mouth half open and breathless. Long, long was the withdrawment-again and again was the dram-glass applied to the mouth, to catch the first expiration of returning breath-ere the frame began to quiver, the hands to move, the lips and cheeks to colour, and the eyes to indicate the approaching return to reason and perception.

"I have killed him! I have killed him!" were the first frantic accents. "I have murdered, murdered my dear Willie! It was me that sent him-forced him-compelled him out-out into the drift-the cold, cold drift. Away!" added the maniac-"away! I'll go after him-I'll perish with him-where he lies, there will I lie, and there will I be buried. What! is there none of ye that will make an effort to save a perishing—a choking—oh, my God! a suffocating man?"

Hereupon she again sank backwards, and was prevented from falling by the arms of a father.

"O my child!" said parental love and affection-"O my dear wean!-oh, be patientGod is guid-He has preserved us all-He will not desert him in the hour of his need— He neither slumbers nor sleeps-His hand is not shortened that He cannot save-and what He can, He will-He never deserted any that trusted in Him. O my child! my bairn!-my first-born!-be patient-be patient. Therethere there is a scratch at the door-back-it is Rover."

And to be sure Rover it was-but Rover in despair. His faithful companion and friend

"Lives there one with soul so dead"

only entered the house to solicit immediate of his dog, he had never wakened; and that, aid he ran round and round, looking up into by means of some spirits which they had taken the face of every one with an expression of the in a bottle, they completely restored and conmost imploring anxiety. The poor frantic ducted him home. girl sprung from her father's embrace, and clung to the neck of the well-known cur-she absolutely kissed him-(oh, to what will not love, omnipotent, virtuous love, descend!) then rising, in renewed recollection, she sat herself down on the long-settle beside her father, and burst into loud and passionate grief.

It was now manifest to all that something must be attempted, else the young farmer must perish. Hogg, though awfully exhausted,

was the first to volunteer a new excursion.

The whole band were at once on their feet; but Jessie now clung to her father, as she had formerly done to her lover, and would not let him go-indeed, the guidman was in no danger of putting his purpose into effect, for he could scarcely stand on his feet. He sat, or rather fell down, consequently, beside his daughter, and continued in constant prayer and supplication at the throne of grace. daughter listened, and said she was comforted -the voyagers were again on their way-the tempest had somewhat abated-the moon had once or twice shone out-and there was now a greater chance of success in their undertaking.

The

How we all contrived to exist during an interval of two hours, I cannot say; but this I know, that the endurance of this second trial was worse than the first, to all but the sweet bride herself. Her mind had now taken a more calm and religious view of the case. She repeated, at intervals and pauses in her father's ejaculatory prayer—

"Yes-oh, yes-His will-His holy will be done! The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away-blessed be the name of the Lord for ever! We shall meet again-oh, yes-where the weary are at rest.

"A few short years of evil past,

We reach the happy shore
Where death-divided friends at last
Shall meet to part no more.'

O father, is not that a gracious saying, and
worthy of all acceptation!"

At length the door opened, and in walked William Wilson.

The reader need scarcely to be told that the sagacious dog had left his master floundered and unable to extricate himself in a snow wreath; that the same faithful guide had taken the searchers to the spot, where they found Wilson just in the act of falling into a sleep-from which, indeed, but for the providential sagacity

as not now to image the happy meeting betwixt bride and bridegroom, and, above all, the influence which this trial had upon the happiness and religious character of their future married and prosperous lot?

It is, indeed, long since I have laid aside had taken, from a wandering propensity-and the pack-to which, after a good education, I taken up my residence in the flourishing village of Thornhill, Dumfriesshire; living, at first, on the profits of my shop, and now retired on my little, but, to me, ample competency; but I still have great pleasure in paying a yearly visit to my friends of Mitchelslacks, and in recalling with them, over a comfortable meal, the interesting incidents of the snowstorm 1794.

THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM.

BY THOMAS HOOD.

"Twas in the prime of summer time,
An evening calm and cool,
And four-and-twenty happy boys

Came bounding out of school.
There were some that ran and some that leapt
Like troutlets in a pool.

Away they sped with gamesome minds,
And souls untouched by sin;
To a level mead they came, and there
They drave the wickets in:
Pleasantly shone the setting sun
Over the town of Lynn.

Like sportive deer they coursed about,
And shouted as they ran,-
Turning to mirth all things of earth,

As only boyhood can;

But the usher sat remote from all,
A melancholy man!

His hat was off, his vest apart,

To catch heaven's blessed breeze,
For a burning thought was in his brow,
And his bosom ill at ease:

So he lean'd his head on his hands, and read
The book between his knees!

Leaf after leaf he turn'd it o'er,
Nor ever glanced aside;

For the peace of his soul he read that book
In the golden eventide :
Much study had made him very lean,
And pale, and leaden-eyed.

At last he shut the ponderous tome, With a fast and fervent grasp He strain'd the dusky covers close, And fix'd the brazen hasp: "O God, could I so close my mind, And clasp it with a clasp!"

Then leaping on his feet upright,

Some moody turns he took,

Now up the mead, then down the mead,

And past a shady nook,

And lo! he saw a little boy
That pored upon a book!

"My gentle lad, what is't you readRomance or fairy fable?

Or is it some historic page,

Of kings and crowns unstable?"

The young boy gave an upward glance,"It is "The Death of Abel.""

The usher took six hasty strides,

As smit with sudden pain,Six hasty strides beyond the place, Then slowly back again; And down he sat beside the lad, And talk'd with him of Cain;

And, long since then, of bloody men,
Whose deeds tradition saves;
Of lonely folk cut off unseen,
And hid in sudden graves;
Of horrid stabs, in groves forlorn,
And murders done in caves;

And how the sprites of injured men
Shriek upward from the sod,-
Ay, how the ghostly hand will point
To show the burial clod;
And unknown facts of guilty acts
Are seen in dreams from God;

He told how murderers walk the earth
Beneath the curse of Cain,-
With crimson clouds before their eyes,
And flames about their brain:
For blood has left upon their souls
Its everlasting stain!

"And well," quoth he, "I know, for truth,

Their pangs must be extreme

Woe, woe, unutterable woe

Who spill life's sacred stream!

For why! Methought, last night, I wrought A murder in a dream!

"One that had never done me wrongA feeble man, and old:

I led him to a lonely field,

The moon shone clear and cold. Now here, said I, this man shall die, And I will have his gold!

"Two sudden blows with a ragged stick, And one with a heavy stone,

One hurried gash with a hasty knife,-
And then the deed was done :
There was nothing lying at my foot,
But lifeless flesh and bone!

"Nothing but lifeless flesh and bone,
That could not do me ill;

And yet I fear'd him all the more,
For lying there so still:

There was a manhood in his look,
That murder could not kill!

"And lo! the universal air

Seem'd lit with ghastly flame.-
Ten thousand, thousand dreadful eyes
Were looking down in blame :

I took the dead man by the hand,
And call'd upon his name!

"O God, it made me quake to see
Such sense within the slain!
But when I touched the lifeless clay,
The blood gush'd out amain!
For every clot, a burning spot
Was scorching in my brain!

"My head was like an ardent coal, My heart as solid ice;

My wretched, wretched soul, I knew, Was at the devil's price:

A dozen times I groaned; the dead Had never groaned but twice!

"And now, from forth the frowning sky From the heaven's topmost height,

I heard a voice- the awful voice Of the Blood-Avenging Sprite :— "Thou guilty man! take up thy dead, And hide it from my sight!'

"I took the drear body up,

And cast it in a stream.A sluggish water, black as ink, The depth was so extreme.My gentle boy, remember this Is nothing but a dream!

"Down went the corse with a hollow plunge, And vanished in the pool;

Anon I cleansed my bloody hands,

And washed my forehead cool, And sat among the urchins young, That evening in the school!

"Oh heaven, to think of their white souls, And mine so black and grim!

I could not share in childish prayer,

Nor join in evening hymn:

Like a devil of the pit, I seem'd,

'Mid holy cherubim!

"And peace went with them, one and all,
And each calm pillow spread;
But guilt was my grim chamberlain
That lighted me to bed;

And drew my midnight curtains round,
With fingers bloody red!

"All night I lay in agony,

In anguish dark and deep;
My fever'd eyes I dared not close,
But stared aghast at Sleep:
For Sin had render'd unto her
The keys of hell to keep!

"All night I lay in agony,

From weary chime to chime, With one besetting horrid hint, That rack'd me all the time,A mighty yearning, like the first Fierce impulse unto crime!

"One stern tyrannic thought, that made
All other thoughts its slave;
Stronger and stronger every pulse
Did that temptation crave,—
Still urging me to go and see

The dead man in his grave!

"Heavily I rose up, as soon

As light was in the sky,

And sought the bleak accursed pool
With a wild misgiving eye;
And I saw the dead in the river-bed,
For the faithless stream was dry!

"Merrily rose the lark, and shook

The dewdrop from its wing;

But I never mark'd its morning flight,
I never heard it sing:

For I was stooping once again

Under the horrid thing.

"With breathless speed, like a soul in chase,
I took him up and ran,—
There was no time to dig a grave
Before the day began:

In a lonesome wood, with heaps of leaves
I hid the murder'd man!

"And all that day I read in school,

But my thought was other where; As soon as the mid-day task was done, In secret I was there:

And a mighty wind had swept the leaves, And still the corse was bare!

"Then down I cast me on my face,
And first began to weep,

For I knew my secret then was one
That earth refused to keep:
Or land, or sea, though he should be
Ten thousand fathoms deep!

"So wills the fierce Avenging Sprite,
Till blood for blood atones!
Ay, though he's buried in a cave,
And trodden down with stones,
And years have rotted off his flesh-
The world shall see his bones!

"Oh God, that horrid, horrid dream
Besets me now awake!
Again-again, with a dizzy brain,
The human life I take;

And my red right hand grows raging hot
Like Cranmer's at the stake.

"And still no peace for the restless clay
Will wave or mould allow;

The horrid thing pursues my soul,-
It stands before me now!".
The fearful boy looked up, and saw
Huge drops upon his brow!

That very night, while gentle sleep
The urchin eyelids kiss'd,
Two stern-faced men set out from Lynn,
Through the cold and heavy mist;
And Eugene Aram walked between,
With gyves upon his wrist.1

DORIS.

I sat with Doris, the shepherd-maiden;
Her crook was laden with wreathed flowers;

I sat and woo'd her, through sunlight wheeling,
And shadows stealing, for hours and hours.

And she, my Doris, whose lap incloses

Wild summer-roses of faint perfume, The while I sued her kept hush'd and hearken'd, Till shades had darken'd from gloss to gloom.

She touch'd my shoulder with fearful finger; She said, "We linger, we must not stay: My flock's in danger, my sheep will wander; Behold them yonder, how far they stray!" ARTHUR MUNBY.?

'Admiral Burney went to school at an establishment where the unhappy Eugene Aram was usher subsequent to his crime. The admiral stated, that Aram was generally liked by the boys; and that he used to discourse to them about murder in somewhat of the spirit which is attributed to him in the poem.

2 Verses New and Old. London: Bell & Daldy.

A LEGEND OF LAMPIDOSA.

In one of those short and brilliant nights peculiar to Norway a small hamlet near its coast was disturbed by the arrival of a stranger. At a spot so wild and unfrequented the Norwegian government had not thought fit to provide any house of accommodation for travellers; but the pastor's residence was easily found. Thorsen, though his hut hardly afforded room for his own numerous family, gave ready admission even to an unknown guest, and placed before him the remains of a dried torsk-fish, a thrush, and a loaf composed of oatmeal mixed with fir-bark. To this coarse but hospitable banquet the traveller seated himself with a courteous air of appetite, and addressed several questions to his host respecting the produce, customs, and peculiarities of the district. Thorsen gave him intelligent answers, and dwelt especially on the cavern of Dolstein, celebrated for its extent beneath the sea. The traveller listened earnestly, commented in language which betrayed deep science, and ended by proposing to visit it with his host.

The pastor loved the wonders of his country with the pride and enthusiasm of a Norwegian: and they entered the cave of Dolstein together, attended only by one of those small dogs accustomed to hunt bears. The torches they carried could not penetrate the tremendous gloom of this cavern, whose vast aisles and columns seem to form a cathedral fit for the spirits of the sea, whose eternal hymn resounds above and around it.

"We must advance no farther," said Thorsen, pausing at the edge of a broad chasm; "we have already ventured two miles beneath the tide." "Shall we not avail ourselves of the stairs which nature has provided here?" replied the traveller, stretching his torch over the abyss, into which large masses of shattered basaltine pillars offered a possible, but dreadful, mode of descent. The pastor caught his cloak.

"Not in my presence shall any man tempt death so impiously! Are you deaf to that terrible murmur? The tide of the northern ocean is rising upon us: I see its white foam in the depth."

awed by the divinity of darkness, and asks us to save ourselves."

"Loose my cloak, old man!" exclaimed the traveller, with a look and tone which might have suited the divinity he named; "my life is a worthless hazard. But this creature's instinct invites us to save life, not to lose it. I hear a human voice!"

"It is the scream of the fish-eagle!" interrupted his guide; and exerting all his strength, Thorsen would have snatched the torch from the desperate adventurer, but he had already descended a fathom deep into the gulf. Panting with agony, the pastor saw him stand unsupported on the brink of a slippery rock, extending the iron point of his staff into what appeared a wreath of foam left on the opposite side by the sea, which now raged below him in a whirlpool more deafening than the Maelstrom. Thorsen with astonishment saw this white wreath attach itself to the pike-staff; he saw his companion poise it across the chasm with a vigorous arm, and beckon for his aid with gestures which the clamour of waves prevented his voice from explaining. The sagacious dog instantly caught what now seemed the folds of a white garment; and while Thorsen, trembling, held the offered staff, the traveller ascended with his prize.

Both fell on their knees, and silently blessed Heaven. Thorsen first unfolded the white garment, and discovered the face of a boy, beautiful though ghastly, about eleven years old.

"He is not dead yet!" said the good pastor, eagerly pouring wine between his lips from the flask they had brought to cheer them. He soon breathed, and the traveller, tearing off his wet, half-frozen vestments, wrapped him in his own furred coat and cloak, and spoke to him in a gentle accent. The child clung to him whose voice he had heard in the gulf of death, but could not discern his deliverers.

"Poor blind boy!" said Thorsen, dropping tears on his cheek, "he has wandered alone into this hideous 'cavern, and fallen down the precipice."

But this natural conjecture was disproved by the boy's replies to the few Norwegian words he seemed to understand. He spoke in a pure Swedish dialect of a journey from a very distant Though retained by a strong grasp, the home with two rude men who had professed stranger hazarded a step beneath the chasm's to bring him among friends, but had left him edge, straining his sight to penetrate its extent, sleeping, he believed, where he had been found. which no human hand had ever fathomed. His soft voice, his blindness, his unsuspicious The dog leaped to a still lower resting-place, simplicity increased the deep horror which was out of sight a few moments, and returned both his benefactors felt as they guessed the with a piteous moan to his master's feet. probable design of those who had abandoned "Even this poor animal," said Thorsen, "is him. They carried him by turns in silence,

VOL. II.

48

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