Title Page
 Table of Contents
 Chapter I
 Chapter II
 Chapter III
 Chapter IV
 Chapter V
 Chapter VI
 Chapter VII
 Chapter VIII
 Chapter IX
 Chapter X
 Chapter XI
 Chapter XII
 Chapter XIII
 Chapter XIV
 Chapter XV

Group Title: Eskdale herd-boy
Title: Eskdale herd-boy ; a Scottish tale, for the instruction and amusement of young persons
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00057994/00001
 Material Information
Title: Eskdale herd-boy ; a Scottish tale, for the instruction and amusement of young persons
Series Title: Eskdale herd-boy ; a Scottish tale, for the instruction and amusement of young persons
Physical Description: Book
Language: English
Creator: Lady Stoddart ( Mrs. Blackford )
Publisher: Grant and Griffith
Place of Publication: London
Manufacturer: Levey, Robson, and Franklyn
Publication Date: 1850
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00057994
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: ltuf - ALK0209
alephbibnum - 002248488

Table of Contents
    Title Page
        Page i
        Page ii
    Table of Contents
        Page iii
        Page iv
        Page v
        Page vi
    Chapter I
        Page 1
        Page 2
        Page 3
        Page 4
        Page 5
        Page 6
        Page 7
    Chapter II
        Page 8
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 13
        Page 14
        Page 15
        Page 16
    Chapter III
        Page 17
        Page 18
        Page 19
        Page 20
        Page 21
        Page 22
        Page 23
        Page 24
        Page 25
        Page 26
        Page 27
        Page 28
    Chapter IV
        Page 29
        Page 30
        Page 31
        Page 32
        Page 33
        Page 34
        Page 35
        Page 36
    Chapter V
        Page 37
        Page 38
        Page 39
        Page 40
        Page 41
        Page 42
        Page 43
        Page 44
    Chapter VI
        Page 45
        Page 46
        Page 47
        Page 48
        Page 49
        Page 50
        Page 51
        Page 52
        Page 53
    Chapter VII
        Page 54
        Page 55
        Page 56
        Page 57
        Page 58
        Page 59
        Page 60
        Page 61
    Chapter VIII
        Page 62
        Page 63
        Page 64
        Page 65
        Page 66
        Page 67
        Page 68
        Page 69
        Page 70
        Page 71
    Chapter IX
        Page 72
        Page 73
        Page 74
        Page 75
        Page 76
        Page 77
    Chapter X
        Page 78
        Page 79
        Page 80
        Page 81
        Page 82
        Page 83
        Page 84
        Page 85
        Page 86
        Page 87
        Page 88
        Page 89
    Chapter XI
        Page 90
        Page 91
        Page 92
        Page 93
        Page 94
        Page 95
        Page 96
        Page 97
        Page 98
    Chapter XII
        Page 99
        Page 100
        Page 101
        Page 102
        Page 103
        Page 104
        Page 105
        Page 106
        Page 107
        Page 108
        Page 109
    Chapter XIII
        Page 110
        Page 111
        Page 112
        Page 113
        Page 114
        Page 115
        Page 116
    Chapter XIV
        Page 117
        Page 118
        Page 119
        Page 120
        Page 121
        Page 122
        Page 123
        Page 124
        Page 125
        Page 126
    Chapter XV
        Page 127
        Page 128
        Page 129
        Page 130
        Page 131
        Page 132
        Page 133
        Page 134
        Page 135
        Page 136
        Page 137
        Page 138
        Page 139
        Page 140
Full Text











%som@l"*s aft mumnt of vang 9ma.

(Mnr. BIksc rw.)


OnG NM r be, FMte Lane.



CuanrZ I.-Description of Eskdale. History of Marion Scott and John
Teller. He loses his Parents. Mr. Martin, the Pastor, befriends him.
John engaged by Mr. Laurie as his Herd-boy. Helen Martia's irst
attempt at horsemanship /. .

CIaPrT II.-Excursion towards the Glen. Account of the Bordsrs.
The Minister visits David Little's cottage. ustic manners. Cantne
sagity .

CH ATai III.-John gains the approbation of the Pastor. Visit to Mr.
Elliott. Arrival at Minkirk. Visit at Craigi Hall. Mrs. Scott' hoe-
pitality. John's unlucky disaster. The party returns by moonlight 17

CArrTam IV.-John's reections on entering service. Receives advises
fom the Minister for his future conduct. John's good latentios the
cause of great anxiety 29

CuHrran V.-S-nday morning. The fmilyassembled for mornngpayr.
The vilagers' Sabbath. Serious Ilnesses. John in an awkward di-
lemma. Miss Helen taen seriously il. A curtain lecture 37

CUar PT VI.-Uncerttalty of human events. News of Captain Elliott.
An agreeable present. John gain the approbation of the Minister for
his activity 45

CaIrr-s VII.-John enter Mr. Laurie's service. New companions.
He receives instructions in his new employ. Surprising sagaity of
the shepherds'dogs. Maron recovered 54

Cartven VIII.-Arrival of Captain Elliott. UnbvTourabl charter er
William Martin. He is placed under the careof Mr. Lamont. Helen'
amiability. Theparty tat heilrdeparture for Kelso d.

iT 00CNTBTn.

CArrTis IX.-Hopltable reception at Kelso. Interview between Captain
Elliott and hib nephew William. The party return to the Moase.
Helen's attachment to home. Captain Eliott joins his vessel. Alarm
of the family at the sudden disappearance of William Martin . 72

CHAPlrT X.-Mrs. Martin greatly hurt by William's thoughtlessness.
Helen shrewdly guesses her brother's plans. Information received
from Captain Elliott that William has Joined him. William solicits
permission to accompany his uncle to sea. His parents reluctantly
consent. Mrs. Martin's death ;s

CeArrXa XI.-Helen's grandmother takes charge of the household. Ma-
rion Scott resides with Helen at the Manse. John Telfer gradually
Improves. Captain Elliott and his nephew arrive in England. Their
anxiety to visit Eskdale again o9

CnaIn XII.-Wlliam's arrival, and Interview with his sister. Afee-
tionately received by his father. Marion narrowly escapes perishing
in a snow-storm. Intrepidity of William and John. The departure of
Captain Elliott and William the cause of fearful forebodings . 99

CnrApra XIII.-Their arrival in the metropolis. Voyage to the Medi-
terranean. Sudden disappearance of William and the boat's crew at
ea. A oeafight. Captain Ellott killed, and the vessel taken by the
enemy. Death of Mr. Martin 110

C numa XIV.-Helen leaves the peronage, and joins Mss Maxwell's
millinery establishment. They become greatly attached. John Tel-
far, after several years' eaptvity, mae his scape 117

CaaTnz XV.-John's unexpected interview with Marion. They're mar-
ried, sad settnlen Esale. His nterw with Helen. She is induced
to accompany him to Eekdalei and is finally married to Mr. Johnstone,
the Mister of Eskdale 127


THI Author of this little work spent, many years ago, a few weeks
in Eakdale, the scene where she has placed the principal events of her
tale. The beauty of the country made a deep impression on her mind
at the time; perhaps the more so, from its being the farthest excur-
sion southward that she had then made from her native home. She,
however, by no means pretends to portray its scenery in the course
of her narrative with minute accuracy. Too long a period has since
elapsed, and she has seen in the interval too great a variety of places
to retain an exact recollection of every spot in this delightful dale;
but its general features remain strongly fixed in her memory; and
she hopes that her young readers will not fnd her tale les interesting
from any slight inaccuracy they may discover in the local decriptbin.
The general character and manners of the inhabitants are, she
believes, more correctly represented; for there is scarcely an exsm-
pliication of them in the following pages, of which she has not known
a counterpart in real life. The respect universally paid by parih-
loners to their clergyman, their familiar intercourse, and the great
influence which the latter derives from forming their minds and
morals, are circumstances which have fallen under her own observa-
tion, not only in Eskdale, but in various other parts of Scotland; and
she has felt a peculiar satisfaction in describing the simple and useful
life of Mr. and Mrs. MAITIN, from the remembrance of many a


worthy pair in similar situations, who might have sat for the portrait.
She has endeavoured, in relating the adventures of JoaH TZELER, the
Eskdale Herd-boy, to impress on the minds of her young readers the
permanent advantages of early integrity and gratitude. In the short
and unfortunate life of WILLIAM MATIN, she has attempted to shwe
the duty incumbent on all young people to subdue that disobedient
and self-willed temper, which may otherwise undermine, not only
their own comfort and happiness, but that of their parents and friends,
of all whom they love, and of all to whom they are dear. The cha-
racter of HELES is designed, on the.other hand, to illustrate the ines-
timable value of a dutiful daughter to both father and mother: the
prudence, the steadiness, the energy which Helen displays, on some
trying occasions, will not, it is hoped, appear overstrained, when her
conduct is considered as the result of an education conducted on those
steady principles, which insure the love and obedience of the child by
inspiring a frm reliance on the justice and affection of the parent.

*"* The Publishers have for the first time given (with permission)
the real name of the Author of thi little work.


In the year 1807, there stood on the beautiful banks of the
river Esk, in Dumfriesshire, one of the most southern coun-
ties of Scotland, a small cottage. The neat white walls, well-
thatched roof, and clean casement-windows, ornamented with
honeysuckles and roses, attracted the admiration of the few
strangers who were tempted by the uncommon beauty and
grandeur of the scenery, to leave the direct road from Lang-
holm to Edinburgh, and follow the windings of the river to its
source. -The ordinary cottages of that part of the country
present a very different appearance, having, too frequently,
a look of neglect, their windows broken, their walls dirty,
and instead of a garden, a heap of mud before the door.
The contrast therefore rendered this building the more re-
markable, and led travellers to suppose, what was indeed
the case, that its inhabitants were more industrious, and had
seen somewhat more of the manners of other countries, than
their less neat and less cleanly neighbours.
The names of the couple who resided here were John mad
Marion Telfer; and it is their history I am about to relate.
John was the only son of an honest, industrious pair in the
neighbourhood of Langholm, who had unfortunately both died
of fever when he was little more than ten years old, leaving
him nothing but their blessing, and the virtqes of ptegrity and

2 THnB eUKALI R-n Y.
obedience in which they bad trained him from his earliest
youth. On their death-bed, they had entreated the excellent
clergyman who, despite the malignity of the disease, continued
to console and pray by them to their last moment, to take
compassion on their poor orphan, and to find him employment
among the neighboring farmers, either as a herd-boy to some
of the numerous flocks of sheep common in Eskdale, or as a
plough-boy in the fields. Mr. Martin, such was the name of
the pious pastor, assured tlhemi he would do all in his power
for their child; and he kept hli word: for as soon as they
were dead, lie took the boy home to his own house, and
sought, by kindness and sympathy, to console him for his
irreparable loss. For some days, all his endeavours were un-
successful. John, though sensible of the kind attentions of
Mr. Martin, still felt miserable and unhappy. All his dear
mother's care and tenderness; all the pains and trouble his
kind father, after, perhaps, a hard day's work, used to take
in teaching him to read his Bible; the delight with which
they both watched his improvement; all rose to poor John's
mind, and made him believe he could never more be happy.
Mr. Martin, at last, seeing the boy's melancholy continue,
thought that a little employment might serve to rouse him.
He therefore one morning called John into his study, and
asked him to assist in dusting and arranging some books
that were in a large chest in the corner of the room. John,
from lowness of spirits, did not much like to be employed;
but as he had been taught by his father always to be obe-
dient, and to do at once whatever he was desired, he imme-
diately set about dusting the books. The first two or three
he merely cleansed, and put down without looking at them;
but, by and by, in rubbing one, a leaf fell out, which obliged
him to open the book to put it back again. The work hap-
pened to be a handsome edition of Robinson Crosoe, with vry
beautiful prints. Mr. Martin, who was watchingim m o

agL 3a aRsD-DOT. 8
served, called to him to bring the book, and then told him he
mightlook at the pictures if he pleased. John, who had never
sen any thing of the kind before, was delighted with this per-
mission, and placing himself at a little distance, sQ as not to
disturb Mr. Martin, began turning over the leaves, his eyes
sparkling, and his little hands trembling with increased de-
light at every new scene that was represented. At last he
came to the one where Man Friday is saved from the savages.
Here his curiosity got the better of the awe he felt for Mr.
Martin; and he exclaimed: "Pray, sir, be so good as to
tell me what this means!"- for though John had been taught
to read his Bible, as well as his poor father was capable of
teaching, yet this was in so imperfect a way, that he could by
no means read easily, but was obliged to spell more than half
his words. Mr. Martin smiled good-naturedly, as John's
exclamation made him raise his head from the book he was
reading; and desiring him to come near his chair, he ex-
plained, at some length, what the print represented; after
which, he asked John if he would not like to be able to read
the story himself. John at once answered: "Oh dear! yesw
sir, that I should ; but," looking down, and the tears starting
into his eyes, that can never be now; for my dear either is
dead and gone, and nobody else will ever take the trouble to
teach so'poor a boy as I. And yet," continued he, looking
in Mr. Martin's faceend brightening a little with a kind of
hope, "don't you think, sir, that if I succeed in getting a
place, and if I am very, very attentive, and always take pains
to please my master, I may in time be able to save, out of
my wages, as much as a penny a week; for I know, if I
could do that, I might go to the school at Langholm. I q"
member hearing my poor dear father wish very much he m
afford to pay so much money for me, as he said he wa m
that Mr. Campbell would teach me to read much better t
t could."

John here stopped, and waited anxiously to bear what
Mr. Martin might sy to his little plan. After a few minutes'
considerationthis worthy man replied: My poor boy, I am
afraid it would be a lolg time before you would be able to
save so much out of the very small sum that such a little fel-
low as you can earn;" but, seeing the poor fellow look disap-
pointed, he went on to say, he had a little scheme to propose,
which he hoped John would like as well as going to Langholm
school: My dear John, when your parents were dying, I
promised them to take care of you, and to endeavour to find
a master who would take you into his service, and treat you
kindly. With that view, I have been inquiring all around
amongst my parishioners, whether any of them was in want
of such a little fellow; and this morning, my neighbour Mr.
Laurie, has called to ask me if I thought you might be trusted
with the care of a flock of sheep, up among the hills, on the
other side of the river. I told him you might certainly be
trusted, as I was sure you were an honest boy ; and that if you
undertook the charge, after lie had explained to you what
your duty was to consist in, I had no doubt you would do all
In your power to perform it. But, at the same time, I told
him you must determine for yourself; as I would on no se-
count press you to leave me sooner than was quite agreeable
to your own feelings. Now," continued he, seeing John be-
ginning to speak, hear what I have to propose to you: it is,
that if you go to live with Mr. Laurie, I will make an agree-
ment with him, provided you are a careful and industrious
boy in his 'service through the day, that he shall allow you,
after you have penned your sheep, to come to me for an hour
In the evening; and in that hour, if we both, my dear boy,
make a good use of our time, I in teaching, and you in learn-
ing, I have little doubt that in a very short time you will be
to read perfectly both this book, and many other useld
entertaining stories. Take time to reflect on what I l,


TIn EU DAL2Il Hl D-30Y. a
saying to you," continued Mr. Martin, "and be sure that you
are resolved in your own mind to be an honest and industrious
servant to Mr. Laurie, so far as your strength and years will
allow, before you engage with him; and if, after thinking
over the subject, you believe that you can promise me to be
very attentive, and strive to learn what I shall be most wil-
ling to teach you, then, my dear John. I shall consider the
plan as nearly settled, and shall only wait till I have seen Mr.
Laurie to make it completely so."
Mr. Martin then pointed to the lawn before the window,
on which his little daughter was standing, looking at some
beautiful crocuses, which had made their first appearance that
season, and said, Go, John, now; and let me see if you are
a handy lad, and can get Master William's pony ready for
lelen; I promised her a ride up the glen, if she pleased her
mother by attention to her morning lessons; and I think, by
her merry face, she must have earned that reward. I am
going a couple of miles to see David Little, who, you know,
broke his leg last week by a fall from his horse; and if yom
will go and get the pony ready, I will desire Mrs. Martin to
put up a loaf of wheaten bread, which will be a treat that ho
will perhaps relish more than his oaten cakes whilst he is iek;
and do you, John, get your Highland bonnet, and come along
with us, to carry the basket and open the gates for Hdei.
To-morrow morning will be time enough for you to give
your answer about Mr. Laurie."
Ai o l) awkward bow, and a scrape with his fbot
and then set off in search of the pony, which was feeding OR
a green flat plain by the side of the river, which sort of mN
dow is called, in that country, a hobn. The animal app-f
very quiet, and suffered John to come close to him withsit
snapting to move; but the moment he tried to t out his
to take hold of him, off he went as fast as h could
oslmr. When he got to a little distance, he stopped, aad

looked back at John, who again approached, and attempted
to lay hold of him, but with no better success. All this was
observed by Helen; for the lawn where she stood overlooked
the holm; and though she' could not help laughing at first, to
see John's awkward attempts to catch the pony, yet, as she
was a good-natured little girl, she soon ran into the house,
and begged a little corn of her papa, which, having put in
her pinafore, she skipped down the lane with it to the holm,
where, holding it out to Bob (for that was the pony's name),
he instantly trotted towards her, neighingwith pleasure. She
now told John to throw the halter over Bob's neck while he
was eating, and then to jump on his Lack and ride him up to
the stable, where he would find the side-saddle. John very
soon appeared in front of the house with the pony neatly
combed, brushed, and set off with a pretty little side-saddle and
bridle, a present Helen had received from her grandmamma
the last time she had visited E.kdale. My dear Helen," said
the old lady, on presenting them to her, I have brought you
this side-saddle, in the hope it may induce you to conquer
your fears of mounting a horse. I am very anxious, con-
sidering the part of the country in which you live, that you
should learn to ride well, as it may be of essential consequence
to you through life. Besides," added she, smiling, "you
know, my dear, that unless you are a good horsewoman, I can
never have the pleasure of seeing you at Melrose; for your
dear papa cannot afford to send you by any other mode of con-
veyance. Nothing but practice will ever give you the confidence
necessary to enable you to accomplish this; and I hope that,
whenever you sce the pony dressed in his new saddle and
bridle, it will remind, you of the great delight I shall have in
seeing my der girl ride up to my door." Helen thanked her
grandmother, and said she would try to learn, but she hoped
papa would walk close by her side, and make Bob go very
slowly at first. Nothing, she added, would give her so much

pleasure as to go and visit her dear grandmamma. After the
old lady's departure, her mother told her that if, in the course
of the summer, she had gained a sufficient command of her
pony, and a firm seat in her saddle, she should accompany
her parents to Melrose in August, the time when they usually
made their annual visit to grandmamma.
Helen was quite delighted with this promise, and, for a
moment, forgot what she had to accomplish before her journey
could take place. However, next morning, on going down
stairs, after she had finished her lessons, she found that, though
she had forgotten all about learning to ride, her father had
not; for before the little glass-door of the study stood Bob
the pony, ready snddled and bridled, and papa waiting an-
xiously for his little girl's appearance. As soon as he saw
her, he called out: Come, Helen, my dear, I am quite ready
to give you your first lesson in riding, and I hope I shall have
an expert scholar." Helen walked rather slowly towards her
papa; and when he took her in his arms to put her on the
pony, she looked a little pale; but as she had promised to try
to learn, she endeavoured to conquer her fears, and suffered
herself to be placed on the saddle very quietly. Her father
took a great deal of pains to shew her how to hold her bridle,
and how to manage Bob; and after making him walk gently
two or three times round the lawn whilst he held her on, Mr.
Martin ventured to leave her seated alone, and only walked
by her side.
After repeating this lesson two or three days, Helen began
to feel more comfortable, and even was glad when her riding-
hour arrived. In the course of a week, she had ridden as far
as the end of the green holm, and had begun to allow Bob to
trot home. In another week, she had ventured on a canter,
and for the last month, had improved so much, as to become
her father's constant companion in all his walks through the
parish, when he went to visit the sick, or comfort the afflicted,

8 Ta MDALs L Hauo-3or..
duties assiduously performed by the Scottish clergy in general,
and by none more regularly than by Mr. Martin. Helen now
felt that she was rewarded for all the trouble she had had in
conquering her fears; for, besides the pleasure she enjoyed in
the exercise, she was enabled to see much more of the beautiful
country in which she lived, than she could ever have accom-
plished while walking; and her dear father was always by her
side to point out and explain all the beauties of the surround-
ing scenery, and to relate to her the local stories which abound
in that part of the country, and possess peculiar interest to the
young mind. Her mother, on her return quite delighted from
one of these charming excursions, took the opportunity of
pointing out to her the advantages of perseverance and self-
command; and Helen promised, and firmly resolved, never
again to allow herself to give way to foolish fears, nor ever to
fancy it impossible to conquer what might at first sight appear
difficult, until she had at least tried with her whole mind to
overcome the difficulty.


Wi mast now return to our little party who were setting out
on their excursion towards the glen, that is, a deep and
narrow opening between the hills which bound the dale.
John had no sooner assisted Helen to mount Bob, than
Mr. Martin made his appearance; accompanied by Mrs.
Martin, who came to see them set off: she being detained at
home that morning with some household affairs, which re-
qaired her presence, and would not admit of delay. After.
wishing them good bye, and enjoining Helen to be cardal
and keep a firm hold of her bridle, Mrs. Martin returned i1 I
the house, and the travellers proceeded to follow the windgha;

of the glen towards David Little's cottage. Nothing can ex-
ceed the beauty of this walk. The holm extends above a mile
above Mr. Martin's house, divided by a large and rapid river,
on each side of which hills rise almost as high as the eye can
reach, covered with a rich smooth verdure up to the very top,
and seeming to shut out the inhabitants of the valley from all
communication with the rest of the world. As Mr. Martin and
the young people proceeded leisurely along the road he related
to them several stories which occurred to him at the moment,
and which he thought would interest and amuse them. lie told
them, that in former times before Scotland and England were
united, there were continual wars between the Borderers, or
inhabitants of the country on each side of the border dividing
the two kingdoms; and that, in order to check the English
from coming over and plundering the Scotch of their sheep
and cattle, one of the Scottish kings, named James, was said
to have brought a family of seven brothers, of the name of
Elliott, from the Highlands, a stout and hardy race, whom be
settled along the borders of Scotland; "and the Elliotts,"
said he, who, you know, are now so numerous through all
the dale, are said to be descended from these seven brothers."
Mr. Martin was going on to tell of Johnnie Armstrong, who
was one of the great chieftains of those times, and a great
enemy to the English, when John, who had been listening
with much eagerness to all he had heard, cried out: "Oh,
Johnnie Armstrong I I have heard of him, sir; all the dale
knows about him. He was a great robber was he not? I
remember, my father used to sing some old songs about him
to me; and I think I could repeat part of the verses myself, if
Miss Helen would like to hear them, and you, sir, would give
m leave." "Certainly, John;" answered Mr. Martin, I
am me Helen will like to hear them much." John cleared
his olee; and after considering a little while, began the fol-
leIW old balled :

10 m wsnA~S xnnn-nov.
laOme k of lord sm speak of lards,
And such like me. of high degree;
Of a gentlemn I dag a song,
Somtim called Laird of Gilnockie.
The King he writes a loving letter
With his own hand so tenderly;
And he hath sent it to Johnnie Armstrong,
To come and speak with him speedily.
The Elliotts and Armstrongs did convene;
They were a gallant company:
We'll ride and meet our lawful king,
And bring him safe to Gilnockie."
They ran their steeds on the Langholm holm,
They ran their steeds with might and main;
The ladies look'd from their high windows,
God bring our men well back again I
John stopped here and said he did not remember the whole
ballad; for it wu very long: but he knew that the story was,
that Johnnie was deceived by the king, who only wanted to
get him into his power, by enticing him out of his own coon-
try; and having succeeded in this, caused poor Armstrong
and all his followers to be hanged. He would try, he sid,
sad remember the two last verses which gave an account of
Armstrong's death.
Farewell, my bonny Gllnockhall,
Where on Esk side thou standest stout
If I had lived but seven years more,
I would have girt thee round about.
Because they saved their country dear
From Englishmen, none were so hold,
SWhile Johnnle lived on the Border-Side
None of them durst come near his hold I
Just as John had finished his ballad, they turned out oftd r

2m7 aKDo A HnERa-OT. 11
lia road, up a narrow j1th, into the glen. On their right
hand a small clear brook, or, as it is called in Scotland, a bum,
ran down among the brush-wood; now hid from view, now
shewing its white foam, bursting over the stones which ob-
structed its passage. The walk hence, till our little party
reached David's cottage, was extremely beautiful; amongst
woods, hills and rocks, over which the burn rushed, with a loud
but pleasing noise. A wooden bridge, consisting indeed, of no
more than a single plank, was thrown across the burn, at the
narrowest part, resting upon the rock on each side; a little
above it stood the remains of an old watch-tower. Alto-
gether the scene was so beautiful that whilst, Helen having
dismounted, John was endeavouring to coax Bob across the
bridge, Mr. Martin took out his sketch-book, and made a
drawing of it.
When they had crossed to the other side, the road took a
winding turn amongst the hills; and their minds were so im-
pressed with the grandeur of the scenery that from the tie
they quitted the bridge they ceased speaking, and meelyr
pointed out to each other, as they advanced, any new beauty
that presented itself. The cottage was built about half a mile
above the bridge on a shelving bank which they could only
reach by ascending a little path with steps cut in the rock. At
the bottom ofthese rude stairs, Mr. Martin desired John tofiuten
Bob to the stump of an old tree which grew near. Arrived at
the top of the ascent, they found a small clay-built but,
thatched with furze, erected close under the shelter of an im-
mense rock, which hdng with frowning grandeur over it, and
seemed to threaten to crush it and its inhabitants. About a hun-
dred square yards of ground were cleared from the surrounding
brushwood, part of which David had cultivated as a little ar-
den, planting it with vegetables, to assist in the support of his
family. The rest formed a pasture, in the middle of which
browed a goat, restricted from ranging by a cord fastened to

12 Tinn an1ALn HNRD-orY.
one of its feet, and tied to a piece of wood driven into the
On Mr. Martin's appearance, the shepherd's dog rabed
a loud and shrill bark. Two or three ragged children ran
into the house, crying out: the Minister is come!" the name
the Scottish clergy generally receive from their parishioners.
On hearing this joyful information their mother appeared,
and having obtained silence, both from the dog and the chil-
dren, proceeded to welcome her visitors, telling Mr. Martin
that her husband had greatly desired this favour. She said
the surgeon had seen him that morning; and had assured her
that, could he refrain from fretting, and be left undisturbed,
he did not doubt of David's being able to walk, in a few
months, as well as ever. That I fear," continued she, is
next to impossible; for when he sees his dear little children
going without their usual food, as they are now obliged to do,
for I cannot earn more than will supply them with one good
meal a day, he frets at being prevented from going to the hill
to earn their suppers for them. However, sir, I am glad you
are come; for I am sure a word from you will comfort him,
mad make him easier than he has been since he met with this
unlucky accident." Mr. Martin immediately went into the
hut, desiring his daughter and John to wait for him on the
While the worthy clergyman was with David, Helen re-
mained talking with his wife. The children were so shy they
could not be prevailed on to speak to her, but stood with their
little heads wrapped up in the corner of their mother's apron,
taking a sly peep at the strangers when they thought they
were not observed. Helen at last recollected her basket, and
asked John to give it to her. As soon as she began to unfoM
the snow-white napkin, which covered her present, the 4x
heads gradually approached nearer and nearer to the ilH
and when Helen took out some cakes ofparlament and W

Trs suKDALM w -.n 18
one to each of them, the little cretores begp jmpiag, shout-
ing, and clapping their hands with delight. She then pre-
sentod to their mother a loaf of bread and a bottle of currant-
wine; which last, she said, she was desired to tell her was for
herself, as wine was not good for David. No, no, Miss
Helen," said Mrs. Little; that will never do. I cannot
think of drinking our good madam's wine myself, I amsure
you; I will just put it by in the spence (cupboard) till David
is beginning to get about again, and then I think it will help
to strengthen him." Do what will give you most pleasure,
Mrs. Little," said Helen; "I dare say my mother will be sa-
She had scarcely flnihled speaking ere she felt a little hand
take hold of hers. It was the eldest of the shepherd's children,
a boy about seven years old. When he found that she ob-
served him, he pulled her gently towards him, whisperlung $
if she would like to see his hen and chickens, he would seH
them to her. The chickens, he said, were only two days.**
and very pretty creatures. Helen replied, that she sh*
like to see them much. Away skipped Tom, as fast as J
could run, to the end of the cottage, and lifting up an old zM
that lay over a coop, displayed the young brood and their .'
their to the admiring eyes of the visitors. Tom was quite deo
lighted to find the lady amused with any thing he had to ex-
hibit; and told her, that if he succeeded in rearing them, he
would ask his mammy's leave to come down himself to the
Manse (the parsonage-house), and bring her a chicken as a pre-
sent, for they were all his own: his daddy had given him
the hen long ago, and he had watched and fed her all the time
she was sitting with part of the porridge he got for his own
br fast. Helen asked him how he could spare any of his
sifii, as she supposed that, now his father was sick, he
gqtl4 lg else to eat all day. Oh," said he, it is bit
ke eats; and though, to be sure, I am sometimes very

14 WTr IMI*AL3 nUnD-BOY.
hungry, and ooed eat it all myself, I keep thinking how
happy I shall be, if I can have some pretty chickens to give
my mammy to have eggs from; for then, you know, she can
sell them up at the hall next August when the English gentry
come. The English," continued he, looking up at Helen
with a very grave face, must be very fond of eggs; for do
you know they gave my mammy a whole white shilling for
a dozen last year." Helen thought as Tom did that the Eng-
lish must indeed be fond of eggs if they gave so much money
for them. She had never seen her mother give more than
Tourpence or fivepence a dozen; and she resolved she would
ask, when she got home, whether it could really be as Tom
Whilst they were looking at the chickens, the dog, that
had been lying at the door, rose leisurely, shook himself, and
walked after them. He stood close by Helen, wagging his tail
and looking pleased; but when she stooped down to take one
of the chickens in her hand, he began to growl at a terrible
rate. Down, Colly, down!" said Tom; he won't bite
you, Miss, for he is the best-natured creature in the world;
he is only afraid you may hurt the chicken. We always liked
Colly very much, but now more than ever; for it was he,
poor fellow, that came and told mammy that daddy had fallen
down." "Stop, Tom," cried Helen; "take care what you
say. How could a dog tell any body what had happened to
your father? Do you know what a naughty thing it is to
fib?" Yes, I do know very well, Miss, that it is wicked to
tell fibs," answered Tom, stoutly; but mammy can assure
you, that what I am saying is true." "Yes, indeed," said
his mother, Tom speaks the truth; though pshaps he should
not have used exactly the word told, for the dog eei'tiy did
not speak, he only barked. If you please, I will tell yoas~
he did; and then I think you will believe Tom, and lo~
Colly too.

ITr JEDALN u R 7-3t 7-- 1,
"it wsi in the evening of last Wednesday week: David
was just come home from the hill, where he ;ad been with his
sheep. He was wet and tired with being out in the rain a&
day; and I had just got him some dry clothes, and made up
a nice blazing fire, to boil some potatoes for his supper. Tih
two youngest children had climbed up on his knee, poor things I
Tom and Colly were lying at his feet on the hearth. Wewe
saying, what a dreadful night it was. The rain and wind wee
beating against the cottage, and making it almost shake: when,
between the blasts, I thought I heard the sound of a voice
calling David. I listened, and very soon there came a violent
knocking at the door. Who can be out at this time of night,
and in such weather ? said I, as I went to open it. Make
haste, David,' said Peggy Oliphant, our master's little herd-
girl, as she stepped into the house. Come away as fait as
you can; there is a horse ready saddled for you down at the
farm; for our master is taken dangerously ill, and my mistrem
thinks, if he has not immediate advice, he will die before
morning; so she begs you will lose no time in riding to Lam
holm for Mr. Armstrong. It is a dreadful night to be swrp
she says, to send you out, but it is a work of necesity."
David scarcely waited to hear her out. He took his mJdc,
and wrapping it close round him, set off as fast as he could
run, telling me to put the children to bed, and he would be
back as soon as he could. Langholm was not more than four
miles and a half, and he would gallop all the way. Well, Miss,
off he and Peggy went: and I sat waiting and listening all
night, but no David appe&ed.
"I had just dropped into a kind of sleep, when I was
awakened by Colly barking most piteously. Up I jumped,
glad to think that David was come back; but, on opening the
doer, only Colly was to be seen. The moment he beheld me,
he "tk hold of my apron, and tried to draw me ut of the
i h.I could not think what he wanted; and polr my

apron from him, went back towards the fire to stir it; but
before I could get half-way to the fire-place, Colly had laid
hold of me again, pulling very hard, and looking up in my
face, howling. I then began to think that something iuist be
the matter; so I determined I would go with him, and see
what it was. He held me fast till he got me down the steps,
and then he ran a little before me, looking back every minute,
to see if I followed him, and running on again, till we were
about half a mile down tile glen. Oh, Miss! I shall never
forget the fright I felt when I saw my master's horse standing
grazing by the road-side, and the saddle turned quite round
under him. I began then, to run after Colly, as fast as my
trembling limbs would let me; and in about five minutes I
came to the place where my poor husband was lying on the
grass. Colly was standing close to him, licking his hand, just
as if he had been telling him that help would soon come to
him. David tried to make the best of his misfortune to me,
and said he did not think he was very much hurt; only his
leg was sprained, he believed, for he could not walk. He bade
me to go directly to the farm, and get some of the men to
ome and carry him home. I did as he desired me; and the
me-servants very readily went to his assistance. Just as I
was leaving the farm, Mr. Armstrong, who had been up with
our master, came out into the yard, and seeing the men run-
ning, asked me what was the matter. He very. kindly alid
be would go with me to the cottage, and see where David was
hurt; and very well it was he did, for on getting there we
found David had fainted from the acute pain he felt when they
began to move him. As soon as he was in bed, he recovered
himself a little, and Mr. Armstrong found that his leg was
broke, not sprained as he had told me. You may be sure
that this was bad news for me. The setting of the boao pet
him to great torture; but he bore it better than could b "
been expected; and Mr. Armrtrong now says hi' v

well, if he s properly taken care f; ad to help u to gpt
what was neessary,, be kindly ave us half-a-erowa out
of hs own pocket; God bless him for his goodness to pee
distressed creator as we are I He has een him every day
since; and I am sure I do not know what David and I ean
ever do to shew our gratitude towards him."
Now," cried Tom, Miss Helen, what do you think of
Colly Did I not tell the truth "Yes, Tom, I think yes
meant to do so; but my mamma always bids me be very
particular how I express myself when I am relating a story,
for fear of being misundentood; if you had said, Colly barked
to let your mother know your father was hurt, I should have
understood you better, and not have suspected you of an un-
truth, which I am very sorry for having done. I think Coly
deserves to be loved very much, by every body that hears the
story. I will tell it to papa and mamma; and I am sure they
will admire Colly's sagacity and affection for his master."
Mr. Martin now made his appearance at the door of the
cottage, and called to John to make haste and get the poay
ready, as he thought they would have time to go up the river,
as far as Craigie Hall, one of the oldest family eats in Ekdel.
The gardener had promised him some curious flower-ele,
and the time was now come for saving them. He therefore
took leave of Mn. Little; Helen shook hands with Tom, and
bade him to be sure to remember his promise of coming to the
Mane to see her. "That I will," cried Tom, "and bring my
shioken with me whenever it is big enough to leave its mother,
if mammy will give me leave."

Ll Ma tin1 and the young folks had got to the bottom
W d Help opep more mounted her pony, and they

proceeded down the glen till they nearly reached the begin.
ning of the holm. Theh then again turned up the public road,
by the side of the river; Bob chose here to make a stop, to
drink some of the clear sweet water of the burn, before lie
crossed it; and while he was gratifying his thirst, John ob.
serving that the late rains had washctd away some of the step-
ping stones, which serve to enable passengers without wetting
their feet, to reach the other side, began to bring the largest
he could carry for Mr. Martin's accommodation; and by the
time that Bob had done, had made quite a dry path for him
across. As for himself, poor fellow, stepping-stones were not
necessary; the boys of his rank in lilf in Scotland wear neither
stockings nor shoes during the week; it is only on Sundays
they are indulged with such finery. Mr. Martin looked pleased
with his attention. "Thank you, John," said he; that is being
both a useful and observing boy. Such little civilities to those
around you, my dear, will make you beloved by every body;"
and turning to Helen, he continued, This is the natural polite-
ner which your mamma loves so much to see in young people,
regarding it as the mark of a good disposition." Bob now moved
on, Mr. Martin and John by his side, conversing upon various
subjects. Soon after they had crossed the bunt, they reached
the farm-bouse of David Little's master, Mr. Elliott, standing
on a rising ground.
There was nothing remarkable in the house itself; but its
situation was extremely beautiful: the little burn ran on one
side of it, and the more majestic Esk on the other; the garden
in front extended quite to the edge of the rock, at the bottom
of which a narrow path had been cut, just sufficient to allow
the small carts of the country to pass along. "Here," said
Helen to her father, pointing to it, "is the loveliest spot in th'm
whole dale for a residence. Were I rich, I should lke
buy that house and garden, and live in it rh
masma; would you like to live there, pays l?

" Why," returned he, my dear Helen, I think yoS have cer-
tainly shobewn your taste by selecting, in the event of your being
rich, Mr. Elliott's cottage; for I have often thought as you
do, that it is the most beautiful situation in the dale; but I
am not sure, for myself, that I should like it in preference to
the snug comforts of my own little manse. Custom has so
endeared that home to me, that it would be a painful sacr-
fce to move out of it, even were it to go to a rich home of
yours. However, my dear," continued he, "though I may,
with the blessing of God, hope to end my days in my present
dwelling, yet in the natural course of events, you will have to
seek, at some future time, another place of residence; and
should you become rich, which at present is not very likely,
you may then be able to gratify your ambition, if a knowledge
of the world should not produce in you a change of opiani op
this point."
Helen was silent for some minutes, considering what was
meant by saying she might be obliged to change her place of
residence; and when her father's meaning broke upon her
mind, the tears stole gently down her cheeks. Poor girl! it
was almost the first painful thought her father had ever raised
in her mind; and it was with great difficulty she suppreet
her emotion. She knew, however, that her mother was ex-
tremely anxious, and indeed had spared no pains to teach her
the necessity of controlling her feelings, having a great dislike
to that sickly kind of sensibility in which many children in-
dulge, by giving way to tears on trivial occasions; a habit
which some years before she herself had found great difficulty
in overcoming. The judicious management of her mother,
aided by her own earnest desire to please so good a parent, had
ry corrected this habit. Of what great and essential
,his was to her happiness through life, will appear in
Sof this little tale. John had heard all that had
but did not quite comprehend what was meant. He

walked on, however, in silence, meditating how he should like
to be rich enough to gratify Miss Helen. Little did he think,
poor boy, that the day would come, when in that very cot-
tage, he would receive Miss Helen, and watch over her de-
elining health, with all the affection of a brother.
Mr. Martin, observing that his conversation had thrown a
little gloom over the faces of the young folks, said cheerfully:
Come, my dears let us think of something that will amuse
us. Helen! suppose you sing us a song! John has given us
one already; and I heard you tell your mamma last night
that you had learnt a pretty one; I should like to hear you
sing it very much." Well, papa," said Helen, I will try
to please you; but I am afraid I am not quite perfect yet.
You must excuse me, if I make any blunders." She then
began the following lines, which she sang in a sweet, death,
and natural voice.
My other's a shepherd, so artless and gay,
Whose dock ranges over yon mountain, /
And sweet is his song at the close of the day,
By the echoing rock of the fountain.
With him, how delightful to stray o'er the laws,
When spring ll its odors is blending
Together to mark the sweet blush of the dawn,
Or the sun in his glory descending!
Soon after her song was finished, Helen's attention was
attracted by a green plot of ground about fifty or sixty feet in
breadth, surrounded by circular earthen walls; Iointing to t,
she asked her father what it was. He told her it was called a
hrres in that country, where there were several of them, mid
that they were supposed to have been intended as places of sli
for the cattle at the time of the border wars. They were ar
arrived at Muirkirk, a small church, which belong to thpie
adjoining Mr. Martin's. It is pleasantly situated on tll bi
of the river, near a stone bridge, consisting of three asalkir'

building is very neat, and adds greatly to the beauty of the
country. Near it is the manuoleum of the family of Craigie
Hall, a very elegant piece of architecture. The Manse stands
at a little distance from the church. Mr. Martin called on his
friend the clergyman, but found the family were all gone on a
visit farther up the dale;---o our party went on to Craigie
Hall to get the flower-seeds.
When they reached the hall, they fund Mr. Scott, the
gardener, at home, who received them with great cordiality,
and invited them, as the family were not at home, to walk
into his own house and take some refreshment before he showed
them the garden and grounds. Our young people were glad
to find him so considerate, for they began, particularly John,
to be rather hungry. Mrs. Scott produced a basin of oran,
some excellent butter, oaten cakes, and a large ewe-milk edw.
She invited Mr. Martin and Helen to sit down and paftue .o
her humble fare, which they very readily did. John wmsot
forgotten, for she put a good portion for him on a seat outside
the door, her small house not affording two sitting apartment,
and she conceiving it would not be respectful to the miniMs .
to bring the herd-boy inside the house. Mr. Scott, a th
sat eating their luncheon, told them a curious thing had ea
curred that morning, about a mile up the dale, at the BJha
Camp. This is a place, the like ofwhich is to be found in emy
parts both of England and Scotland, a small grassy llU,
around the summit of which are ditches and mounds of earth
seemingly intended for fortifications, and supposed to have bees
constructed by the Romans, when they first invaded Britaln.
Near this spot, some labourers were employed digging a piece
afgromnd, and one of them. in the course of his work, had struck
aen something hard, which, after much labour in raising it,
proed to be an urn, or large old earthen vessel, in which were
samaber of gold and silver coins, and other rarities. Mr.
ArJl( who had found great amusement in his retired manner

of life in collecting whatever was curious in the neighbourhood,
said he should much like to see this urn, and inquired of Mr.
Scott if he thought he could see the labourer who found it.
"Oh, yes, sir," answered Mrs. Scott, that you may easily do,
for it was Archie Kerr who found it, and his mother lives only
about a mile and a half from this place; but I think if your
honour wants to see it, you had better send up to him at once,
for it is moqt likely that some of the neighboring gentry will
buy it of him as soon as they hear of it." Mr. Martin said she
was right, and began to consider how he could send a message,
as he felt it was rather further than he liked to walk. At last,
he determined on sending John upon the pony, Mrs. Scott
assuring him he could not miss his way to Jenny Kerr's, it
being the first house after passing the Shaw rigg, where a large
tone stood on the left hand. John was no sooner applied to,
than he willingly undertook to deliver the message, and taking
Miss Helen's side-saddle off, and throwing one of Mrs. Scott's
horse-rugs over the pony's back, jumped upon it very alertly,
and trotted offwith a grin of delight on his face, proud at heart
in being trusted to ride Miss Helen's pony. As soon as he was
gone, Helen asked her father what was the reason of calling
h place where the great stone described by Mrs. Scott stood,
the Shaw rigg ? Her father told her the tradition of the coun-
try was, that it took its name from Shaw, a Pictish king, to
whom that part of the land had belonged. I am glad, my
dear," added he, that you take care to ask about what you
do not perfectly understand. Many children are so foolish as
to be ashamed to let those they converse with discover that
they do not comprehend every thing said to them, by which
means they often imbibe erroneous ideas, and perhaps remain
in a state of ignorance on many essential subjects, when, bg
questioning their friends, they might easily have obtained ooe
rect information." 4
Mr. Scott now proposed a walk in the garden, which, ple-ld

bMMl Ael MUDM-O1. U
in the Dutch style of stiff walks with high hedges, was, acoord
ing to the present taste, any thing but admirable. Its appear'
ance, however, was extremely curious, contrasted with the
natural and luxuriant beauties of the country by which it was
surrounded. The house was small, considering the rank and
consequence of the family to whom it belonged. It is said that
they originally came from Clydesdale, and brought with then
a thorn, which, thouLrh they have been settled there several
centuries, still grows on a little mount before the door. The
gardener, after leading them through the garden and grounds,
took them into the greenhouse to notice some curious plants:
the aloe, that blossoms only once in a century, the beautiful
oleander, of Spain and Italy, the prickly pear, which is with-
out a stem, the leaves growing out of each other; they are large,
broad, and thick, and covered with prickles. In warm climates
this plant grows wild, and may be trained to form an almds'
impenetrable fence. It bears a sort of fruit somewhat resem;
bling a pear, to which the natives are partial, but strange
generally consider it insipid.
On quitting the greenhouse, they began to wonder at John'1
not returning. Mr. Scott advised them, after their fatigue, to'
go into the house and sit down with his wife, while he would
walk towards the Shaw rigg in search of John. On their W-
trance, they found with Mrs. Scott a little girl, about seven
years old, whom she introduced to them as her daughter Marion.'
Helen begged the child to go on with her work, for she had
timidly risen to quit the room ; and as a little encouragemuc
Helen asked what she was doing; Marion immediately candy
to her, and shewed her a shirt she was making for her father,
which Helen was surprised to see, as needlework is very little
practised by the peasants in that country; the children of both
sexes being employed till the age of sixteen or eighteen in tend-'
lag their father's or master's sheep. Mrs. Scott, observing
lil 's surprise, said: Marion is a good needle-woman,

3TO IG5DAlia RID-oT1Y.
MiN ; she has to thank the housekeeper at the Hall for teaeh
ing her that and many other useful things. Mrs. Smith is an
English woman, and has taken a great fancy to Marion. She
hs persuaded her father and me not to send her to the hills,
like the other children around; assuring us, that if Marion
does not forget in the winter what shie has learnt from her in
the summer, she has no doubt, when she is old enough, to be
able to get my lady to take her to wait on one of her daugh-
ters; and indeed, Miss, I shall like this much better, if we can
make it out, for Marion is not strong; she is our only child,
and it would break both her father's heart and mine should
any evil happen to her; should she fall down a rock, be frost-
bitten, or lost in the snow, as happens sometimes to our neigh-
bours' children, who are sent out herding in the winter." Helen
said she was very glad that Marion was not to be sent to the
hills; and Mr. Martin added, if Mr. Scott considered Marion
able to undertake the walk to his house, he would lend her
some improving books to read. For though Mr. Scott was
competent to instruct his daughter in common reading, writing,
and arithmetic, which sort of knowledge all gardeners in that
country acquire while young, his collection of books was not
altogether calculated to improve a child's taste or understand-
Meanwhile, Mr. Scott had walked nearly a mile without
seing any thing of John. At last, on turning a corner of the
road, he perceived him at a distance, not mounted in triumph
as when he set off on his excursion, but walking slowly, and
leading Bob, who did not seem at all inclined to quicken his
pace. As soon as Mr. Scott thought he could be heard, he
called to John to know what was the matter. John did not
answer very readily, but waited till he had got quite elomse
Mr. Scott before ie said a word. Then, dropping his heaL4
and looking very confused, he gave the following aeoow" ,
himself. He said that Bob trotted nicely about half a

T1n KALU tfiei>-voi.
after which he could not get him to go a pace father than a
walk; he tried all he could to make him move, but Bob was
so obstinate, that he became afraid of keeping Mr. Matin
waiting. He then wished for a spur, and after thinking and
thinking, he recollected that he had some large pins stuck in
the sleeve of his coat, which he thought would do; could he
contrive to fix them on his feet; but how to effect this he did
not very well see, as he had no shoes to fasten them to; at last
he thought he would try to fix them on through a piece of
twine he had in his pocket, and after many attempts, succeeded
so far as to drive one of his pins into poor Bob's side, who, by
no means relishing this method of coercion, set off instantly at
a hand gallop. John courageously kept his seat, holding fast
first by the bridle, and then, as the velocity of the motion in-
creased, by the mane; by and by, perceiving a wide ditch
across the road, he flattered himself that Bob would stop, and
be content to go at a quieter pace the rest ofthe way. Scarcely
had he formed this notion, when Bob cleared the ditch at one
spring; the jerk came so suddenly, and was so little expected
by John, that he made a complete summerset over Bob's head,
and was set down quite safe on his feet about four yards beyond
the ditch. Bob, in the mean time, seemed quite atisfied with
the revenge he had taken, stopped directly, and was busy re-
galing on the fresh grass that grew around him, by the time
John had regained sufficient composure to know where he was.
As soon as he could think, he became convinced he had
been a very foolish boy: and therefore determined he would
mount Bob no more that day, as it was better for Mr. Martin
to wait somewhat longer, than to incur the risk of nursing him
with a broken leg, like poor David Little. He therefore took
hold of the bridle and led Bob along the road till he reached
Jaey Kerr's, where he found that Archie was not at home,
bit Mne up the glen as far as Mr. Hume's to shew him the
le il the colas. John thought he could not go back and


have nothing to tell but his own disaster. He therefore begged
Jenny to direct him towards Mr. Hume's; and, having fastened
Bob up safely, he set out on foot in search of Archie. As he
had to cross the water to reach Mr. Hume's house, Jenny ad-
vised him to take Archie's stilts, two long poles with a sort of
step fastened on each about half-way up, wide enough to hold
a man's foot, which are in common use among all ranks in
that country for crossing rivers, where the depth will not admit
of stepping-stones. She said he must on no account attempt
to cross the river without them, for the danger was increased
by the rains, which had swollen the stream considerably.
John had never before stilted the water, as it is called, but
he determined that as he had acted very foolishly in the affair
of Bob, he would take great care with the stilts, and therefore
when he arrived at the bank of the river, lie mounted them
very cautiously. The first half of the passage lie got over very
well; but, arrived at the middle of the stream, he founJ pre-
caution very necessary, for the water was nearly to hil feet,
and the current so rapid as to require all his strength to move
the stilts. The difficulty increased, and he was obliged to stop
and rest himself. "Aha!" said he, a fall here would be worse
than even over Bob's cars. Surely this is a bad beginning for
my practice in service. If I meet with many days like this,
I am likely to have but little comfort in it; however, my poor
father has often told me there is nothing like perseverance,
and so I found it in learning my letters; for at first I thought it
impossible I should remember the names of those crooked, ill-
shaped things; so let me try again to get out of this scrape."
Thus resolved, he began to move forward, and at last, by tak.
ing great care, reached the opposite side in safety.
He soon ran on to Mr. Hume's, where he found Arhbe,
and delivered Mr. Martin's message. Archie said he q
not go down so far as Craigie Hall that day, being obllp44
fnish his day's work at the Roman Camp. He had iL

3s mXDaLO MUs-sOr. S
spent all his spare time with Mr. Hume; but he promlil
faithfully to bring his new-found treasure down to Mr. Martin's
the next evening after work-hours; and he bade John tell Mr.
Martin that he would not part with the urn or any of the coin.
till he had seen them. He then good-naturedly said he would
see John over the river, as it was not safe for such a little fellow
as he to cross it alone while it was so full and strong. As soon
as John got over the water, he set off as fast as he could walk
to Jenny's for the pony, and putting the bridle round his arm,
contrived to coax Bob into a gentle trot, which he kept up till
he came in sight of Mr. Scott, when, remembering what a story
he had to relate of his own mishaps, he slackened his pace, and
began to feel very foolish and unwilling to tell what had hap;
opened to him.
It is but just to say that, however unwilling he felt to havi
his folly known, he never once thought of disguising the truth.
He had been too well taught for that. At the time when John's
father lived, there was no class of men, of any rank or country,
that took more pains (if indeed so much), as the Scottish pea-
santry in instructing their children in both moral and religious
duties; and John had been taught early that even the shadow'
of a lie was contrary to the duty of a Christian, and that a
child who, in the slightest degree, deceived his parents, mas-
ters, or companions, would never merit or obtain the character
of an honest and just man. Well, my lad," said Mr. Scott,
after he had heard his story, I think you have got wonder-
fully well off, considering your rash conduct; you should be
thankful to Providence that you are alive to relate it; I only
hope it will be a warning to you never to be guilty again of the
like folly; so, cheer up, we will say no more about it, if you
promise to behave better the next time you are sent on an
errad." John said, what he very sincerely thought at the
ti Ibe would never again try to wear spurs; he had had quite
*n0~ -fthem, and he hoped Mr. Martin would not be very

angry, for that would be the worst thing he had met with yet;
and what with the pony and the stilts, he had had quite enough
misfortune for one day.
Mr. Martin and Helen now came to meet them, for they
had become seriously alarmed for the boy; but when the dis-
aster was related, Helen could not refrain from laughing at the
comical figure John must have made when flying over Bob's
head; and even Mr. Martin, though he tried to look grave,
found it difficult to keep his countenance while he represented
to him the impropriety and hazard of his late conduct. Little
Marion, who had come out to the door to see the pony, was
the only person that seemed to enter into John's feelings. She
sidled up to him, and said, Never mind, John, Mr. Martin is
not very angry, and you are not hurt; but," continued she in
a whisper, "you have torn the sleeve of your coat; I don't
think any of them have noticed it yet; slip into the stable,
and I will run and get a needle and thread, and soon mend it,
so that it can never be seen. It will be done before the pony
finishes his corn."
John followed Marion's advice, who, from that day, was
enthroned in his heart, as the best girl he had ever known.
Marion having mended John's coat quite to her own satisfac-
tion, and Bob having eaten his corn, John led him out, ready
equipped, for Miss Helen, who mounted him directly. Now,
my dears," mid Mr. Martin, we must make a little haste, for
I am afraid your mother, Helen, will be getting uneasy at our
long absence. Only look! there is the moon rising. We shall
be quite late before we reach home." By the time they got near
the holm, the moon was shining in full grandeur. Her rays
played beautifully on the sparkling waters of the Eak, occasion-
ally intersected by the branches of the trees which grew on the
banks of the river. The night was clear; the Sars she
above their heads with brilliant splendour. Altogaedr I.
Martin was so entranced, that, forgetting the childMiUtgr

Tax aUssaU ImsT-O M
is only companions, be broke silence, repeating the followki
lines, a translation of his own from Homer's Iliad:
As whi around the full bright moon, in b ew ,
The stars hin glorious; breathless is the air;
The lofty watch-towers, promontories, hlls,
Far of are visible; the boundless sky
Opens above, displaying all its host
Of Are; and in the shepherd' heart is joy.
Mr. Martin, when he had finished, smiled internally at his
own enthusiasm; but the children were too much fatigued with
the various adventures of the day to offer any remark. They
therefore continued silent till they arrived on the lawn before
the Manse, where they found Mrs. Martin waiting most ani-
ously for their appearance. Where can you have been, my
dear Helen?" asked her mother, as she assisted her to alight.
' I really began to be afraid an accident had happened to some
of you." No accident, my dear, at least none of any come.
quence," said Mr. Martin, glancing a look towards John, who
made a hasty retreat with Bob into the stable. "But ask oa
questions to-night; Helen will tell you all her adventures to-
morrow morning; at present she is too much fatigued to be
kept out of her bed longer than is necessary to eat her sapper;
let her have it directly, if you please; and if you will give me
a cup of tea, it will refresh me. I am almost tired myself, wiek
is not a usual thing." Helen ate her supper, Mr. Martin had
his tea; and after a prayer by the minister, at which, as was
customary, the whole family were present, they all retired
to bed.

As soo as John awoke in the morning, all the oceurrenoes f
the Imvious day passed in review through his memory; at
haLe rwollected that he was to give Mr. Martin an anwer

a to Mr. lurie. Well," thought he, I suppose I muo
go to the farm, but I would much rather stay with the Minis.
ter and Miss Helen; for it was very pleasant walking with
them yesterday, and I liked very much to hear them converse,
and Miss Helen sing. She has a pleasing voioe. I wonder
whether Marion can sing. I am not sure whether I shall like
going to the hill every day, for it is a tiresome life to be so
many hours alone; but then," continued he, I cannot stay
with Mr. Martin, for he has a herd-boy that has lived with
.him some time; and I am sure I should not wish to make him
lose his place, for he, poor fellow, has no father any more than
myself; and besides, I am to have leave to come home every
night and learn to read. I shall take the place, if it be only
for that; besides," continued he, after thinking awhile, if
my poor father were alive, he would think it such an honour
for the Minister himself to take the trouble of teaching his
.son, that I could not refuse on any account; and, now he's
dead, I am determined never to do any thing he would have
disapproved. However, I am glad I have got summer weather
to begin with: I shall understand the business better before
the winter comes on, and, perhaps, be more reconciled to it."
After coming to this wise determination, John sprang out
of bed and dressed himself as quickly as he could. When he
came down stairs he was surprised to find that all the family
were up and at work. The study bell rang, just as he got to
the kitchen-door, and the maid said: It is well, my man,
you are down before the bell has rung for prayers. There's
no knowing what the Minister would have said, if you had
been in your bed then! but come &way now, for we must not
keep our master waiting."-Accordingly, he followed her into
the study, where all the family were assembled to render
thanks to their Creator for the blessings of a new day.
Helen gave her mother, during breakfast, an accosat sf.
she had seen and done the day before; and when Isl.hli


finished her recital, she sid: "Mamma, I have been thinking
this morning that I have a half-guinea that my grandmamma
Elliott gave me, when she was last here, to buy a new frock;
at present I do not particularly want one, and I should like
very much for you to allow me to go down the water a far as
Langholm, to buy some stuff to make frocks for poor David
Little's children; they are almost bare, and I do not suppose
their father will be able to procure them clothes for some time,
lying, as he is, on a sick bed." Helen," said her mother,
" you may do exactly as you please with your half-guinea, it
is your own; but I would have you think the subject well
over before you act. You know I have promised that you
shall go with your father and me to Melrose this autumn.
Now perhaps you would like to have a new gown to wear
whilst you are there. It is but flir to tell you that I shall not
be able to afford to buy you one this summer, having spent all
I can conveniently spare in fitting out your brother for school.
Therefore, my dear, you must choose whether you prefer going
to Melrose in your old gown, in order to have the pleasure of
dressing these poor little creatures, or expend your money and
appear smart when you make your first visit from home."
Helen looked very serious for some minutes, and then said:
" My dear mamma, if you please, I will wait till to-morrow
before I give you my answer; for, at present, I really do not
know what to do. I should certainly like to be dressed neatly
when I go to see grandmamma, because I know it would
give her pleasure; but when I think of the poor little naked
children, they make my heart ache." Very well, my dear,
be it so: go now, and begin your morning lessons."
Mr. Martin then desired the servant, who was taking away
the breakfast things, to send John into his study, and giving
Helen a kiss, and telling her to be very attentive to her mo-
t*re I' tructions, left the room. On entering the study, he
t Jdua standing ready to receive him. Well, Johau

* 81


what answer am I to give to Mr. Laurie?" asked Mr. Martin;
" will you be his servant and my scholar, or have you any o-
jection to the plan ? Speak out, and don't be afraid. If yo
dislike being a herd-boy, I will endeavour to think of some.
thing else that may suit you better." Thank you, sir, from
my heart; I did intend only to say: yes, I will be Mr. Laurie's
herd-boy; but since you ask me if 1 have any objection, I
will tell you, sir, all that has passed in my mind. I have been
thinking how lonely it will be up in the hills all day, and how
cold and dreary I shall feel when the winter comes on; but
just as I had determined to tell you I would rather not be Mr.
Laurie's servant, I remembered my poor father, and how
proud he would be if he knew that you would teach me to
read yourself. That thought put all about the hill quite out
of my head; and therefore, if you please, I will go to Mr.
Laurie's whenever he desires it." That is acting like a good
and sensible boy," said Mr. Martin, "and I hope you will
have no reason to repent of your decision. I shall go now and
call on Mr. Laurie, and make an agreement for your coming i
to me in the evening; and I think you had best accompany'
me, and hear what he wishes you to do." John went for his
bonnet directly, and walked after Mr. Martin, keeping near
enough to speak to him, but still far enough behind to shew
his respect. Sir," said John, as he walked along, do yot
think Mr. Laurie will give me a holiday on Handsel Mon-
day ?" (The first Monday in the year, and the only holiday
the Scottish peasantry ever allow themselves, except in the
case of a wedding.) Really, John, that is a question I can-
not answer; but if he does, how would you like to employ
it?" The thing I should best like to do would be a take
another walk with you and Miss Helen. Oh, indeed, ir, I
never was so happy in my life as I was yesterday; ad wb
sides, somehow it seems to have done me a great deal d((
for I felt so miserable and unhappy from the tfim iMell

_ _

s8 .

TS enUKDALt anD-ao. S
father and mother, that I had no heart to do any thing; and
it seemed quite a trouble to me to move. Yesterday, when
you first shewed me that great chest of books, and bade me
dust them, I had nearly burst into tears; but now, sir, I feel
as brisk as ever, and am sure I would do any thing in the
world to please you." I am very glad to hear it, John;
only I think if you take another walk with us, we must bar-
gain to have no spurs." No, no, sir," said John, laughing,
" you may be sure of that; I had enough of them yesterday."
They found Mr. Laurie at home, who very readily agreed
to the proposal of John's learning to read at the Manse, and
promised that he should attend regularly. He said he might
enter his service on the next Tuesday morning, and, as he re-
quired him to set off by four o'clock for the hill, he thought it
would be best for him to sleep at the farm on Monday evening.
He promised to send his own shepherd with him for the first
day or two, to shew him the method of managing the sheep,
nd to train the dogs to obey him readily. John was greatly
leased with this promise, and returned to the Manse in high
irits. Helen had finished her lessons, and was walking out
ith her mother; but it being Saturday, Mr. Martin, as was is
constant custom on that day, shut himself up in his study, to
prepare for the duty of the Sabbath. John, therefore, amused
himself as well as he could, by going down to the holm, and
fishing with an old rod he found in the stable ; and though he
was not very successful, he yet found sport enough for enter-
At dinner, Helen complained of a headache, and was
obliged to go and lie down. Mrs. Martin was rather uneasy,
as she had observed Helen's eyes to be heavy, and feared it
might arise from fever. Helen, however, was much better
after a short sleep, and got up to tea. As they were sitting
roti be table, John put his head in at the door, and said
.s Krr was come down the dale, with the curiosities

which he had found. Mr. Martin desired him to walk into
the parlour; and added: John, my lad, you may come in
and see them too, if you like." Mr. Martin examined them,
and found them exceedingly curious. As he was looking at
one of the coins at the window, Mrs. Martin inquired of Archie
how all the neighbours were up the dale. "Thauk ye, ma'am,
all are well, except Mr. Scott's family at Craigie Hall; poor
little Marion is very ill. I am going, when I leave the minis-
ter,. to Langholm, for Mr. Armstrong; as her father was so
distressed, that Mrs. Scott was afraid to let him come him-
self." If that be the case, Archie," said Mr. Martin, com-
ing forward, I will not detain you another minute. Put up
all your coins, and leave them in my care till your return;
and if you find Mr. Armstrong at home, tell him he will oblige
me by calling here on his way, to let us know how the poor
little girl is. For the sake of her parents, I trust she will
shortly recover."
Archie set off immediately, and Mr. Martin and his family
sat conversing together till the usual hour of going to supper,
when one of the servants looked in and said: "If you please,
sir, did you send John any where?" No, indeed," answered
Mr. Martin; "is he not in the kitchen ?" "No, sir," answered
the maid; and I cannot find him any where; the herd tells
me that, as he was driving his sheep home, he saw John run
down the lane as fast as he could, and then down the holm.
Colin thought he had forgot his fishing-rod, and was gone. to
fetch it; but he must have been back long before this time
had that been his errand." This account seriously alarmed
both Mr. and Mrs. Martin; for it was very possible that, in
looking for the fishing-rod, he might have fallen into the river.
Mr. Martin, therefore, anxiously took his hat and went in
search of him. He had become really attached to the b4e
and would have been grieved to the heart had any harshm
fallen him. After searching all along the river for nespe

mile, he was on the point of returning to get some assistance to
drag for him, when he heard the sound of feet as of some one
running. He listened; for the moon was not up, and the night
was too dark to enable hint to see at any distance. The steps
approached, and in a few seconds he was convinced that it was
John, running as fast as he could. He called to him, but John
was too much out of breath to answer. Mr. Martin's mind
being now at case respecting the boy's safety, he sat down
on the bank to recover himself, for he was completely over*
powered, and for some minutes occupied himself in silently
offering up his thanks to Providence for relieving himself from
such misery, and for the boy's safety. John, who had stopped
short when he reached Mr. Martin, could not think what was
the matter, but seeing his master sitting on the damp grass,
entreated him to tell him if he was ill, and wanted to run on
to the house for assistance. No, John," said Mr. Martin,
you have had running enough for one night. Where have
you been, to give us all such an alarm ?" Indeed, sir, I am
sorry if I have frightened any of the family," replied John; "I
did not think of that, but I will tell you the whole truth, if
you will only rise; for I am sadly afraid you will catah eoU
by sitting on the grass." "You are right, my boy, I will ris
Immediately; and do you tell me where you have been, for we
thought you were drowned." "Why, sir," said he. "I was
looking at the curious urn Archie found, when I heard him
tell my mistress that poor Marion Scott was ill, and that he
was going to Langholm for Mr. Armstrong. Now, sir, when
I lived with my father and mother near Langholm, I many
times observed Archie come down there, and though I should
be sorry to be a tale-bearer, yet I cannot help explaining to
you my reasons for acting as I did. I often saw him in the
public-house, and my father used to say he was sure Archie
would never do any good if he did not mend his habits; for his
eatom was to stop and drink at every place where a dram was

to be had, all the way down the dale, and repeat the same on
his return home again. I remember once he was a whole day
and night getting from Langholm to the Shaw rigg. I thought,
therefore, if Archie played his old trick of stopping by. the
way, perhaps poor Marion might be dead before Mr. Arm-
strong could get near her; so I determined that I would just
run myself; for she was kind to me yesterday, much kinder
than you know of; for when you were all laughing at me
(which I very well deserved) Marion came and whispered to
me that my coat was torn, and that if I would go into the
stable, she would mend it. I thought the least I could do in
return, now that she is in trouble, was to try to get her some
"I luckily found Mr. Armstrong, and lie assured me that,
as soon as his horse was saddled, lie would go to her; and only
think, sir, when I came iack again I saw Archie sitting in
Robert Miller's house, drinking with another man; I was so
happy that I had gone myself! but now, sir, that I find I have
frightened you, and my mistress, and Miss Helen, who was
not very well before, I do not know whether I ought to be glad
that I went or not." You are a good-hearted, grateful boy,"
said Mr. Martin, "and have acted very properly; only you
should have told some of us where you were going, and then
all would have been right." I could not do that, sir; for I
did not wish to tell of Archie's tricks, and I made quite sure
that I should be back long before the hour of prayer; I thought
you would not miss me till then." "Very likely Ishould not,
had not Nelly come in search of you; but it was very natural
for her, and very proper, when she discovered you were miss-
ing, to inform me of it."
Here we are, my dear wife, all safe," cried Mr. Martin,
as he approached the lawn, where Mrs. Martin stood with a
lantern prepared, and Nelly ready to search for her master
and John also; "all's rirht. John has been on a very needhil

errand, and no harm is done, except the unnecessary alarm we
have been put to; he has promised me, however, to be more
careful in future, in letting us know before he sets out on any
errand; so let us go into the house for some supper, and give
me a glass of raspberry whiskey to prevent my taking cold, as
I have been out too long in the night air, and feel chilled with
the damp of the river." Helen was gone to bed by her mo-
ther's advice, but she could not sleep till she heard that John
had returned safe.

NEXT morning, when the family assembled in the study fbr
the morning service, Mrs. Martin observed that Helen still
looked pale and unwell; but Helen said she did not feel ill,
only as if she was very tired, and had caught a cold. Her
mother replied: Then, my dear, you must not go to church
this morning; for though I disapprove very much of people
absenting themselves from the public worship of their Maker,
upon every light and trivial occasion, I think it wrong when
they are really ill to go out, even to church ; as by that mean
they often endanger their lives. Such a sacrifice is not required
of us; and we act much more wisely in such cases in remain-
ing at home nursing ourselves, and taking care to spend our
time, not in idleness, but in our own private devotions."
In Scotland, the olbervance of Sunday is strict, bat not
morosely severe. It is considered by the peasants as their
grand day of innocent recreation. Nothing that is trifling, or
that can any how be done on Saturday, is left for the Sabbath.
The men are all shaved on Saturday evening; and they would
even scruple to gather a cabbage out of their garden on the
Lord's day.
Mr. Martin's parish-church was about half a mile from the
Manse. The walk to it was pleasant, and presented a ptot

lively scene, as Mr. and Mrs. Martin set out aompanied by
the whole of their household, except one maid, who was left at
home with Helen. John walked behind Mr. Martin, carrying
the Psalm books and Bible.
As they turned down the holm, the path, as far as the eye
could reach, was sprinkled with men and women, dressed in
the usual costume of the country, which consists, besides the
ordinary attire, of a woollen plaid, of a small black and white
checked pattern; it is very simply thrown round the women's
shoulders, as a scarf, while the men carry it over the right
shoulder only, tying it loosely under the left arm. The women
seldom wear bonnets; they have either a beaver hat, like a
man's, or else a snow-white cap tied under their chin, and
usually ornamented with a showy ribbon.
As Mr. Martin's family passed, every group stood still,
making their bows and courtesies in silence, for it would be
considered rude to speak to the minister on his way to church;
their greetings of inquiry are always reserved till the service is
over, when the older men and heads of families look upon it as a
sort of privilege they possess, to shake hands with their pastor,
to inquire after his health, to talk of the news of the day, and
,.jot unfrequently to give their opinion of the sermon he hasjust
been preaching. And they are, as a body, much better quali-
fied to judge of such subjects than the same class of society in
other countries; which arises from their having all been taught
to read, as their fathers before them, generation after genera-
tion; and what has a most material effect upon their morals
and conduct is, that their reading has been properly directed
to the study of the Holy Scriptures.
After church, Mr. Martin having paid his oomplimentssl
around, and Mrs. Martin having inquired who was sicdk.
if any one required her particular attention, the family retula
to the Manse in the same order in which they left it. Th
there found Mr. Armstrong, who had called on his way &ai

Mrs. Scott's. lie told them that Marion's complaint had
turned out to be the measles; and that at present she was
extremely ill; but that he hoped, in a few hours, there might
be a favourable change. Mrs. Scott had desired him to inform
Mrs. Martin of these circumstances, as she was anxious to
know whether Miss Helen and John had had the disorder.
Mrs. Martin immediately became alarmed, for Helen had
never had it. Having been rather a delicate child, she wa
kept out of the house, with a friend in Langholm, at the time
the disease had affected her brother. She therefore begged
Mr. Armstrong to step up to the bedroom, where Helen was
lying down, as her headache had returned very violently. Mr.
Armstrong, on seeing her at once pronounced that she had
undoubtedly caught the affection, and directed her to go
to bed. On inquiry of John, they found that he had under-
gone the disease; a fortunate circumstance, as an illness at
that moment must have prevented his going to Mr. Laurie's.
The surgeon now took his leave, promising to call next
morning at the same hour. To John, who stood at the door
holding his horse, he said: You must take another walk, my
lad, to Langholm this evening, to bring some medicine for
Miss Helen, for I cannot well manage to send up myself; and
it is of consequence that she should take it to-night." I will
do that, sir, with the greatest pleasure; or any thing else in
my power for Miss Helen; but I hope you do not think that
either she or poor Marion Scott is likely to die," endeavouring
to conceal the tears that trickled down his cheeks; "I am
sure I should feel as much, if that were to happen, as I did
when my own dear father and mother died; and oh, sir, that
as a dreadful time!" "I hope, my little fellow, there will
be nothing so bad as that," answered Mr. Armstrong; "at
e1t, we must try all we can to prevent it; so do you come
4-ni to me when the afternoon-service is over, and I will
i vwery thing ready, that you may not be detained. Ho

makes a better messenger," continued he, turning to Mr.
Martin, "than Archie Kerr, who has not yet returned from
Langholm, though Mr. Scott sent him off yesterday morning.
I suppose I shall meet him on the road as I ride down, for he
will be sure to be home in time for his work to-morrow morn-
ing. To do him justice, he seldom forgets that; though, when
he can find an excuse to leave it, he is a sad tippling fellow."
The family now went to dinner, which on Sunday seldom
consists of any thing but eggs, bread and cheese, and such cold
meat as may be in the house. When they had finished their
simple meal, Mr. Martin and the servants returned to evening-
service; but Helen's illness prevented her mother from leav-
ing her. When the service was over, John set out to Lang-
holm, promising to make all the haste in his power back to
the Manse.
He soon arrived at Mr. Armstrong's, and receiving the
medicine, set off on his return home. He walked very rapidly
till he reached the holm, not having met a single creature
the whole way; for walking is considered a very improper
way of spending the Sabbath evening, unless upon necessary
business, as this is the chief portion of time the peasantry can
bestow on catechising their children, and reading portions of
Scripture to their families. John was therefore rather sur-
prised to see a man walking before him, at a distance. As he
himself went fast, he soon came near enough to perceive that
the person, whoever he was, instead of going straightforward,
kept moving from side to side of the road, in a very extraor-
dinary manner. "I do believe," thought John, "that this
must be Archie Kerr. Well I what will become of him, if by
any chance, the minister should come out to look for me?
Though he is a tipsy fellow, and has behaved so ill about
Marion, I should not wish any thing so bad as thlt to happen
to him. I think I had best run as fast as I can, and get at
the lane, and then Mr. Martin, when he sees me, will never

think of booming to the holm to-night." So saying, he hur-
ried on as fast as he could; but just as he came within a stone's
throw of Archie, to his great alarm, Archie lost his balance,
and fell, with his whole force, across the road. John ran to
endeavour to help him up again, but, when he got close to
him, he perceived that his head had struck against a stone,
and that it was bleeding profusely. What shall I do now ?"
said John. Pray, Archie, try to raise yourself up, if you
can; for I have not strength to move you, and I cannot leave
you lying here; for if a horse or cart were to come by, you
would be crushed to death." Archie spoke not, but John
continued to pull him as hard as lie could, without the least
success; at last, becoming seriously alarmed, as he found the
temple still bleeding in spite of the neckcloth which he had
taken from Archie's neck and tied round his head, he thought
the only thing he could do was to run home and prevail on
old Sandy, the shherd, to come and help to remove Archie
to a place of safety. But I will get as quietly as I can in at
the back-door of the Manse," thought John, that the minister
may know nothing about it; for I don't know what would be
the consequence, if he were to learn that there was such a dis-
graceful sight, just before his own door, on a Sunday evening."
With this intention, John ran up the lane, and had just got
his hand upon the latch of the back-door, which he was lifting
gently up, when he heard the study-bell ring for prayers,
which on Sunday were always before supper, in order that
the children and servants of the family might be examined on
what they had heard at church; an excellent practice, as it
induces them to be more attentive while there, and gives them
an opportunity of being instructed on points which they may
not have perfectly understood. John had no time to de-
liberate. He went in, and saw the tail of the shepherd's coat,
who was just entering the parlour. He sprung forward, in the
hope ofdrawing him back, without being observed; but Sandy

was too intent on what he had to May to the minister, to under-
stand any of the signs John was making. He therefore only
thought the boy was playing some monkey-tricks; and greatly
scandalised at such conduct so near the presence of his master,
he, with one jerk, pushed poor John into the middle of the
room. A shriek, from Mrs. Martin, made her husband, who
was sitting at the table, with the large family Bible open be-
fore him, raise his lhead. A most terrific sight was presented
to him-John standing directly opposite, as pale as death, his
face and hands stained in various places with blood, hi- clothes
in disorder, and trembling from head to foot. What has
happened, child ?" asked they all with one breath. "What
have you been doing." John stood undetermined what to say.
He stammered; and, at last, bursting into tears and turning
to the shepherd, cried: Oh, Sandy why did you not stop,
when I pulled your coat? then I should not have been obliged
to tell upon poor Archie; but now I cannot save him from
disgrace." "Speak distinctly, my dear," said Mr. Martin,
taking hold of his hand, and bidding him compose himself.
"Something serious must have happened. Don't think of
Archie's disgrace; but tell me at once what it is." John now
saw that he could not avoid unfolding his tale, and therefore
began, in a very confused way, to relate what had happened.
Mr. Martin, however, soon gathered that Archie had fallen
down and was hurt. lie therefore waited no longer than to
get a lantern lighted, and with old Sandy, set out after John,
who ran before to shew them where Archie was.
When they got near the place, they heard him groaning
most piteously. They raised him up, and tried to get him to
walk between them; but though he was sensible of the pain
of his head, as they supposed by his groans, he was so com-
pletely overcome by drink, that he could not assist himsl~
in the least; and after various trials, Mr. Martin desired Jobh,
as the only method he could think of, of getting their bar f


to the Manse to go and bring Bob down from the stable.
John soon returned, and with some difficulty they at last sue-
ceeded in conveying Archie safe to the house; and the maids,
in the mean time, having made up a bed for him in the kitchen,
Mrs. Martin proceeded to examine his wound. She found it
was a pretty deep cut; but not likely to be of any serious con-
sequence. She therefore, after dressing it, ordered Sandy to
put her patient to bed, and leave him to sleep off the effects of
his intoxication. The family then returned to the parlour,
Nelly having first washed John's face and hands, and made
him a little more fit to be seen; and Mrs. Martin observing
that he was still pale from the fright, gave him a glass of cur-
rant-wine before he began his catechism.
After the duties of the evening were over, the supper was
brought in, which on Sunday evenings is usually the most
abundant meal of any during the week, and in general the
most cheerful; but this night poor Helen's illness threw a
damp over the spirits of her parents; and the nicely-roasted
fowl, with fried eggs, Mr. Martin's favourite dish, left the
table almost untouched, to the great displeasure of Nelly the
cook, who, supposing it arose from a different cause, declared
in the kitchen, that it was a scandalous shame for that wicked
vagabond, Archie Kerr, to disturb her good master, and keep
him from eating his wholesome supper after the fatigues of
the day, by thinking on his great wickedness. "Was there
no other place for him to break his head but just before the
minister's door?" She was sure if she had seen him fall she
would have let him lie.
Hush, Nelly," said Sandy, "you would have done no
such thing. You are only angry because your supper has not
been eaten to-night; but I dare say Archie has nothing to do
with that: it is more likely to be Miss Helen's illness."
I did not think of that, indeed," sai4 Nelly. Maybe
Alchi* is not to blame about the supper, and he has enough

to answer for without laying that to his charge; but, good
night!" continued she; it is time we were all gone to bed.
Remember, Sandy, that Archie must not leave the house till
our master has seen and talked with him. I was desired to
tell you to be very particular about this. I am thinking the
minister will rend him a lecture. I am sure I would not be in
his place for the best new gown in Lnngholm." So saying,
they all separated for the evening.
Through the night poor Helen suffered considerably; and
her anxious mother never left her till towards morning, when
Mr. Martin took his wife's place, and insisted that she should
lie down for a few hours. We shall have you ill too, my
dear, if you do not take care; and then what will become of
us ?" Pray, mamma," said Helen (who had heard what
her father said), "do go to bed. I promise you I will lie
quite still, and give papa no trouble that I can help." Mrs.
Martin was at last persuaded to leave them; and after a lapse
of three hours, found, on her return to the room, that the
measles had made their appearance, and that Helen felt rather
better than when she had left her.
On going down stairs, Mr. Martin inquired for Arehie
Kerr, of Nelly, who was laying the cloth for breakfast. He
is pretty well, sir, this morning, but wants sadly to get away
to his work. At least, that is what he says; but I think he
is afraid to see you, after what happened last night. When
he discovered where he was, Sandy tells me, he grew quite
pale, and said: 'This is the worst scrape I have ever got into.
I would almost as soon have fallen into the river as have been
brought to the Manse, for how shall I ever face the minister ?'"
Send him in to me Nelly; and don't disturb us, till I ring the
bell." Nelly did as shb was ordered; and Archie made his
appearance with his head bound up, and one of Sandy's wool-
len night-caps half drawn over his eyes, as if he wanted to
hide them from the good man, who was now going to address

THa aUmDAUL RHnD-Or. a
him. As, however, the door was shut immediately, and there
were none present but himself and the minister, what Mr.
Martin said to him never transpired; only when he left the
study and passed through the kitchen, in his way to go home,
Nelly observed that his eyes were red with weeping; and, as
he shook hands with John, he said: I shall have reason, my
little fellow, to bless the night you found me, and got me
brought to the Manse, all my life long, if I can but remember
whint the minister has been saying to me. After his kindness,
I should indeed be an ungrateful villain if ever I forgot it,
and that I would not be for all the whiskey in Eskdale. Fare-
well! And, my man, if ever you should be tempted to drink
more than is good for you, think on Archie Kerr last night,
and I am sure that will restrain you."

SWHuR Mr. Armstrong made his appearance after breakfast,
lie said Helen was doing as well as he could wish. She was
likely to have the disease very easily; and he hoped, in a few
days, would be quite recovered. I wish," added he, "that
poor little Marion Scott may do as well. She is a delicate
creature, and her fever ran very high when I left her yester-
day." lHe added, he was going higher up the dale, and should
not return till the evening, but would see Helen on his way
back. He spoke this on the step of the door, as he was going
out. John heard it, and, running up to Mr. Martin, asked
him if lie might go up with Mr. Armstrong as far as Mr.
Scott's, "just to hear how poor Marion is this morning, sir."
"Cettainly, my dear, I am glad that you thought of it; for
I am very anxious to hear of her myself. But, stop a mo-
ment, I will get you something for her that may be useful,

44 TIr Xs381ALS wnR-IoT. 1
as it is not likely that Mrs. Scott has any herself." So saying,
he went up to his wife, and asked her for a pot of black cur-
rant jelly, of which a country clergyman's wife always takes
care to have a good supply, for the benefit of her poorer neigh-
bours. John had got this carefully packed by Nelly in a
wicker basket, and set out at a good pace after Mr. Arm-
strong. As he walked along, he could not help reflecting in
what very different circumstances he had walked that very
road only three days before. Dear me," said he to himself,
"who could have thought that so very happy a day should
have produced such melancholy events? Here are we all in
sickness and anxiety, instead of singing and conversing so
pleasantly as we then did. I may just as well be at the hill
now, as with the minister; for, even though Miss Helen should
get well (which I hope and trust she will), there can be no
long walks for a great while again. I remember, when I had
this troublesome disease, I was not able to run about strongly
for nearly three months." As he passed by Mr. Elliott's cot-
tage, he gave it a look, and said: Well, I wish Miss Helen
could live at that pretty place, when she grows to be a woman;
but I don't see how it can well happen, unless indeed Master
William should become a great man (as why should he not?
He is my master's own son; and he is surely the best man in
Eskdale); then, to be sure, he may very likely buy the farm
to please his sister, and live at it with her: Oh, dear! how I
should like to see that day."
With such like airy castle building, John amused himself
till he reached Mr. Scott's, where he heard that Marion still
continued very ill: I am so glad you have brought us the
jelly," said Mrs. Scott, for her throat is very sore, and our
own minister's family are all gone to Edinburgh. The General
Assembly is coming on, and he is a member this year." The
General Assembly is a meeting of clergymen, chosen from the
different districts of Scotland. They assemble at Edinburgh

i m1 i .a w.B *aot. 1
once a year, to judge and determine on the church affairs that
are brought before them from all parts of the country.
John only waited to hear how Marion was, and then, with
a sorrowful heart, was about to depart, when he saw Mr. Scott
coming towards him. Mr. Scott had a bunch of cuttings from
the hothouse plants, in his hands, and, holding them out to
John, said: Here, younker; you may have these, if you like
the trouble of carrying them; and, if you take pains and put
them into pots, they will grow and be very pretty; but you
must water them regularly, and in cold weather keep them
within doors. I dare say Mrs. Martin will thank you for
them. If you will step with me into the tool-house, I will
give you some pots; for perhaps there may not be any at the
minister's house."
John very thankfully accepted this offer, and Mr. Scott,
puttinghalf-a-dozen within each other, contrived to stow them
in the wicker basket. It first the delight which John ex-
perienced at bringing home such a treasure, prevented him
from feeling the great weight of the basket; but he had not
walked far before he was obliged to put it down and stop to
rest. He took it up again, but the farther he walked the
oftener was he obliged to stop; for Mr. Scott had considered
rather the size of the pots his plants required, than the strength
of the carrier. Oh, dear!" said John, at last, I do believe
I shall be kept as long upon the road, with this heavy basket,
as Archie Kerr was in going to Langholm. What shall I do
with it ? I cannot be so very ungrateful as to leave it om the
road, after Mr. Scott has given me the pots; and how I shall
get it home, I am sure I do not know. It will be dac night
before I can reach the Manse."
Just as he took his load up to proceed a little farther, he
heard the voice of some one singing near the spot where he
was; he listened, and thought it came from the river side;
but the trees that grew in that direction prevented him from

seeing. He therefore put down his basket, and ran across the
road, to try if he could discover whether it was any one he
knew; and, to his great delight, found it was Tom, David
Little's son. Tom, as soon as lie saw John, skipped up to
him, and shook hands most cordially. I am so glad to see
you," aid he, for you will tell Miss Helen that my chickens
are all alive; and mammy says, if they live another week, I
shall then be pretty sure of rearing them, if I take care always
to shut them up at night, to prevent the fox from getting at
them. They are nasty, greedy, cruel creatures, these foxes,
and mammy says, I cannot be too watchful to preserve my
chickens from them; for they are very cunning, and always
ready to seize the first opportunity of snapping up any thing
that is left in their way." John agreed that all Tom said was
quite true ; for lie remembered lie had suffered himself from
their depredations, having had a whole brood of young ducks
devoured in one night, when he lived near Langholm. He
then told Tom the distress lie was in about his basket. Tom
immediately cried: "Oh, I'll tell you how we will manage.
Do you take out three of the pots, and give them to me, and
I'll carry them as far as the Manse, for my mammy will not
expect me home for two hours. She bade me go out and give
Colly a walk; for he is quite stupid, and even ill, for want of
his usual exercise on the bills; so I thought I would come
down the glen and see the place where my daddy fell; and
do you know the sensible beast ran directly up to the place,
and lifted up in his mouth my daddy's whip, which had been
left there, I suppose, ever since that terrible night. Look at
it. It is a good whip, and my daddy will be glad to have it
back again; for he gave a shilling for it the last time he went
to Langholm with his master's cart; and sorely he grudged
the price, but he was obliged to have it, for he could not drive
the cart home without it." Well," said John, "if you really
think, Tom, that your mammy won't be frightened at youi

Trff RasDALL HitaD-Bor.
being so long out, I shall be much obliged to ycn to help me
with my load; and I shall perhaps be able, some day, to do
yvo a favour, when you stand in as much need of assistance as
I do now."
Having divided the load, they found they could now very
easily get along; and they went on chatting, till all at once
John recollected the measles. My dear Tom," asked he,
" pray tell me, have you ever lad the measles 1"
No,' replied Tom, '* I have never had them, and mammy
is very particular in telling me never to go into any of the
houses in the glen when they are there. All the children
roiuin: us had them last summer, but mammy never let us go
down the steps till they were quite gone, and so we escaped:
but why do you ask ?"
John was silent for a minute, thinking how nearly he had
led the poor little fellow into a danger his mother had taken
so much pains to guard against; lie then said: Tom, we
must stop, and you must go home directly. I dare say I shall
manage to get the basket home some way or other; but you
must on no account go near the Manse. Miss Helen has got
the measles, and is very ill. Beildes," continued John, "poor
Marion Scott has got them very bad indeed, and I think you
had best go home directly and tell your mammy, for the dis-
ease will soon spread all around, and I think you will be safest
up the steps at this time, as you were last summer." I shall
not like that at all," said Tom, I was so tired living up
there. I was just as Colly i., and I dare say it will be the
sanie now; but, however," continued le, I believe, John,
you are right; for it woull never do for any of us to be ill
when my daddy is in the bed, and we are obliged, till he is
better, to sleep on some straw, in the inner rmoim, that we may
not disturb him. But tell Miss Helen all about the chickens,
and that I am very sorry to hear she is ill. Good bye to you
I hope you may meet somebody else who has had the measles,

and then they need not be afraid of helping you home with
the basket."
John was really glad when he saw Tom fairly gone. The
consequences of the poor child catching the disease, at this
time, appeared to him dreadful; and he began to think how for-
tunate he had been in recollecting the measles before he had
brought him into the Manse. With this comfortable reflection,
John trudged on with the basket, and, occupied with his own
thoughts, lie did not feel the weight so overpowering as he
had done before he met Tom; he was, however, obliged at
last again to stop. As he was resting himself, he saw a girl,
about twelve years old, running down the holm towards him.
When she came up, she said: "You don't know me, John
Telfer; but I am Peggy Oliphant, Mr. Elliott's herd-girl, that
lives up in that cottage, (pointing to the very cottage John
had been planning for master William,) and Tom Little, whom
I met as I was coming down, asked me to run forward and
help you with your basket, for I am going as far as Langholm,
on an errand of my mistress; you need not be afraid to let
me go to the Manse, for I have had the measles, and so have
all my master's children; we all had them last year."
Thank you, Peggy," said John; it is very kind of you,
and very attentive in such a little boy as Tom, to think of me
and my basket; I am sure I shall be glad of your assistance,
for I am quite tired." Oh," answered Peggy, I shall do
it with the greatest pleasure, that, or any thing else, for any
one that belongs to our good minister: I was sore vexed to
hear that Miss Helen is so bad. But have you heard the
news?" "'No," answered John; what is it?" As I was
taking away the breakfast things this morning, Nanny being
busy about something in the kitchen, I Leard my master seed
in the paper, that Captain Elliott, your mistress's brothel, had
been fighting with a French frigate, and had taken her; and
that he had brought her into some port in England, but I fi.

get the name. My master said he was glad of it, for the cap-
tain was a brave fellow, and an honour to the name of Elliott;
and my mistress said, now Mrs. Martin will get a sight of her
only brother; in the lust letter he wrote to her, he promised
that the first time he came into port he would endeavour to
get leave of absence, to come down and see his old mother,
from whom he has been absent now for ten years."
"This is news, indeed, Peggy," replied John. I am
sure I wish it may he true. I only hope lie may not come
before Miss Helen is Letter, for that would spoil all my mis-
tress's pleasure." Peggy and John i ent chatting along till
they reached the Manse, when they parted, John thinking her
for the assistance she had given him in carrying the flower-
As soon as he got in, lie went and tapped at the study-door.
Come in, John," said Mr. Martin; I heard your voice in
the kitchen. Pray, how is Marion?" Very bad, indeed,
sir. Mrs. Scott said she had not slept all night, and was quite
delirious this morning. Mr. Armstrong said that lie hoped
the measles wouhl he fully out by the evening, and he thought
she would then be better." After John had finished deliver-
ing his message, he stood still, and seemed hesitating whether
tJ go or remain. Mr. Martin at last observed this, and asked
him if le had any thing more to say. Why, yes, sir, if I
thought that it would be right to tell you what I have heard;
but as it was only Peggy Oliphant that told me, I am afraid
it may not be true, as, I think, you or my mistress would have
had a letter yourselves, if the news had been really what she
says." What is it, my dear, that you have heard? Peggy
Oliphant's news, I think, cannot be of any great consequence."
Yes, but it is, sir, should it be tiuc; for she says her master
read in the paper this morning, that Captain Elliott has taken
Freah ship, and has brought her safe to England." "That
- ladeed important, John, and I must lose no time in eer-

training the truth of it. Have you mentioned this story to any
one but me ?" No, sir, not a word ; I thought it best to
come and tell it you directly." "That is right, my man;
now you must promise not to tell any other person a word of
the matter till I return ; I shall go up to Mr. Elliott's and see
the paper myself, before I say any thing to my wife, lest it
should prove some mistake of Peggy Oliphant's."
Mr. Martin set out immediately for Mr. Elliott's, saying
to his wife, he was going to take a little walk. And John,
having asked how liss Helen was, and heard she was con-
tinuing Letter, set about planting his greenhouse slips'. lie
found he had two or three different kinds of geraniums, a rose-
bush, and one or two myrtles. Oh," said he to Nelly, who
stood by while he ilantedl tl.ci, I wi'h they may thrive, I
shall have such pleasure in giving then to Miss Ielen, when
she is better. Do you think the minister would let them stand
in the study-window, if I was to ask him ? for the sun shines
best there, and I will take care not to make any dirt when I
water them in the evening; you know, Nelly, I amn to come
here every night to read to the minister, and I can water them
then." You come here every night to rend to the minister!
you are surely dreaming, child; what can yon mean?" In.
deed, I'm saying nothing but what he told me himself; and
besides that, he has settled it all with Mr. Laurie; I am
sure it is very kind of him ; but, Nelly, do you know, I am
half afraid to come to hii as a scholar, for when my poor
father used to teach me, I was sometimes very stupid, and
could not understand what he told me ? Now, if I should be
so witl the minister, what will become of me? I cannot ex-
pect him to have the patience with me that my father had;
and if he should be very angy with me, I shall be so fright-
ened I shall wish I had refused his kind offer: it must be a
fearful thing to make the minister angry." It is both a
fearful and a wicked thing," answered Nelly; but tha is

one comfort for you, it is not very easily done. If it really is
is you say, that master, his own self, will condescend to teach
you, John Telfer the bhocnum.ker's son, to read, you must try,
with all your might, to learn as fast as you can, that you may
give him as little trouble as possible. Refuse, indeed, such an
offer! you would have made him angry in good earnest then,
and with some reason. But. ahove all thing*, be obedient,
and do all he desires you." Then, after being silent a while,
she continued, as if to herself: "I should think he might have
had enough of teaching, after all the trouble and sorrow his
own son cost him. I'm sure, if that little violent monkey had
not been sent to school, he would have been the death of my
master. I never wish to hear of his teaching boys again,
they're so unlike sweet Miss Helen: but it is all out of charity,
I see that very well; just like his kind heart."
Nelly proceeded now to prepare for dinner; and John,
after planting his slips, carried tlemn to the green, and set
them all in a row, that Mr. Martin might see them, and give
him an opportunity of a-king his leave to place them on the
outside of his window. He had but just got them all ready,
when, seeing Mr. Martin walking very quick up the lane, he
ran to open the gate. It is all true, John," snid his master.
Captain Elliott has really gained a great victory. It will be
qui'e a cordial to your mistress in the midst of her present un-
ea.iness." So saying, without observing John's plants, he has-
tened into the house, and went up to rejoice his wife's heart
with the good news. Helen was too unwell to be told any
thing of the matter at that time, as her mother was afraid of
agitating her.
After dinner, Mr. Martin observed from his window the
flower-pots standing on the green. Where can these great
flower-pots have come from ?" asked he. Look at them, my
dear; I can't think who has put them there." I am sure I
don't know," said Mrs. Martin, how they came there, but

we can soon ring and ask." Julia was upon the watch, and
as soon as he understood what was wanted, came forward and
made his request. Certainly, my boy, you may place them
where you please; they are very pretty, and I thitk from
their appearance, they are likely to do you credit. Helen will
be very proud of her present; but how did you get the pots?
I really did not know I liad such a thing in the garden?" "
brought them with me from Mr. Scott's," said John. lHe
gave me them with the plants." Why, you surely did not
carry these heavy pots all that long way." No, sir, I cannot
say that I carried them all the way, for Tom Little carried
some of them, until I thought of the measles, and then I sent
him back. Peggy Oliphant helped me down the holm, and it
was then she told me the story of Capt. Elliott." Upon my
word, John, you are a very active little fellow, and deserve
to succeed in what you undertake, you are so persevering; I
only hope I shall find you equally industrious when you begin
your reading lessons with me; you remember, we are to keep
school for the firt time to-morrow evening." Yes, sir, I
shall be sure to remember," said John, as he left the room.

Is tie evening lie took leave of Mr. Martin's family, with a
very sorrowful heart, and set off for Mr. Laurie's. When he
reached the house, the maid bade hiin come in and sit down
near the fire. The other servants began to assemble, and in
about ten minutes the supper was ready. It consisted of boiled
potatoes and whey, the common supper for farm servatt.
Jeannie, the cook, pressed John to eat; He is shy yet, poor
thing; but you need not be afraid, if you are a good boy. Our
master will be very kind to you; and Will, the shepherd is



one of the drollest and best-natured fellows In the dale, and
will keep you laughing all day long, when he goes to the hill
with you. You had best take care of his tricks, however,
for he is very fond of playing them off upon people, but they
are always harmless." Just as she finished this consoling ad-
dress the door opened, and in came Will the shepherd. He
was a stout, sun-burnt, good-looking man of about thirty
years of age, fun and good-nature being strongly expressed in
his face. Ah! have you all begun, and not waited for met
I think that is not very good manners, considering that I am
the life of the company," said lie, laughing, as lie drew his
chair near the table; "and whom have we among us in this
corner, looking so grave? I dare say it is my new herd-boy,
that our master was talking about this morning. Come, man,
cheer up, we shall be merry as grigs to-morrow on the hill.
You'll never have a grave face in my company, I promise you,
long together." I have been telling him, Will," said Jean-
nie," I was sure you would be kind to him, so that be had no
need to be frightened. And indeed," continued she, in a sort
of whisper, who would not be kind to a poor orphan boy
like him ?" "Now, my lad," said Will, "I must try what
you are good for; and send you on your first errand. Run
into the stable for me; it stands on the left hand as you go out,
and at the back of the door you will see a coat hanging up;
put your hand into the pocket, and bring me a whistle you will
find there. I have been making it, Jeannie, for your nephew,
Tom Little; poor fellow, le was very good-natured the other
day, in running down to help me to drive the sheep over the
hill; he is too young yet to be a herd, but if he live he will be
a fine, active, spirited fellow, some day. I promised him a
whistle, and I never break my word."
John found the whistle where Will had directed him to
seek it, and brought it to him. Now, that is a clever fel-
low; and I think the least I can do, In return, is to play you

a tune. I hope you like music; it is the chief pleasure we
shepherds have; and it seems to me that it never sounds so
sweetly as it does up among the hills." So saying, he began
to play a pretty Scotch air upon Tom's whistle. When he
had finished, John, whose eyes were sparkling with delight
(for he did, indeed, like musicc, lost part of his timidity,
and starting up sail: "And did you make that whistle all
yourself?" That I did, my man ; and I am glad it has
made you find your tongue; for I began to be afraid that
master had got a dumbl b"iy for i hc'rd; and that would not
iuit me at all. If I find you a brisk, merry fellow, that can
sing a song, and dance a reel nt tinme-, you .hall have a whist!o
too; and perhaps I may teach you to ninke one yourself; but
itwill all depend upon your good behaviour. Ifyou were always
to look as grave as you did when I fir-t saw you, I don't think
I should ever trouble my head about yu : but we had better
go to bed. Mind that you're ready for me to-morrow morn.
ing: I don't like to be kept waiting."
In the morning, John took good care not to keep Will
waiting; but was up and standing at the door when he made
his appearance. "So you are ready, I see, my lad; that's
well: but take care you continue alert; for the stupid boy,
Sandy Laing, whom we had last, was the plane of my libe;
he was never ready, and somehow lie contrived always to
put me out of humour before we begun our day's work, and
then all went wrong." Will led John across a little wooden
bridge, near the farm, and after walking three miles over the
hills, they came to the place where the sheep were penned.
Another shepherd had been left with the dogs to guard them
through the night, who, immediately after giving up his
charge, setoff to bEd. After letting the sheep out to fe;d, and
giving John all the necessary instructions how to manage both
them and the dogs, which, when well-trained, are of the most
singular importance to the shepherd, Will asked John wbut

THE aSKDALB Hman-nOY. 67
he had brought with him to do all day ? John very innocently
said, he never had thought of doing any thing, but watching
the sheep. Watching the sheep!" cried Will, that to be
sure, you must do,; but, if you take care to direct the dogs
right, they will do that, without giving you much trouble.
It will never answer for you to have nothing hut that to
employ yourselfon. Y u must either bring a book with you,
if you can rend w ell enough, or else you must learn to knit,
or nake a whistle; or, in short, any thing but being idlr.
No herd of mine, that I care a farthing for, shall ever be a
lazy fellow if I can help it; so, it you can keep a secret, I will
tell you one. I have in my pocket some knitting needles and
worsted, which I'll lend you. Knitting is easily learnt, and
you may then help me to work some stockings for David
Little, that met with that ugly accident the other day. When
he begins to go about, he will want stockings to keep his poor
broken leg warm. But you must not speak of this down at
the farm ; mind that, or I shall never trust you again with
any of my secrets; it would spoil all the pleasure of my pre-
sent." Joln promised faithfilly to be silent as to the stock-
ings; and, having accepted tile offer of being taught to knit,
succeeded, as lie was a willing boy, far better than he had ex-
pected himself. "Very well, John," said Will, "you will make
a famous knitter in time; and you will, perhaps, thank Will
Oliver all your life, for having taught you to be so useful.
When you have become expert at it, you may always keep
yourself neat and tidy about the legs, on Sundays and Handsel
Monday. Besides, yon will dance the better, when a wed-
ding contest round; and I should be ashamed, at my wedding,
which will perhaps be sooner than some fiolks know of," added
he, laughing, if ny herd were to dance in any thing but
hose of his own working."
Thus encouraged, John lpersevered ; and, by dinner-time,
lie had learned the stitch perfectly. Meanwhile, the sheep

had wandwd farther up the hill, and Will thought It proper
to follow them; so, sometimes whistling, sometimes singing,
he beguiled the time, till they reached the very top of the
highest hill. When John had got thus far, he was surprised,
on looking down, to see that he was almost directly opposite
to Mr. Scott's, at Craigie Hall. Oh, dear," said lie, what
would I give to know how poor Marion is!" What is that
you are saying, boy ?' said Will; Do you know any thing
of Mr. Scott's family ?" That I do," said John ; and im-
mediately related all that hal passed the day lie had been there
with Mr. Martin. lie hesitated a good deal when lie got to
that part of the story about the spurs but Will, wlio saw
there was some sort of secret in the way, soon contrived to get
it out of him, and laughed so loud and so long at poor John's
mishap, that the latter wa3 vexed at having said any thing
about it. But when Will had had his laugh out, he said:
"Well, John, since you are anxious to hear of Marion, I will
wait for you here ; and you can easily run down the hill.
You will find stepping stones across the river, almost exactly
opposite the house, so that you may go and be back to me in
half anhour. Off with you, my boy, and let me sceifyou can
be trusted." Jobu lost no time in reaching Mr. Scott's, where
he learnt, to his great consolation, that Marion was now doing
well, and that Mr. Armstrong considered her out of danger.
When John returned, Will, making an understood signal
to the dogs, ordered them to bring in the sheep, that they
might be penned for the night; and John, to his surprifsaw
the two dogs instantly set off to execute their ta-k, wilk extra.
ordinary sagacity. The sheep were scattered all about the
side of the hill; and the dogs wore them in (such is the word
used to express this curious operation), by running all round
the outside of the flock, barking, and driving the stragglers
towards the centre, but never hurting one of them ; and tthw,
at length, every sheep was got safe into the fold; the eheheird

merely overlooking his dogs, and giving them, fom time to
time, the necessary word of command. You are surprised,"
aid Will, "to see the dogs understand so well what I ay to
them. They have been well-trained, and are of a particular
breed, common on these hills. I can make them bring me
any one sheep I describe to them out of the flock directly.
We should never be able to bear the fatigue, if we had not
these faithful creatures with us. The going up and down the
hills so often after the sheep, would wear out any man's
strength, long before the day was over. You will soon learn
the way of managing them; and they, in time, will become
accustomed to your voice. At present, they know the sheep,
and will allow no harm to happen to them."
Will now sent John home, as he himself was to remain till
the other shepherd came to his relief. John reached the farm,
when it was nearly dark, and having washed his face and
hands, set out for the Manse. lie found Mr. Martin waiting for
him in the study. Well, John, how do you like herding ?"
asked lie, as his young scholar entered the room. Very
well, sir; much better, indeed, than I expected: the shepherd
has been very kind to me, and shown me every thing I have
to do; and I think, sir, I shall be able very soon to learn the
business." I have no doubt, if you take pains you will very
soon do so; but come, let us begin our evening task." When
this was over, John asked how Miss Helen was. "She is
much better, John; and I hope in a few days, she will be able
to come down and admire your pretty flowers. I really think
they are taking root." John was glad to hear this: and
having watered them, and shaking hands with his friend Kelly,
lie told her le should never again be afraid to encounter his
reading; for," said he, the minister has so much patience,
and explains every thing to me so clearly, that I must be a
dunce indeed not to understand him, and a very bad boy if I
do not take pains to remember what he fays."

John continued this kind of life without interruption for
two months, in the course of which time he had become very
expert in the management of his sheep; and Will was so
much pleased with his diligence, t!.at lie taught him both to
make and also to play upon the anme whistle, on which he
was himself so skilful a performer. John could now play, very
tolerably, the old Scottish air of the Ewe-buchts, Marion !"
a very particular favourite ol'lhi, although Will said he thought
it rather the name than the tune which had ennghlt the boy's
fancy. Hisrending had likewise improved wonderfully. Mr.
Martin hal lent him a common copy of Robinson Crusoe (tor
the elegant one with the plates was too valuable to be carried
to the hill), and this book, which hnd first excited his desire of
learning, now became the constant companion of his leisure
moments. Indeed it would have entirely driven the whistle,
the knitting, and every thing else out of his head, if Will, who
was somewhat prcud of his scholar, had not insisted on his
continuing to work at his stockings some part of every dity,
and to display his progress in music to his fellow-servants
every evening.
Helen and Marion had by this time both recovered, though
Marion was still delicate. T:e latter, however, had found out
that John's sheep grazed very oflen just opposite to her father's
house; she therefore, more than once, made her way across
the water to listen to John's whistle, which she greatly ad-
mired; and she at the same time convinced him that she could
sing, and, according to his taste, very sweetly.
Little offerings of friendship were continually passing, on
these occasions, between the children. Sometimes Marion
would save the fruit which her father was permitted to give
her out of the Hall-garden, and she would carry it over, in a
cabbage-leaf, to shore it with John. lie, in r turn, wishing
to procure a basket for her greater accommodation, got his
friend Will to teach him how to make one, like that which the

shepherds in general use for carrying their provisions to the hill,
and which is shaped somethinglike a pouch, and slungby a strap
over the shoulder. To make the basket the more acceptable,
John filled it with the prettiest mosses that lie could find on
the hills. These mosses are remarkably fire in Eskdale, and
very much in request among the ladies, who ornament their
garden-seats and bowers with them. The frames being made
of a sort of basket-work, the moss, fresh gathered, with the
roots unbroken, is twisted into the frame so as to leave only
the green part visible. Thus they take root, and if carefully
watered, in a very little time have the appearance of having
grown there naturally. They are called fogg houses, and are
very common. Seats and tables are likewise added, as furni-
ture to the fogg house, and for this purpose the most beautiful
moss is always reserved. The greater the variety ofshades the
more it is prized ; and they are sometimes seen, shaded from
the darkest green to the most beautiful rose-colour. This last
colour is the most rare, and is only found on one particular moor,
at the top of a distant hill. John contrived, one afternoon,
to coax Will to take his place with the sheep, and let him go
in search of his much-coveted prize, and having obtained it, he
arranged all the various sorts lie had picked in the basket, taking
care to place the rose-coloured just at the top, and carried it
over to Mr. Scott's.
On John's arrival, it was unluckily damp, and Marion's
mother had desired her not to go out. He therefore peeped
around the house a long time to no purpose, and was at last
obliged to go up and knock boldly at the door, in order to
deliver his present, or he would have had to take it home and
return another day with it, which he thought would be a pity,
as the beauty of the moss would be impaired if immediate pre-
caution were not taken to prevent it. Mrs. Scott opened the
door herself. "John Telfer, I declare!" cried she. "What
can possibly have brought you here so late? I hope no acei.

* arMs mLrA Ma.a,
dent hs happened that you are not gone to the minister? as
usual." No," said John, "there is no accident; the minis-.
tor cou'd not have me to read to-night, for the family are all
occupied with the arrival of Capt. Elliott. lie was expected
to dine there to-day, and I took the opportunity, with Will
Oliver's leave, to go up to the black moor to get some moss
for Marion. She told me she wanted to make a table for her
bower, and I have brought her this, which I hope she will
Oil!" cried Marion, who had been reading to her father,
"what a sight! Did you ever see so much pink moss together 1"
" Indeed," said Mr. Scott, taking the basket out of his hand,
"I have seldom seen so fine a specimen. I think, if you take
pains with your table, it will surpass that which the ladies at
the lodge have made, and theirs is reckoned the most beautiful
in the country. I am sure, John, you must have had a great
deal of trouble and fatigue to get at this. Pray, wile, give the
boy something to eat, lie must be hungry." I don'tmind the
trouble a bit,"said John," if Marion is pleased ; but I can't stop
to eat any thing, for it is growing late, and I must run home as
fat as I can, that I may be in time to play to Will, or he will
be angry, and never let me go again." So saying he ran off,
and scarcely slackened his pace till he reached Mr. Laurie's.

CArPT ELLorrT had arrived at the Manfe. lie was a lue,
good-looking young man, excessively attached to his sister
and her family, and having been absent so long from his na-
tive country, had so much to hear and see, that he eompltely
occupied every moment of their time. Helen was only a ball
In arms when he left the country, but William was beea

three d four years old. After talking to them all sm time,
he turned to Mrs. Martin and mid, But where is y g
Pickle, that I do not see him? My mother wrote me some
thing about his being a violent-tempered boy; but I suppose
it is nothing more than that, having a little more spirit than
his father, you think him a dragon. There never was in the
world, I believe, so even-tempered a man as my good brother-
in-law, anl Helen looks as if she were his own child." While
lie wa speaking, Mrs. Martin became quite grave, and her
brother fancied she changed colour. Her husband, however,
looked pleased at this remembrance of William; and taking
her hand, said: "Come, come, my dear, you must not, by
looking so serious, make your brother fancy William worse
than he really is. The truth is, lie has given us a great deal
of uneasiness by the violence of his temper; but Mr. Iamont,
with whom lie is, at Kelso, writes me word that he has good
hopes of getting the better of the boy's little failings in time.
Me is a most excellent scholar-always at the head of his class,
which is a large one; and, in short, I trust lie will do very well
by and by." God grant you may not be deceived in your
hopes, my dear husbandl" said Mrs. Martin, solemnly; b.t
I have my fears. His little faults, as you call them, we:e
great ones in a boy of his age; at least they appeared in thi. t
light to me. I hope I may be mistaken." The truth was,
William, when a child, had been the idol of his parents
hearts; quick, lively, and entertaining, full of trick and fun,
they had no idea of contradicting him in any of his whims,
they were so amused with what they called his little oddities.
But, in a short time, his mother, who was of a very supe-
rior understanding, thought she perceived symptoms of a
qirit beginning to appear in him of a most alarming ten-
desy. His father, who was indeed the mildest of human
bolg, would* ot believe that there were the slightest grounds
ftsr her fiCns;a for several years he retained that moet dan.

04 Tl UB DAL MuRaD-nMr.
gerous of all errors which parents are apt to fail into, the de.
laying to correct faults under the idea of a child's being toq
young to understand its duties. At last, one morning his
sister, who was three years his junior, happened to take up one
of his playthings, and was amusing herself with it in one cor-
ner of the room, when William, who was looking at a book of
prints lent him by his father, suddenly perceived her, and, in
a very peremptory tone, ordered her to lay it down. Poor
Helen, who was not more than three years old, did not imme-
diately obey him. lie suddenly started up, and, with eyes and
face flaming with rage, caught hold of her and dashed her
poor little head, with all the strength he possessed, against the
wainscot. His father, who was writing. had scarcely observAl
what was going on, till Helen's screams drew his attention.
What a sight met his eyes when he looked towards his children I
Helen lying on the carpet, her head streaming with blood, and
William standing beside her, silent, and frightened at what he
had done! It was the most painful moment that Mr. Martin
had ever endured. It completely opened his eyes to the vio-
lence of William's temper; and from that day, for the next
four years of his life, he laboured indelftigably in endeavour-
ing to control a spirit that was likely to have so pernicious an
effect on his son's future happiness.
It unfortunately happened that, about this time, Mr. Mar-
tin had a very serious illness, which rendered it impossible for
him to continue his instructions and his watchful vigilance.
On this account, Mrs. Martin's mother, who donated on her
grandson, persuaded them to send the child to her; adding, u
an inducement, that he might attend the school at Melrom.
Mrs. Martin very strongly opposed the plan. She knew *lr
son, and she feared the effects of the good old lady's iadd-
gence; but at last, as her husband seemed to fret, and Ym
continually regretting that his boy would forget all he
learned, she was persuaded to send him to his gtadaids-m-

an event which, in all probability, finally fixed the destiny of
William. He remained at Melrose two years, attending the
school regularly, and sleeping and eating at Mrs. Elllot~s.
For the first year, though often very unruly, he yet stood in
some degree of awe both of his master and of his grandmother;
and, on his promising good behaviour for the future, Mrs.
Elliott, very unfortunately, forbore mentioning to his parents,
either by letter or when they paid their annual visit in August,
any of his ill conduct; and as he took care to appear to them,
while they remained, a very good boy, they went home quite
delighted with the thought that he was entirely cured of his
bad habits. In the course of the next year he became so per-
fectly unmanageable, that at last his grandmother, though
greatly unwilling to complain of him, well aware that he
would be removed directly, thought it her duty to impart the
real state of the case to his parents. They hastened their visit
on this account, and went to Melrose a month sooner than they
were expected; and before William had had an opportunity,
by improved behaviour, as he had planned in his own mind
(going home being the last thing he desired)-to induce his
indulgent grandmother to permit him still to remain with her.
On his return to the Manse, his father again began the
arduous task of subduing a temper, which was likely to be of
such fatal consequence both to his own happiness and to that
of all those connected with him. But William was now twelve
years old, and had indulged himself in such uncontrolled li-
berty of spirit for the last twelve months that, though Mr.
Martin tried every means he could devise, endeavouring some-
times to convince his reason, by laying before him the baneful
consequences that must ensue from such conduct, and at other
times by more violent methods, yet he made very little or no
progress towards a cure; so that, at last, Mrs. Martin became
perfectly convinced that, if William remained at home much
longer, the father would be sacrificed for the son, as she saw

that the continued struggle and exertion he was obliged to live
In began materially to affect his health. In this state of affairs
she thought at last of consulting Mr. Lamont, the school-
master at Kelso, under whom her brother had been educated.
He was a man of superior understanding, had long been in
the habit of teaching, and had, as he well merited, acquired
great celebrity. Both Mr. and Mrs. Martin bad a high opi-
nion of his judgment, and knew that, when the truth was fully
laid before him, he would give them his candid advice on what
was best to be done; and Mrs. Martin hoped he would be able
to convince her husband, that it was his duty not to sacrifice
his own health in an attempt which, it was quite evident, could
obtain no success.
Mr. Lamont's answer was, that without seeing the boy he
could not so well judge, and that, as the holidays were just
commencing, he would come over and spend some days with
them at the Manse. He accordingly came, and remained a
fortnight, during which he became fully convinced that what
Mrs. Martin apprehended would infallibly be the case; that
Mr. Martin's health was already injured, and that, if a speedy
remedy were not found, in all probability it would end fatally.
He therefore one morning, when walking out with Mr. Martin,
took the opportunity of some reference which his father made
to William's unhappy temper, to propose to undertake the
charge of him for the next twelve months.
I am well used to all kind of tempers," said he; "and
though William has great and alarming faults to combat, yet
I am not without hope that I shall be nble to succeed in
managing him better than you can. He knows the mildness
and affection of your nature, and most ungenerously takes
advantage of it to torment you, in the hope of wearing you
out, and making you in the end cease to oppose him. It
will be quite a different thing with me; he will find, in my
school, one uniform system of restraint and punishment prw

Tas asIDAiL wnED-uOY. 67
tied towards all those who presume to act otherwise than as
they are directed. No violence or opposition on his part wil
be able to make me yield in a single instance. One stipula-
tion, however, I must insist on making, that no excuse must
avail for removing him from my charge till I can with safety
say that I can trust him from under my own eye." Mr.
Martin said he would talk over the subject with his wife, and
give him an answer next day; earnestly assuring him at the
same time that he fully appreciated the kindness of the offer,
knowing too well that his poor unhappy boy was not a pupil
from whom Mr. Lamont was likely to derive much credit.
" He is, however," added he, a good scholar, and, as far as
his lessons go, you will never have any fault to find. It is his
temper alone that is in fault, at least I hope so; I do not think
there is any thing wrong in the heart." I hope you are
right," answered Mr. Lamont, "my dear sir; but we must
lose no time, for, unless this temper be corrected, it will soon
corrupt both heart and principles."
Next morning, Mr. Martin informed Mr. Lamont that he
found Mrs. Martin so extremely anxious for William's re-
moval that he would very thankfully accept his offer. It was
therefore settled that Mr. Lamont should remain a few days
longer at the Manse, and that Mrs. Martin should mean time
get her son ready to accompany him; which was accordingly
done. William had now been at Kelso nearly a year, and his
conduct, upon the whole, was rather better than Mr. Lamont
had expected; the latter, however, put a decided negative upon
his pupil's visiting either the Manse, or, what he more ar-
dently desired, his grandmother, during the ensuing holidays
-a determination which excited the greatest possible indigna-
tion on the part of William.
A day or two after Captain Elliott's arrival, while they
were sitting at breakfast, Nelly came in and said, "Miss
Helen, a little boy wishes to see you. He has a basket

in his hand; but he won't tell me what is his basines. He
says he must see you your own self." Hebn rose, and
went out to speak with him, wondering who it could be.
When she got to the dod*, she found it was Tom Little.
"Ahl Miss Helen," said the boy, "you see I have kept my
word; I have brought the chicken I promised you; and
mammy thought, as you had company at the Manse, you
would like two; so here they are; and nice plump things
indeed." I am very glad, Tom," said Helen, "to see you
here, and very much obliged to you for your chickens; but I
won't kill them. I shall keep them to lay eggs; for I am
very fond of eggs, though I should not like to give so much
money for them as you say they do at the Hall. Comein, and
let mamma see your pretty present." Tom stepped forward,
and stood at the study-door till Mrs. Martin called to him to
come in. He then exhibited his chickens, and told the com-
pany that their mother laid more eggs than any fowl in the
dale; and that he was very glad to hear Miss Helen say she
would not kill them, as he thought it would be a pity, they
were so very beautiful. Helen said: How lucky it is, mamma,
that Tom has come down here to-day; for I was thinking I
must find time to ride up to his father's cottage with my little
present this morning; and I have so much to do, I did not
well know how to manage it. Now Tom will take it when he
returns, and save me the journey !" She then went up stairs,
and returned with a couple of frocks, of coarse woollen stuff,
which she had made herself, and a little jacket and trousers,
made out of an old coat of her brother's, which she presented
to Tom, telling him that it was for him to wear when he went
to church. The frocks were for his two little sisters; and Mrs.
Martin added an old gown of her own, for his mother.
Tom was in such an ecstasy of delight, that it was with
great difficulty he could be prevailed on to stay to eat some
breakfast, though he owned he had come away before his per-

ridge was ready. Helen, however, insisted on his going with
her into the kitchen, and getting Nelly to supply his wants.
Whilst he was eating, Helen inqiJed after his father. He
is a great deal better, Miss Helen, and begins now to walk
about with the help of a stick. Only think how kind Will
Oliver has been, and John Telfer, that was with you at the
cottage. They came up the glen last Monday evening, and
brought each of them a pair of nice warm worsted stockings
for my father, of their own working. Was not that kind
And Will says that, when I am big enough, he will take me
to be his herd, and teach me to knit stockings just as he has
done John. I should like to be Will's herd better than any
other shepherd's in the dale; he is such a merry fellow, and
so good-natured. He made me a whistle a little while ago,
but I cannot yet play on it so well as John does. Will says
John is very clever, and can do every thing well. I suppose
that is with the minister's teaching. Don't you think it is I"
Helen laughed; but she very much doubted whether the
minister's teaching had much to do with John's playing on
the whistle. When she returned to the parlour, her mother
said: Now, my dear Helen, you must go and pack up your
little parcel, that we may be all ready for our journey early
to-morrow morning.
Your uncle and I are going in the stage to Kelso, as he
wishes to see your brother, and I am glad of an opportunity
too, my dear, of seeing William. I think it too long a ride for
you, even in two days; your papa will therefore see you to
your grandmother's, and then, perhaps, join us at Kelso. We
shall afterwards take a chaise over to Melrose, when we have
spent one day with William." "Oh," said Helen, "how
much I wish that poor William could be with us; for, when he
was here, he was always speaking of uncle Elliott, and what
he would do when he came home." Then leaving the room,
she soon returned, holding a frock in her hand. "See, mam-

ma," said she, I have trimmed up my frock with a piece of
new ribbon. I think it looks very neat. I am so glad I did
not buy a new dress, instead of the frocks for the poor chil-
dren. How happy they will be when Tom gets home I"
" My dear child," said her mother, they will be happy, I
have no doubt, with your present; but I think you must feel
much more so, from the reflection that you have clothed them
by your own self-denial. I have been very much pleased with
your whole conduct, for you have bought them what was es-
sential, and nothing more; and, at the same time, have tried
to make yourself neat, to please your good grandmother."
" I am glad, mamma, I have pleased you. I am sure I am a
very happy girl;" and she kissed her mamma as she said so.
Two or three years before she would have cried, with the same
feelings that she now had; but Helen was quite cured of shed-
ding tears upon every occasion, and she now only pressed her
mamma qsslyq found the neck, and then ran off to pack up
her parcel, singing all the while, and all the morning after-
In the evening, Mrs. Martin and Captain Elliott proceeded
to Lagholm, to wait for the stage; and early the next morn-
ing, Mr. Martin, accompanied by Helen on her pony, and a
little boy to carry the parcel, left the Manse; and directing
their route across the hills which separate Ekdale from Ewes-
dale, reached the small village of Ewes in time for breakfast.
There was no inn here, but merely a small public house. Our
travellers, however, did not require to go thither, for the cler-
gyman having heard that they intended coming that way, was
upon the look-out for them all the morning. After breakfast,
Helen again mounted, and continued talking on many different
subjects all the way to Moss Paul. The road runs along the
course of the Ewes, between a double range of mountains,
quite green, and covered with sheep; but there is very little
variety in the scenery; and altogether, there being scage a

single cottage to be seen, it has a very desolate appearance.
Moss Paul, where they were fain to stop, is one of the poorest
inns in Scotland. The contrast was so great, from the richly
wooded, cheerful dale which Helen had always lived in, that
she told her father, the mere looking at these hills made her
melancholy; and she was sure, if Melrose was not more lively
than Moss Paul, her grandmamma had much better come and
live in Eskdale altogether. For her own part, she almost
wished herself back again already. After an hour's rest, they
again moved on; and in a little time the country began to
wear a more favourable appearance. They now descended
into the dale watered by the river Tiviot; and passed by several
gentlemen's country-houses, which being seen from the road,
added much to the beauty of the view. Mr. Martin pointed
out to Helen Carlinrigg, the place where, John's song said,
Johnnie Armstrong was executed. Soon afterwards, Helen
beginning to feel fatigued, her father said he thought they had
better stop at the next inn they should come to, and rest till
the afternoon. They were to sleep at the town of Hawick,
and he thought they had plenty of time. Helen at last, with
some difficulty, made out her day's journey; and was very
happy to find herself in a comfortable bed at Hawick. In the
morning, Mr. Martin thought it best she should rest that day,
and not proceed to Melrose till the next day, as she was more
fatigued than he had expected. Mr. and Mrs. Murray, the cler-
gyman and his wife, did all they could to make the day pass
pleasantly. Mrs. Murray walked out with our travellers to-
wards Wilton, to admire the banks of the Tiviot, which are
very beautiful. The country is fertile and rich, and the view
more extensive than any that Helen had ever seen. She
thought it pretty; but still it did not seem to her to equal her
native Eskdale. Next morning she and her .father left Mr.
Murray's early, and reached Melrose to dinner. Nothing
could equal Helen's surprise, when she came in sight of the

Abbey. It is deservedly the most admired relic of Gothic
architecture in Scotland, and has been since celebrated by one
of the first of modern poets, in one of the most beautiful of his
descriptive passages, which Helen, long afterwards, copied
into her album, as recalling to her a scene endeared, not only
by its own beauty, but by the happy days she had spent with
her beloved grandmother. The old lady's house was almost
close to this venerable pile; and the window of the little room
appropriated to Helen, commanded a view in which she could
distinguish all the striking parts of the building, so pie-
turesquely described in the Lay of the Last finstrel.
The moon on the east oriel shone,
Through slender shafts of shapely stone,
By foliaged tracery combined;
Thou wouldst have thought some fairy's hand,
'Twixt poplars straight, the oxier wand,
In many a freakish knot had twined;
Then framed a spell, when the work was done,
And changed the willow-wreaths to stone."

WaHI Mrs. Martin and Captain Elliott arrived at Kelso,
they went direct to Mr. Lamont's. They were received in his
study, by himself and his wife; and William was immediately
summoned to attend them. He was playing at golf (a game
something resembling cricket) on the school-green, and came
in glowing with health and the exercise he had been taking;
his colour, perhaps, a little heightened by the pleasure he felt
in seeing his mother. Mr. Lamont, wishing to give him an
agreeable surprise, had not mentioned Captain Elliott. When
William entered the room, his uncle was perfectly astonished
at his appearance. He was tall, and proportionably stout for
his age; his features almost too regular and delicate for a boy,
and with large sparkling eyes, which spoke the greatest de-

TI2 m2a Uas maESD-or. 70
light and affection for his mother. Altogether, Captain Elliott
thought he had never een so fine a fellow; and could not help
conceiving in his own mind, that what had been told him of
his nephew's disposition must have been greatly exaggerated.
When William had kissed his mother, almost a dozen
times, he suddenly turned and said, But where is my dear
father? I thought he was here also;" and looking in his mo-
ther's face with a transient blush, would he not even come
and see me?" "My dear," answered his mother, "your
father will be here to-morrow or next day; he is gone to
Melrose with your sister. It would have been too far for her
to ride all this long way round, and so he will place her in
safety first, and then join us here; but you take no notice of
this gentleman, who has kindly brought me to see you." I
am sure," said William, "I am very much obliged to you,
sir, and beg your pardon for my rudeness in not speaking to
you before; but really I was so delighted at seeing my mamma,
and thinking about papa, that I did not remember there was
any one else in the room." Your apology quite gains my
forgiveness, William; and so let us shake hands and become
friends. You have few warmer ones I assure you, than I am
inclined to become; who do you think I am, that have come
so far to see you?" William looked some time at hin. There
was a particular expression in Captain Elliott's face when he
smiled, which strongly resembled that of his sister. William
caught it, as he was considering, and instantly sprung forward
to him. It is my own Uncle Elliott, I am sure!" Charmed
by such an artless, affectionate recognition, his uncle pressed
him to his breast with feelings of the warmest affection; and
from that moment an attachment as strong as it was lasting
(for it was broken only by death), took a firm hold of both
their minds.
William, during the two years he had spent with his
grandmother, had been in the constant habit of listening to

the praises of this her only son. He was the beat, the bravest
of men, and there was no wonder that be should have been
the principal subject of conversation between the good old
lady and a grandson whom she so much wished to resemble
him. It was, therefore, the first object of William's ambition
to see this wonderful uncle; and no sooner were his wishes
accomplished than he determined to leave no means untried to
be allowed never to quit him.
He pretty well knew that both his parents would oppose
his going to sea, but he hoped, by a private application to his
uncle, to get him round to his side of the question; and, in
short, he had resolved to gain his point by some means or
other. When Mr. Martin joined them at Kelso, he found
William and his uncle on the best terms possible. He was a
very clever boy, had read a great deal for his age, and, as he
possessed a happy turn for sketching from nature, he had
drawn several of the beautiful scenes near the junction of the
Tweed and Tiviot. The venerable abbey of Kelso, too, though
not so light and elegant a structure as that of Melrose, had
also furnished exercise for his pencil; and he presented his
uncle with a very well-executed drawing of this ancient pile.
These little attentions, together with the constant good-humour
and propriety of behaviour which William was careful to main-
tain in the presence of a relation whom he so much wished to
please, did not fail of their intended effect. Captain Elliott
was absolutely charmed with his nephew, and was almost af-
fronted that neither father nor mother could be prevailed on to
alter their determination of not taking William to Melrose.
Mr. Lamont was decided in his opinion; and therefore they
justly thought that, in fairness to him, they ought noi to yield.
They, however, extended their stay at Kelso to a day longer
than was at first intended.
That day William and his uncle set out on a walk by them-
selves, Mr. and Mrs. Martin being engaged to pay some visits

TEa UaKDL aaND-Bor. 76
with Mr. and Mrs. Lament. They were no sooner out of the
town, than William ventured to make known to his uncle his
wish to go to sea with him. Captain Elliott was too much
attached to his sister and her worthy husband to listen for a
moment to this proposal. He combated all his nephew's argu-
ments with the greatest possible gentleness. William, how-
ever, remained perfectly unconvinced; and finding that he
could make no impression upon his uncle by any arguments
he could use, he thought it best to pursue tlU conversation no
further, resolving in his own mind to gain his point in another
way. Indeed he felt it politic to change the subject, as his
passionate temper was within a hair's-breadth of displaying it-
self; and he was well aware that this would not tend to accel-
erate his views. He therefore began talking on different
subjects, and managed matters so well, that his uncle, who
had observed his heightened colour, and was prepared for a
gust of passion, was quite convinced he had now gained a com-
mand over the only failing he had ever heard he possessed.
When they returned home, Captain Elliott took an opportu-
nity of congratulating his parents on what he had observed,
but be did not mention the subject which had given him an
opportunity of noticing the improvement.
On taking leave the next morning, his uncle shook hands
with William, saying he should expect him to be a constant
correspondent. "Oh, certainly," answered William; "but
that is well thought of, pray give me your address in Lon-
don, for I shall have plenty of time to write to you in the va-
cation; and since I must remain here, it will be the greatest
amusement I can have." I am glad, then," answered Cap-
tain Elliott, that I thought of it; here is my address," giv-
ing him his card, and here is something to buy paper and
pens (slipping a guinea into his hand). The oftener I hear
from you the better I shall be pleased."
After spending a very happy fortnight at Melrose, old Mrs.

Elliott's visitors were obliged to take their leave, Captain
Elliott having to join his ship by the middle of September.
Helen found the journey home more pleasant than her first
excursion across the hills, but when she came in sight of her
native dale she exclaimed, Oh, my dear papa, there is no-
thing after all like our own dear home, in the whole world 1"
Her father smiled, and said: "Long may you think so, my
sweet child. Had I the power of choosing for you, I should
wish you never toleave it; but, as that is not the case, you
should accustom your mind to contemplate the possibility of a
change, and always remember, that the foundation of happi-
ness in this world, is to reconcile our minds to the events which
the great Author of our being thinks fit to bring about, and
endeavour to be contented in whatever situation we may be
Captain Elliott remained only a couple of days at the
Manse; the parting was a melancholy one. He expected to
be sent to India, where he was sure to remain at least six
years. He had heard twice from William since leaving Kelso;
and, at his departure, he put a letter into Helen's hand di-
reeted for her brother, which he desired her to be sure to for-
ward by the next day's post. I promised him, poor fellow,
that I would not fail to let him hear from me the very day I
left Eskdale, and I must keep my word." Then, shaking his
sister's hand, he added: "I prophesy that William will be
both an honour and a comfort to you yet, for all his trifling
faults and imperfections."
About a week after Captain Elliott had left the Manse, the
family were sitting at tea, conversing very comfortably to-
gether, when the study-door opened, and, to their astonishment,
Mr. Lamont walked in. All expressed their surprise at so
unexpected a visitor; Mrs. Martin alone sat still, her eyes mixed
on Mr. Lamont's face, dreading what she was to hear. Mr.
Lamont, however, spoke cheerfully, and, after looking round


the room, sat down, only saying a little private business re-
quired him to come unexpectedly into Eakdale. Mrs. Martin
was not satisfied; she remained silent a few minutes, and then
said: Mr. Lamont, I know something has happened; tell me
at once what it is-I cannot be deceived; this state of suspense
is intolerable." Madam, I find it is impossible to blind the
eyes of a mother so anxious and so attached as you are; Wil-
liam has given me a little uneasiness, but I hope there is no
occasion for serious alarm." He was proceeding, when he
perceived Mr. Martin almost gasping for breath; he handed
him a glass of water; when Mr. Martin had drunk it, he
paused for a minute, and then said: "Pray, Mr. Lamont, pro-
ceed; I am prepared now to hear what you have to tell us."
Mr. Lamont then went on to say that, from the time they had
parted from William at Kelso, he had observed a most remark-
able change in the boy. He no longer opposed any thing he
was desired to do, however disagreeable it might be to him;
he was never out of his place; his lessons were always attended
to; in short, he had flattered himself that an impression had
been made on the boy's mind which promised to be lasting.
" About a week ago," continued Mr. Lamont, I observed
him to be uncommonly grave, and once or twice he complained
of a headache, and asked leave to go to bed earlier than his
usual hour. Mrs. Lamont, upon one of these occasions, being
anxious about him, went into his room to inquire how he was
before she retired to bed. He told her the next morning he
was much obliged to her for her attention, but that she had
awakened him by the light of her candle, and he had not been
able to sleep any more all night. Last Friday evening he
complained in the same way of his head, and went to bed,
saying, as he left the room, Pray, madam, don't awake me
to-night, if you please, for my head aches more than usual.'
Accordingly, when we went to bed, we did not go into his
room, but only, in passing, shut the door gently, observing, it


was odd he had left it open when he was so much afraid of
noise. Next morning, when the school assembled, William
did not make his appearance. I became alarmed lest his head-
ache had increased, or been the forerunner of some other com-
plaint, and I therefore hastened in search of him; when, to my
great dismay, I found his room vacant, and the bed evidently
bearing the appearance of never having been slept in. After
a general search through the house and the town, and making
every possible inquiry of every creature we could meet with,
we heard from a man who had been fishing in the Tiviot the
evening before, that he had seen one of my scholars walking
quickly along the road to Edinburgh, with a small parcel in his
hand, much about the time when William pretended to be
going to bed." Mr. Lamont went on to inform the miserable
parents that, on this information, he had traced William as far
as the end of Princes Street in Edinburgh, but had there lost
him; and though both himself and one of the ushers had con-
tinued their search for two days, they had not yet been able
to get the slightest intelligence of him; that he had then
thought it his duty to come himself to inform Mr. Martin, in
order that they might consult together what was best to be done.

WHrw Mr. Lamont had made an end of his narration, Mrs.
Martin (who had borne up while he was speaking) seemed so
overpowered as to be quite unable to make any remark; she
sighed heavily, and Mr. Lamont thought she would have
fainted. Mr. Martin spoke to her, but she returned no an-
swer; at last they became so alarmed, that, though they by
no means wished to have William's disappearance known,
they thought it absolutely necessary to send for Mr. Arm-
strong. Helen ran and told John (who was just come in for

his usual lesson) to go off directly to Langholm, u he was a
quick messenger, and could be trusted.
When Mr. Armstrong arrived, he deemed it proper to have
Mrs. Martin bled; she then seemed to take more notice, but
still did not speak,-lying perfectly quiet, only sighing often.
Her husband felt that to leave her in this state was impossible;
he was therefore obliged to trust to Mr. Lamont's exertions in
searching for the wretched boy who had been the cuse of all
this misery. The worthy schoolmaster accordingly left the
Manse early the following morning, by which time Mrs. Mar-
tin was in the height of a brain fever, knowing no one, and
screaming every instant for William. Poor Helen now found
the lessons she had been early taught of subduing her feelings,
but too necessary to be put in practice. Her father never
quitted her mother's bedside; and in all probability would
have fallen a sacrifice to the unremitting fatigue and anxiety
he was enduring, had not Helen, with persevering good sense
and composure, far superior to her years, waited on him her-
self, watching every favourable moment to bring him nourish.
ment, and using all the little winning ways she could either
think of, or remembered to have seen her mother employ,
when she thought he required that sort of attention.
A whole fortnight passed thus; Mrs. Martin's disease had
in some measure subsided, but it left her in such a state of ex-
haustion as to give them but very little hope of ultimately
being able to save her life. Her husband, worn out both with
fatigue and misery, almost dreaded to hear her able to ask a
question, for fear that question should be one which he could
not answer, for no accounts yet came of William. Helen was
his only comfort; dreading, even more than her father, lest
some fatal accident had happened to her brother, for the inno-
cence of her own mind did not allow her to think for a moment
that he had intentionally inflicted this misery upon them all,
she had nevertheless the courage to conceal her apprehensions

from her father, and kept continually cheering him, by whis-
pering that she was sure William would be heard of very soon.
One evening, when almost despairing of being able to
comfort him, as he seemed almost ready to sink under his
accumulated misfortunes, a thought crossed her mind, and
she caught her father's arm, saying: My dear papa, what
if William have gone in search of Uncle Elliott's ship?"-
" My darling comforter cried her father, starting from the
chair in which he was sitting, and effectually roused from the
stupor in which he seemed sunk, that thought has never
once occurred to me, and yet it appears by far the most pro-
bable thing that has been suggested; but how can the unhappy
boy ever reach his uncle, without money, and without a
guide?" said he, despondingly. Perhaps, papa," answered
Helen, William was not entirely without money; for I
know that grandmamma sent him a guinea on his birthday,
as an encouragement for the good account you brought her of
his behaviour, and to make up, in some degree, for his dis-
appointment in not coming to Melrose: and uncle Elliott
gave me a guinea when he went, so I think it very likely that
he gave William the same, and thus he would have at least
two guineas; and perhaps he may have saved up some of his
pocket-money besides. It is therefore very probable that he
may have had money enough to pay his passage up to London,
or nearly so, for I heard the housekeeper at the Hall telling
Mrs. Scott one day that it cost her three guineas to come by
the smack; perhaps they might take a little boy for less."
Mr. Martin, struck with the good sense of Helen's reasoning,
folded her to his heart, the tears streaming down his cheeks.
" Yes, my Helen, you are right; William has certainly gone
to his uncle. Whether he will succeed in arriving at his in-
tended place of destination in safety still remains a doubtfll
point, for there are many difficulties in his way; at all events,
my mind is greatly relieved by having some clue to hiscon-

Trh XKDALZ Hnann-NO. 81
duct. I will write to his uncle and Mr. Lament directly; the
one will make every inquiry in London, the other may per.
baps pick up some information at Leith, whither in all proba.
ability he went; Mr. Lament at least may learn what ship,
sailed about that time. Do you sit down here by your mo-
ther, and watch her, while I go and write my letters, for not
an instant must be lost."
Helen sat down as her father directed, her mind dwelling
on the possibility that William was really gone to her uncle.
In thinking thus, she shuddered, and blamed herself for hav-
ing so wicked a thought as to suppose her brother could have
been guilty of premeditated cruelty to such indulgent parents
as they were blessed with. Engrossed with her own thoughts,
she was startled by hearing her mother, in a weak, low voice,
pronounce her name; she listened, and it was again repeated.
It was the first time Mrs. Martin had spoken distinctly from the
commencement of her illness. Helen drew aside the curtain,
and perceived that her dear mother knew her. Mr. Armstrong
had warned her father, in Helen's hearing, to be extremely
careful, whenever this should happen, not to allow her to speak
more than could be helped, and to keep the room as still and
quiet as possible; she therefore stooped down and kissed her
cheek, and then was going to close the curtain. Her mother
looked anxious, and whispered, Not yet:" Helen thought
she said, Your father." Helen immediately answered, He
is writing, mamma, down stairs; he is quite well." Her
mother then endeavoured to articulate William." This was
a trying moment for the poor girl; she scarcely knew how to
act; but seeing her mother's eyes watching her, she said,
" We hope, with uncle Elliott; but, mamma, I must not
speak." She had said these words so low, that her mother
had only heard the sound of her brother's name, and therefore
believed Helen had said William was really with him; she
raised her eyes to heaven, and seemed inwardly to thank God:

no more was said, and she remained quite quiet. From that
moment it was evident that she was gaining strength, but so
slowly as to be scarcely perceptible. Her little girl now be-
came almost her only nurse: none administered her medi-
cines, none shook her pillow, none understood her looks so
well and so quickly as Helen. Her father, who was constantly
in the room with them, watched his darling's attention with
the most lively feelings of delight, and thanked God he was
the father of such a child.
Two days after Mr. Martin had written to Capt. Elliott,
Helen came up into her mother's room in the morning. She
opened the door very gently, and made a sign for her father to
go down stairs; she then sat down by her mother, and endea-
voured to compose herself. This was no easy task, but feeling
it to be necessary, she had the resolution to sit quietly for
nearly half an hour, without ever showing the slightest impa-
tience, though she knew there was not only a letter from her
uncle below in the parlour, but likewise, she firmly believed,
one from William himself. It was a great trial of patience for
a girl little more than eleven years old; but Helen's mind
was so habituated to be ruled by reflection and duty, that she
acted entirely as she thought her mother would have done
under similar circumstances.
Her father at last came up stairs; he seemed very much
agitated, and, as if afraid to speak, he pointed to Helen to
leave the room. She almost flew down stairs into the study,
where lay the two letters on the table, which her father had
placed there for her inspection, a confidence she had well
earned by her dutiful and affectionate conduct.
Capt. Elliott informed Mr. Martin, that on calling at his
agent's one morning, he was told that a boy had been inquiring
for him the day before, and that they had given him his ad-
dress on board the Amazon frigate, at Chatham. Upon asking
still further, he was told that the boy was a genteel-looking

lad, and one of the clerks remarked that he spoke with the
Scottish accent. I know not," continued he, what put it
into my head, but William rose to my thoughts. I believed it
next to impossible that it could be he, yet I felt a sort of un-
easiness, which induced me to return to Chatham that night,
contrary to my intention in the morning. On going on board,
I made inquiry whether a lad of that description had been
there. The lieutenant, who commanded in my absence, said,
' Yes, he has been here, sir, but he would neither wait for
your arrival nor give his name, but promised to call again to-
morrow morning.' I really could not sleep for anxiety that
night, as the description which I received from all who saw
him almost confirmed my suspicions. I gave orders to be in-
formed the moment he came next day; and accordingly, about
nine o'clock in the morning, I was told he was come alongside.
I desired he might be sent into my cabin, and in a few minutes
William himself stood before me.
I begged to know what was his business with me, treat-
ing him exactly as I would have done a perfect stranger. My
young gentleman was rather confounded with this receptis
at first; but he gradually took courage, and informed me he
had made up his mind, and nothing would alter his deter-
mination of going to sea; that if I was resolved not to receive
hin, nor to allow him to remain in my ship, he would cer-
tainly go on board another, and he had no doubt he would
find other captains who would not reject him. I told him
that his conduct had been so extremely cruel and unfeeling,
that it would be serving him as he richly merited to throw
him off, and let him provide for himself in any way he chose;
and that if he alone were considered, I would certainly do so;
but as his parents were too dear to jmy heart to allow me to
act in this manner, the only thing I felt I could do was, to
write to you information of what had passed, and be entirely
regulated by your answer in what way he should be disposed

of. He has appeared extremely sulky, I am told, ever since
(for he is not permitted to enter my company); but you may
be quite satisfied, I take good care he shall not escape."
Captain Elliott then went on to say that, if he might offer
any advice on the subject, he thought it might perhaps be best
to yield to the boy's wishes of making the sea his profession;
nothing else would satisfy him, and in all probability he would
do better in that line than he ever could now do ashore. He
then finished by earnestly desiring an answer as soon as pos
sible, and by giving his sister every assurance o' his care and
affection for the boy; at the same time," he added, I must
break this disobedient spirit, or he will do no good anywhere;
and it appears to me that the discipline of a ship is as good a
remedy for bad temper as any that can be found."
Helen shed many tears over this long letter. Poor
William!" said she aloud ; lie little knows how nearly he
has been the death of mamma, and how much he has made us
all suffer. Oh! if papa ('oes let him go with my uncle, how
much I wish lie may be allowed to come home and see us all
before he sails; I am sure he can never be happy to go away
for six whole years, without having one kiss of forgiveness
from his dear parents." She then took up the other letter;
it was indeed from William; lie told his father that he hoped
he would forgive him, but that he had quite resolved to choose
the sea for his profession; that, having done so, he despaired
of being able to procure either his or his mother's consent to
it, as he had accidentally overheard a conversation some time
before, in which they both declared that nothing could induce
them to agree to such a thing. He therefore thought it the
best and surest way to proceed as he had done, knowing that
if he lost this opportunity, he would most probably have to go
entirely with strangers, which he supposed would be still more
disagreeable to them than his being with his uncle. Ile had
gone to Leith, and got on board one of the smacks, which was


just sailing as he reached the pier; and finding that his funds
did not allow him to be a cabin passenger, he had gone into
the steerage; in short, he had only one sixpence left by the
time he saw his uncle. Ho finished by imploring their for-
giveness, promising that if they would in this instance gratify
him, he would never again give them the least reason to com-
plain of him.
Helen folded up the letters, and sat for a few minutes con-
sidering their contents. Her own good sense and feelings of
obedience to her parents pointed out to her in how very im-
proper a style her brother wrote; but her love and affection
for William made her try to excuse him. Boys are so dif-
ferent from girls!" thought she, William has been away
so much, too, from home; and besides, he must choose a
profession, and it would be hard not to leave him at liberty
to be what he thinks himself fit for."
In the evening, Mrs. Martin felt herself better, and, for
the first time since her illness, spoke to her husband on the
subject of William. Mr. Martin told her he was with her
brother, and likewise that lie had heard from himself; he then
stated what Captain Elliott had said as to William's being
allowed to remain with him, but owned he was very averse
to this plan. Mrs. Martin answered very calmly: My dear
husband, as far as my judgment goes, I perfectly agree with
my brother. I would not certainly have chosen that William
should be a sailor if I could have prevented it; but, as he has
acted, I think it is the best thing we can now do. He will be
under my dear brother's care; and I shall now," continued
she, looking at her husband with tenderness, "die in peace on
his account, convinced that Elliott will exert every means to
correct and improve my poor boy, the last legacy of a dying
sister." Mr. Martin, quite alarmed by this address, a-ked
her if she felt herself worse, and rose to send for Mr. Arm-
strong. She laid her hand gently on his arm My dearest




love," said she, "I am not worse; but I own I have been
watching for an opportunity to prepare your mind for what I
myself believe to be inevitable; I do not say I shall die im-
mediately, yet I am convinced my constitution is so shattered,
that a very short time will be now allowed me to prepare for
my awful change. I have thought that, by letting you know
what my own opinion is, your mind would be better able to
bear the stroke when it happens, than if it came upon you
suddenly; besides, my beloved husband, I have much to say
to you with regard to Helen. At present I must have done,
my strength will not permit me to continue the conversation;
only write, my dearest love, to my brother, and tell him I
consign my son entirely to his management, and I trust he
will endeavour to guard his father from all future anxiety on
his account; he has cost him quite enough already." The
last words were spoken so low, that they were evidently not
meant for her husband's ear.
He had remained quite motionless all the time she was
speaking. When she ceased, he became almost convulsed
with agony for some minutes; but a violent burst of tears
relieved him, and most probably saved either his reason or his
life, or perhaps indeed both. Helen's coming into the room
shewed him the necessity of composure; and hastily passing
her, saying he must send answers to his letters, he left the
room, and shut himself up in his study, there to implore com-
passion from a Being, who is never deaf to the petitions of the
humble and sincere believer.
A few days shewed plainly that Mrs. Martin knew her
own situation but too well; she appeared gradually, though
slowly, sinking. One evening, she asked her husband to raise
her up a little; and then, desiring Helen to bring her pen and
ink, she insisted on being allowed to write a few lines. "I shall
write very little," she said, but it is a duty that must not be
longer delayed." She tlhn wrote what appeared to be only

a short note, which she sealed, and addressed to William; and,
putting it into her husband's hand, said, Send this, my love,
when all is over, notbefore. It may comforthim,poor fellow;
he will require comfort then."
Mr. Martin now felt it his duty to inform his dear Helen
of the state her mother was really in, but it was some time
before he could gain sufficient courage to break the matter to
her. One evening, however, seeing his wife worse than usual,
lie was apprehensive that, should her death take place while
Helen was unprepared, it might have fatal effects upon the
poor girl's health. He therefore followed the latter into her
room, when she went to prepare for bed, and there in the
gentlest manner informed her of the truth. Helen at first was
in such a state of violent grief, that she could listen to nothing
her father said, and indeed for some hours was utterly incap-
able either of reasoning or exertion; but at last, lifting up her
head, and seeing her poor father, pale and exhausted, leaning
over her, she started up, and throwing herself into his arms,
cried: Forgive me, my dearest father, for being so selfish I
I will indulge in this almost criminal conduct no longer.
Leave me for a few minutes; you may trust me; I will then
join you, and endeavour to perform my duty, both in attend-
ing the last moments of my beloved mother, and in being a
comfort, not a burden, to my equally dear father." Mr.
Martin thought it best to comply with her request, and retired
to try and subdue his own feelings, that he might be able to
attend to his wife.
In half an hour Helen and her father were at Mrs. Martin's
bed-side; she smiled faintly when she perceived them. Hold-
ing out her hand, she thus addressed her husband: My dear,
I wish much to see my mother; pray write for her; she will,
I am sure, gratify me." Mr. Martin immediately left the
room, to send offa messenger to Melrose. Mrs. Martin then
took hold of Helen's hand, and said: My dearest girl, I wish

to say a few words to you, but it must be when you are com-
posed enough to listen to me. I have endeavoured, both by
precept and example, to fortify your mind ; and you will not,
I trust, now disappoint my hopes, of having made you capable
of overcoming your feelings for the sake of those most dear to
Helen, whose heart was almost bursting, pressed her mo-
ther's hand. "Give me a few moments, mamma, and then I
will attend to all you have to say. I will not occasion you
an uneasy thought, if I can help it; you shall be convinced
that your lessons have not been thrown away." She then re-
tired to the window, and in about five minutes returned to
her mother with her features perfectly composed, and sitting
down, said: Now, mamma, if you wish to speak to me, I am
ready." Her mother made no comment, but immediately
proceeded to say, it was her ardent desire that she might be
able to prevail with Mrs. Elliott to give up her house at Mel-
rose, and come and live at the Manse. She, my dear girl,
will best supply my place, both to you and your dear father.
At present, my love, you are too young to take the charge of
the family. My mother is still active, and loves you both
with the truest affection. Should I be so fortunate as to sue-
ceed in settling this plan, I shall be comparatively easy; but
you must proqpiie me, my dear, the most perfect obedience to
her wishes saidirections in every particular, even though
they may appear to you to differ from what you have been
accustomed to receive from me; and if it please God, my
child, you must likewise promise to supply my place to her in
her old age. I need not, my dear, desire your attention and
obedience to your father; on that point I am easy. Your
whole conduct through life, and more particularly during my
protracted illness, has convinced me that I have nothing to
fear herein, and it would be only harassing you to say a word
on the subject; but there is one more point that I must men.

IV- -

tion, I mean your feelings towards your brother. Never, my
own love, allow yourself to dwell a single mnn--ionduet
which may appear to have shortened my life: I b7;igiven
him from my heart, and left him a mother's blefig. take
it my last request to you, that you never will either evibce by
your behaviour, or harbour in your inmost thoughts, the
slightest resentment towards him. And now, my love,'$ con-
tinued she, preventing Helen from speaking, I have only to
add my advice as to your own personal conduct. In all cir-
cumstances be guided by your father's wishes and opinions, so
long as it pleases Providence to spare him to you; and never,
my beloved girl, separate from him or your grandmother
while they require your dutiful attention."
Helen, in a quiet, composed voice, recapitulated every
injunction her mother had given her, and then gave her sacred
promise never to disobey her last commands in thought or
deed. When she had done so, her mother, clasping her in
her arms, gave her in a solemn manner that most precious of
all gifts to a dutiful child, a dying mother's blessing. She
then asked for a little jelly; and, on uer husband's coming
into the room, advised Helen to take a turn in the garden,
and recruit herself by the fresh air. She obeyed, and after a
burst of tears, became composed enough to return to her
mournful duties within doors.
Mrs. Elliott arrived the next day, when Mrs. Martin had
the satisfaction of gaining her consent to give up her house at
Melrose, and to live at the Manse. Mr. Martin assured her
that she should ever be considered by him as his own mother.
His wife joined their hands, exclaiming, My work is finished
in this world; I have now only to look forward to another
and a better." Her work in this world was indeed finished.
The next day, without any apparent change for the worse, as
her mother and Helen were sitting by the bed-side, and her
anxious husband was supporting her in his arms. she laid her


head on his shoulder and seemed to fall asleep: it was some
minute babeh he was aware that she was gone for ever.
T h periAh one of the best and most exemplary of mo-
ther, wholly from solicitude about a son, who, in spite of
all admonition and remonstrance, had allowed the growth
and practice of disobedience for several years to embitter his
parents' lives; and whose headstrong violence and self-will at
last brought the being whom he most loved on earth to a pre-
mature grave I

FOR some time after this melancholy event had taken place,
the family, and indeed all the inhabitants of the dale, were in
the utmost distress. Mrs. Martin had been universally be-
loved by all ranks in the neighbourhood of her residence;
and there was not a single individual for ten miles round,
that did not, in some way or other, evince sympathy in the
minister's affliction.
Helen struggled with her feelings; and this exertion was
of infinite service both to herself and her father, who, struck
by seeing such fortitude in so young a girl, felt it his duty to
encourage her by example, at least in her presence; and
Helen, aware of this, took good care to be with him almost
Her grandmother was perfectly astonished at her conduct;
and took every opportunity of praising her when they were
alone. "My Helen," would she say, "you will be the means,
through the blessing of God, of saving your father's life. I
really feared for him for the first week or two; but he begins
now to look more like himself, and I think, by a continuance
of the same attention and kindness, you will in time reconcile

(U Ts -KDA miK-sr. 0
him in some degree to his loss, and bring him again into his
former habits of employment and usefulness."
On one of these occasions, Helen caught her gmad-
mother's hand, saying, Hush! no more, dei mdaud ; I
cannot hear praise on this subject. I am only ed paewring
to follow the precepts and example of the best aud mot be.
loved of mothers. Her advice, and the solemn promise I
gave her a few hours before her death, are never out of my
mind; but it is a subject too sacred for me to hear it talked
of. No," she added solemnly, straining her clasped hands
across her chest, No I that I cannot bear." Her grand-
mother folded her to her breast, saying, My Helen, pardon
me; I will never distress you on this subject again; we now
perfectly understand each other."
Helen for many months continued the same mild, quiet,
but unceasing attention to her father, who at length had
acquired composure, and even began to smile at his daugh.
ter's little sallies. She had become his pupil in drawing, and
this tempted him to resume their usual walks and rides when
the weather would permit; so that by the end of the summer,
content, and even cheerfulness, had in some degree again
appeared at the Manse. Helen, however, could never bring
her mind to mention her mother's name o any one but her
father; and only to him, from observing that it would deprive
him of the great enjoyment he had in talking of her and her
William had sailed before he heard of his mother's death.
For the present, therefore, he had been spared the punish.
ment of his disobedience; but Mr. Martin had written both
to him and his uncle, and enclosed his mother's last legacy.
Helen likewise had thought it her duty to write to William,
and assure him how kindly and affectionately her mother had
spoken of him before her death, and how much she wished to
impress on both their minds love and confidence in each


other. She then entreated him to write soon, and often, a
their fSthmr was not in a state to bear much anxiety; she
durt not my a word about her grandmother, for the old lady
had positively refused to allow her name to be mentioned to
him, and it evidently gave her pain whenever she heard
Helen and her father conversing about him.
At this time, Mrs. Scott, the gardener's wife .t Craigie
Hall, was obliged, by the sudden illness of her father, to go
to Edinburgh. Her husband was to accompany her, and
leave her there if necessary, but they knew not exactly what
to do with little Marion. Mr. Martin and Helen happen-
ing to call in one of their daily walks, he asked them to
send Marion to the Manse. She will be much better with
us, Mrs. Scott, than left here; and I am sure my daughter
will take care that she attends to all she has learnt from you
during your absence." Helen, also, was quite pleased with
the plan, and pressed Mrs. Scott to agree to it. I am sure,
sir," said Mr. Scott, "my wife can have no objection, unless
it be the thought of giving you and Miss Helen trouble: but
Marion is a good little girl, and will trouble you as little as
possible; so, as you are kind enough to make the offer, sir,
we will gratefully accept it; the being near so good a daugh-
ter, and seeing how she conducts herself, will be of benefit to
her all her life." Accordingly, the next day Marion was
brought down to the Manse by her father; and John was
not a little surprised and pleased to find her established there
when he came in the evening. Marion was but a short while
under Helen's care, when her grandmother saw the latter was
of the greatest use, both to her health and spirits; she was a
tractable child, with a very feeling heart. She had heard
from her parents the constant praises of Miss Martin's con-
duct, from the time of her mother's death, and Marion fan-
cied her the first of human beings; she therefore had the
greatest ambition to please her. She watched even her look,


to anticipate what she thought might be her wishes; and if
ever a cloud of sorrow came over Helen's face, Marion, by
some little winning attention, endeavoured to ditrt her
thoughts into a different channel. After remaining at the
Manse nearly three months, she returned home, to the great
regret of all the family; from that time, however, she was
a constant visitor, and a sincere attachment was established
between her and Helen, which had lasted all their lives.
Very little change took place in the dale after this for
the space of several years. Mr. Martin had in some degree
recovered his health and spirits; but a shock had been given
to his nerves, which rendered him more delicate, and to
require more care than before; nor was it likely, Mr. Arm-
strong said, that he would ever be otherwise. Mrs. Elliott
still enjoyed good health, though from rheumatism she was
obliged to live more within doors. Helen was their comfort
and support; she was now fast approaching womanhood, aad
never was there a more amiable creature: her mother's les
sons and instructions had inded not been throws away.
She had unfortunately known sorrow in early youth, but it
had acted upon her for good, in teaching her the proper reg-
lation of her mind, and she now felt the comfort of this, in
being the friend and confidant both of her father and grand.
John had gone on under Will the shepherd, performing
his duty as a servant in the day, and improving his mind
with Mr. Martin in the evening; for though he had learned
all that was necessary for him to know, yet Helen encouraged
his constant attendance in the study, as she thought it amused
her father's mind. Job was now becoming a stout lad,
almost too big for a herd-boy; and on some occasion, when
Mr. Martin happened to mention that he thought he must
begin to consider whether he meant to be a shepherd all his
life, John answered directly, No, sir; not if I can help it;"

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