s white hair flying. I was uneasy,
though from his riding I knew he was as yet in command, so I put Goliath
to his best, and having passed through Slateford, I asked a stonebreaker
if he saw a gentleman on a chestnut horse. "Has he white hair?" "Yes."
"And een like a gled's?" "Yes." "Weel then, he's fleein' up the road
like the wund; he'll he at Little Vantage" (about nine miles off) "in
nae time if he haud on." I never once sighted him, but on coming into
Juniper Green there was his steaming chestnut at the gate, neighing
cheerily to Goliath. I went in, he was at the bedside of his friend, and
in the midst of prayer; his words as I entered were, "When thou passest
through the waters I will be with thee, and through the rivers, they
shall not overflow thee;" and he was not the least instant in prayer
that his blood was up with his ride. He never again saw Mrs. Robertson,
or as she was called when they were young, Sibbie (Sibella) Pirie. On
coming out he said nothing, but took the chestnut, mounted her, and we
came home quietly. His heart was opened; he spoke of old times and old
friends; he stopped at the exquisite view at Hailes into the valley, and
up the Pentlands beyond, the smoke of Kate's Mill rising in the still
and shadowy air, and broke out into Cowper's words: Yes,--

"HE sets the bright procession on its way,
And marshals all the order of the year;
And ere one flowery season fades and dies,
Designs the blooming wonders of the next."

Then as we came slowly in, the moon shone behind Craiglockhart hill
among the old Scotch firs; he pulled up again, and gave me Collins' Ode
to Evening, beginning--

"If aught of oaten stop, or pastoral song,
May hope, chaste Eve, to soothe thy modest ear,
Thy springs, and dying gales;"

repeating over and over some of the lines, as

"Thy modest ear,
Thy springs, and dying gales."
"--And marks o'er all
Thy dewy fingers draw
The gradual dusky veil."

And when she looked out on us clear and full, "Yes--

"The moon takes up the wondrous tale,
And nightly to the listening earth
Repeats the story of her birth."

As we passed through Slateford, he spoke of Dr. Belfrage, his
great-hearted friend, of his obligations to him, and of his son, my
friend, both lying together in Colinton churchyard; and of Dr. Dick, who
was minister before him, of the Coventrys, and of Stitchel and
Sprouston, of his mother, and of himself,--his doubts o