th to the Lord. We belong to the furnace which
trieth gold; not to the refining-pot of the Old Church, which is for
silver."

"Ah, well! God's judgment was soon executed. The ship was recognised and
hailed long before she arrived at Bombay. A crowd of black devils
boarded her, seized Fletcher, and dragged him on shore. Not an instant
was lost. Trial was a laughter. They danced round in joy, making the
very Brahma hear their orgies. Four horses, ropes, victim between two
and two, whip, yell, and Fletcher is in four quarters.

"Nor did they end here. They had forgotten the white wife. She
too--justice demanded it. They did not ask why; but the sailors had
suspected what was going on; and when they saw the devils coming back,
they put Mrs. Fletcher into a big basket, and hoisted her to the
top-mast. The poor woman could see from that height the mangled remains
of her husband; but she was an extraordinary woman. She kept her place
composedly as she heard the yells of the demons. They could not find
her, and went away like wild animals deprived of their bloody prey. The
ship went on. Mrs. Fletcher returned safe to Scotland, where she was
known as the heroine who had gone through so much for the love of a
villain."

The story of Fletcher has died away in Angus; but at one time it was in
every mouth, and many a head was shaken as the Sunday loiterers from
Dundee and Lochee passed by the Cradle in their walks on Balgay Hill. I
have heard that it was demolished as a disgrace to Scotland somewhere
about 1810 or 1812. The hollow where the ruins stood is quite visible
yet, and the old circumambulating ghost, which, by-the-bye, has
unfortunately a white face, is not yet laid.

THE DEATH OF THE CHEVALIER DE LA BEAUTE.

It was near midnight, on the 12th of October 1516, when a horseman,
spurring his jaded steed, rode furiously down the path leading to the
strong tower of Wedderburn. He alighted at the gate, and knocked loudly
for admission.

"What would ye?" inquired the warder from the turret.

"Conduct me to your chief," was the laconic reply of the breathless
messenger.

"Is your message so urgent that ye must deliver it to-night?" continued
the warder, who feared to kindle the fiery temper of his master, by
disturbing him with a trifling errand.

"Urgent, babbler!" replied the other, impatiently; "to-day the best
blood of the Homes has been lapped by dogs upon the street; and I have
seen it."

The warder arou