liberal salary. He advises me to push my way to the bar, and kindly
promises his assistance. I shall follow his advice, and I despair
not but I may one day solicit the hand of the only woman I ever
have loved, or can love, from her father, as his equal. I am, sir,
yours, indebtedly,

"ALEX. RUTHERFORD."

Now, sir (continued the dominie), about three years after I had
received this letter, my old scholar was called to the bar, and a
brilliant first appearance he made. Bench, bar, and jury were lost in
wonder at the power o' his eloquence. A Demosthenes had risen up
amongst them. The half o' Edinburgh spoke o' naething but the young
advocate. But it was on the very day that he made his first appearance
as a pleader, that I received a letter from Mr. Crompton, begging to
know if I could gie him ony information respecting the old tutor o'
his family, and stating, in the language o' a broken-hearted man, that
his only daughter was then upon her death-bed, and that, before she
died, she begged she might be permitted to see and to speak with
Alexander Rutherford. I enclosed the letter, and sent it off to the
young advocate. He was sitting at a dinner-party, receiving the homage
of beauty and the congratulations of learned men, when the fatal
letter was put into his hands. He broke the seal--his hand shook as he
read--his cheeks grew pale--and large drops of sweat burst upon his
brow. He rose from the table. He scarce knew what he did. But within
half-an-hour he was posting on his way to Cumberland. He reached the
house, her parents received him with tears, and he was conducted into
the room where the dying maiden lay. She knew his voice, as he
approached.

"He is come!--he is come! He loves me still!" cried the poor thing,
endeavouring to raise herself upon her elbow.

Sandy approached the bedside--he burst into tears--he bent down, and
kissed her pale and wasted cheeks, over which death seemed already to
have cast its shadow.

"Ann! my beloved Ann!" said he; and he took her hand in his, and
pressed it to his lips; "do not leave me--we shall yet be happy!"

Her eyes brightened for a moment--in them joy struggled with death,
and the contest was unequal. From the day that he had been sent from
her father's house, she had withered away, as a tender flower that is
transplanted to an unkindly soil. She desired that they would lift her
up, and she pl