he vacant chair. But, as the younger branches of the
family advanced in years, the remembrance of their brother became less
poignant. Christmas was, with all around them, a day of rejoicing, and
they began to make merry with their friends; while their parents partook
in their enjoyment, with a smile, half of approval and half of sorrow.

Twelve years had passed away; Christmas had again come. It was the
counterpart of its fatal predecessor. The hills had not yet cast off
their summer verdure; the sun, although shorn of its heat, had lost none
of its brightness or glory, and looked down upon the earth as though
participating in its gladness; and the clear blue sky was tranquil as
the sea sleeping beneath the moon. Many visitors had again assembled at
Marchlaw. The sons of Mr. Elliot, and the young men of the party, were
assembled upon a level green near the house, amusing themselves with
throwing the hammer, and other Border games, while himself and the elder
guests stood by as spectators, recounting the deeds of their youth.
Johnson, the sheep-farmer, whom we have already mentioned, now a brawny
and gigantic fellow of two-and-thirty, bore away in every game the palm
from all competitors. More than once, as Peter beheld his sons defeated,
he felt the spirit of youth glowing in his veins, and, "Oh!" muttered
he, in bitterness, "had my Thomas been spared to me, he would hae thrown
his heart's bluid after the hammer, before he would hae been beat by
e'er a Johnson in the country!"

While he thus soliloquized, and with difficulty restrained an impulse to
compete with the victor himself, a dark, foreign-looking, strong-built
seaman, unceremoniously approached, and, with his arms folded, cast a
look of contempt upon the boasting conqueror. Every eye was turned with
a scrutinizing glance upon the stranger. In height he could not exceed
five feet nine, but his whole frame was the model of muscular strength;
his features open and manly, but deeply sunburnt and weather-beaten; his
long, glossy, black hair, curled into ringlets by the breeze and the
billow, fell thickly over his temples and forehead; and whiskers of a
similar hue, more conspicuous for size than elegance, gave a character
of fierceness to a countenance otherwise possessing a striking impress
of manly beauty. Without asking permission, he stepped forward, lifted
the hammer, and, swinging it around his head, hurled it upwards of five
yards beyond Johnson's most succes