t to us all to see the lifeless creature in his white
nightcap and eyes closed, lying with his yellow hair spread on the
pillow; and we went out, that the women-folk might cover up the
looking-glass and the face of the clock, ere they proceeded to dress the
body in its last clothes--clothes that would never need changing; but,
when we were half down the stair, and I felt glad with the thoughts of
getting to the fresh air, we were obliged to turn up again for a little,
to let the man past that was bringing in the dead deal.

But why weave a long story out of the materials of sorrow? or endeavour
to paint feelings that have no outward sign, lying shut up within the
sanctuary of the heart? The grief of a father and a mother can only be
conceived by them who, as fathers and mothers, have suffered the loss of
their bairns,--a treasure more precious to nature than silver or gold,
home to the land-sick sailor, or daylight to the blind man sitting
beaking in the heat of the morning sun.

The coffin having been ordered to be got ready with all haste, two men
brought it on their shoulders betimes on the following morning; and it
was a sight that made my blood run cold to see the dead corpse of poor
Mungo, my own prentice, hoisted up from the bed, and laid in his
black-handled, narrow housie. All had taken their last looks, the lid
was screwed down by means of screw-drivers, and I read the plate, which
said, "Mungo Glen, aged 15." Alas! early was he cut off from among the
living--a flower snapped in its spring blossom--and an awful warning to
us all, sinful and heedless mortals, of the uncertainty of this state of
being.

In the course of the forenoon, Maister Glen's cart was brought to the
door, drawn by two black horses with long tails and hairy feet, a tram
one and a leader. Though the job shook my nerves, I could not refuse to
give them a hand down the stair with the coffin, which had a fief-like
smell of death and saw-dust; and we got it fairly landed in the cart,
among clean straw. I saw the clodhapper of a ploughman aye dighting his
een with the sleeve of his big-coat.

The mother, Mistress Glen, a little fattish woman, and as fine a homely
body as ye ever met with, but sorely distracted at this time by sorrow,
sat at the head, with her bonnet drawn over her face, and her shawl
thrown across her shoulders, being a blue and red spot on a white ground.
It was a dismal-like-looking thing to see her sitting there, with