of which formed the roof in the
present state of the building. Brown first approached the place from
whence the light proceeded, which was a long narrow slit or loop-hole,
such as usually are to be found in old castles. Impelled by curiosity to
reconnoitre the interior of this strange place before he entered, Brown
gazed in at this aperture. A scene of greater desolation could not well
be imagined. There was a fire upon the floor, the smoke of which, after
circling through the apartment, escaped by a hole broken in the arch
above. The walls, seen by this smoky light, had the rude and waste
appearance of a ruin of three centuries old at least. A cask or two, with
some broken boxes and packages, lay about the place in confusion. But the
inmates chiefly occupied Brown's attention. Upon a lair composed of
straw, with a blanket stretched over it, lay a figure, so still that,
except that it was not dressed in the ordinary habiliments of the grave,
Brown would have concluded it to be a corpse. On a steadier view he
perceived it was only on the point of becoming so, for he heard one or
two of those low, deep, and hard-drawn sighs that precede dissolution
when the frame is tenacious of life. A female figure, dressed in a long
cloak, sate on a stone by this miserable couch; her elbows rested upon
her knees, and her face, averted from the light of an iron lamp beside
her, was bent upon that of the dying person. She moistened his mouth from
time to time with some liquid, and between whiles sung, in a low
monotonous cadence, one of those prayers, or rather spells, which, in
some parts of Scotland and the north of England, are used by the vulgar
and ignorant to speed the passage of a parting spirit, like the tolling
of the bell in Catholic days. She accompanied this dismal sound with a
slow rocking motion of her body to and fro, as if to keep time with her
song. The words ran nearly thus:--

Wasted, weary, wherefore stay,
Wrestling thus with earth and clay?
From the body pass away.
Hark! the mass is singing.

From thee doff thy mortal weed,
Mary Mother be thy speed,
Saints to help thee at thy need.
Hark! the knell is ringing.

Fear not snow-drift driving fast,
Sleet, or hail, or levin blast.
Soon the shroud shall lap thee fast,
And the sleep be on thee cast
That shall ne'er know waking.

Haste thee, haste thee, to be gone,
Ea