eturned home to enjoy his night's rest.

Scarce had he reached his arm-chair, and reclined his cheek on his hand,
to ruminate over the bold adventure of the night, when Clashnichd
entered, with her "breath in her throat," and venting the bitterest
complaints at the unruliness of his horses, which had broken one-half of
her furniture, and caused her more trouble in the stabling of them than
their services were worth.

"Oh! they are stabled, then?" inquired James Gray. Clashnichd replied in
the affirmative. "Very well," rejoined James, "they shall be tame enough
to-morrow."

From this specimen of Clashnichd, the ghost of Craig-Aulnaic's
expertness, it will be seen what a valuable acquisition her service
proved to James Gray and his young family. They were, however, speedily
deprived of her assistance by a most unfortunate accident. From the
sequel of the story, from which the foregoing is an extract, it appears
that poor Clashnichd was deeply addicted to propensities which at that
time rendered her kin so obnoxious to their human neighbours. She was
constantly in the habit of visiting her friends much oftener than she was
invited, and, in the course of such visits, was never very scrupulous in
making free with any eatables which fell within the circle of her
observation.

One day, while engaged on a foraging expedition of this description, she
happened to enter the Mill of Delnabo, which was inhabited in those days
by the miller's family. She found his wife engaged in roasting a large
gridiron of fine savoury fish, the agreeable smell proceeding from which
perhaps occasioned her visit. With the usual inquiries after the health
of the miller and his family, Clashnichd proceeded with the greatest
familiarity and good-humour to make herself comfortable at their expense.
But the miller's wife, enraged at the loss of her fish, and not relishing
such unwelcome familiarity, punished the unfortunate Clashnichd rather
too severely for her freedom. It happened that there was at the time a
large caldron of boiling water suspended over the fire, and this caldron
the enraged wife overturned in Clashnichd's bosom!

Scalded beyond recovery, she fled up the wilds of Craig-Aulnaic, uttering
the most melancholy lamentations, nor has she been ever heard of since.

THE DOOMED RIDER.

"The Conan is as bonny a river as we hae in a' the north country. There's
mony a sweet sunny spot on its banks, an' mony a time an' aft