asurings, and its bit fire, seemed in my
eyes to look douff and gousty.

Whether in the jougging of the cart, or what else I cannot say, but it's
an unco story; for on the road, it turned out that poor Mungo was seized
with a terrible pain in his side; and, growing worse and worse, was
obliged to be left at Lauder, in the care of a decent widow woman that
had a blind eye, and a room to let furnished.

It was not for two-three days that we learnt these awful tidings, which
greatly distressed us all; and I gave the driver of the Lauder coach
threepence to himself, to bring us word every morning, as he passed the
door, how the laddie was going on.

I learned shortly, that his father and mother had arrived, which was one
comfort; but that matters with poor Mungo were striding on from bad to
worse, being pronounced, by a skeely doctor, to be in a galloping
consumption--and not able to be removed home, a thing that the laddie
freaked and pined for night and day. At length, hearing for certain that
he had not long to live, I thought myself bound to be at the expense of
taking a ride out on the top of the coach, though I was aware of the
danger of the machine's whiles couping, if it were for no more than to
bid him fare-ye-weel--and I did so.

It was a cold cloudy day in February, and everything on the road looked
dowie and cheerless; the very cows and sheep, that crowded cowering
beneath the trees in the parks, seemed to be grieving for some disaster,
and hanging down their heads like mourners at a burial. The rain whiles
obliged me to put up my umbrella, and there was nobody on the top beside
me, save a deaf woman, that aye said "ay" to every question I speered,
and with whom I found it out of the power of man to carry on any rational
conversation; so I was obliged to sit glowering from side to side at the
bleak bare fields--and the plashing grass--and the gloomy dull woods--and
the gentlemen's houses, of which I knew not the names--and the fearful
rough hills, that put me in mind of the wilderness, and of the
abomination of desolation mentioned in scripture, I believe in Ezekiel.
The errand I was going on, to be sure, helped to make me more sorrowful;
and I could not think on human life without agreeing with Solomon, that
"all was vanity and vexation of spirit."

At long and last, when we came to our journey's end, and I louped off the
top of the coach, Maister Glen came out to the door, and bad me haste me
if I wishe