ffect of new mournings--a luxury to them
hitherto unknown. Mrs. Douglas and Mary were differently affected.
Religion and reflection had taught the former the enviable lesson of
possessing her soul in patience under every trial; and while she
inwardly mourned the fate of the poor old man who had been thus suddenly
snatched from the only world that ever had engaged his thoughts, her
outward aspect was calm and serene. The impression made upon Mary's
feelings was of a more powerful nature. She had witnessed suffering, and
watched by sick-beds; but death, and death in so terrific a form, was
new to her. She had been standing by her grandfather's chair--her head
was bent to his--her hand rested upon his, when, by a momentary
convulsion, she beheld the last dread change--the living man transformed
into the lifeless corpse. The countenance but now fraught with life and
human thoughts, in the twinkling of an eye was covered with the shades
of death! It was in vain that Mary prayed and reasoned and strove
against the feelings that had been thus powerfully excited. One object
alone possessed her imagination--the image of her grandfather
dying--dead; his grim features, his ghastly visage, his convulsive
grasp, were ever present, by day and by night. Her nervous system had
received a shock too powerful for all the strength of her understanding
to contend with. Mrs. Douglas sought by every means to soothe her
feelings and divert her attention; and flattered herself that a short
time would allay the perturbation of her youthful emotions.

Five hundred persons, horse and foot, high and low, male and female,
graced the obsequies of the Laird of Glenfern. Benenck was there in his
new wig, and the autumnal leaves dropped on the coffin as it was borne
slowly along the vale!

CHAPTER XXVII.

"It is no diminution, but a recommendation of human nature, that, in
some instances, passion gets the better of reason, and all that we can
think is impotent against half what we feel."--_Spectator._

"LIFE is a mingled yarn;" few of its afflictions but are accompanied
with some alleviation--none of its blessings that do not bring some
alloy. Like most other events that long have formed the object of
yearning and almost hopeless wishes, and on which have been built the
fairest structure of human felicity, the arrival of the young heir of
Glenfern produced a less extraordinary degree of happiness than had been
anticipated. The melancholy event