never weary in watching the thousand varieties
of light and shade, as they flit over the mountain and gleam upon the
lake; and the ear is satisfied with the awful stillness of nature in her
solitude.

Others besides Mary seemed to have taken a fanciful pleasure in
combining the ideas of the mental and elemental world, for in the dreary
dwelling where they were destined to pass the night she found inscribed
the following lines:--

"The busy winds war mid the waving bonghs,
And darkly rolls the heaving surge to land;
Among the flying clouds the moonbeam glows
With colours foreign to its softness bland.

"Here, one dark shadow melts, in gloom profound,
The towering Alps--the guardians of the Lake';
There, one bright gleam sheds silver light around,
And shows the threat'ning strife that tempests wake.

"Thus o'er my mind a busy memory plays,
That shakes the feelings to their inmost core;
Thus beams the light of Hope's fallacious ray,
When simple confidence can trust no more.

"So one dark shadow shrouds each bygone hour,
So one bright gleam the coming tempest shows;
_That _tells of sorrows, which, though past, still lower,
And _this_ reveals th' approach of future woes."

While Mary was trying to decipher these somewhat mystic lines, her uncle
was carrying on a colloquy in Gaelic with their hostess. The
consequendes of the consultation were not of the choicest description,
consisting of braxy [1] mutton, raw potatoes, wet bannocks, hard
cheese, and whisky. Very differently would the travellers have fared had
the good Nicky's intentions been fulfilled. She had prepared with her
own hands a moorfowl pie and potted nowt's head, besides a profusion of
what she termed "trifles, just for Mary, poor thing, to divert herself
with upon the road." But alas! in the anguish of separation, the covered
basket had been forgot, and the labour of Miss Nicky's hands fell to be
consumed by the family, though Miss Grizzy protested, with tears in her
eyes, "that it went to her heart like a knife to eat poor Mary's puffs
and snaps."

[1] Sheep that have died a natural death and been salted.

Change of air and variety of scene failed not to produce the happiest
effects upon Mary's languid frame and drooping spirits. Her cheek,
already glowed with health, and was sometimes dimpled with smiles. She
still wept, indeed, as she thought of those she had left; but often,
whil