"Can ye hae ony doubt o' that," replied Jeanie, "when ye ken ye hae only to say that ye will marry Richard Scholey, to bring back life to the eye, and red to the cheek?"

"Ay, but, mother, I canna get it out of my mind, that it would be a black sin to break my plight; and how can I gang and be a wife to another man, when my heart is in Norman's bosom; I canna do it, mother, I canna do it."

"Do you think, Mary, that it's a light sin to let your father die for want, when it's in your power to help it? Ye ken as weel as I do, that Richard Scholey has said, that if ye will marry him, he will forgive us a' the debt, and stock our farm ower again. But He who is abune kens I wouldna sae sairly try your young heart for love o' this world's gear; for if we had but bread to eat, I would rather see ye Norman Riddle's wife than a prince's bride. But what can we do? Richard Scholey has got us into his net, and our case seems past help."

"But he is a bad man, mother; my heart rises against him; how can I pay the duty and affection of a wife to one who has bought me like a slave! If Richard Scholey was a good man, and if time was given to me to forget my ain Norman, I would promise to marry him, though it should be my death; but the man who is seeking me to be his bride has a heart as hard as a whinstane, and so that he gains his ends, he wouldna care if ye were a' drowned in the burn. I couldna make a good wife to such a man; and I am sure father and mother both would rather lay me in the kirk-yard than drive on this marriage, if they could but ken how my heart turns against it. Oh, dear mother, blythely would I lay down my life for you, but dinna, oh, dinna ask me to forswear mysell before God and man!'

At this moment Norman, who had listened with intense anxiety, hastily advanced, and throwing his arms round Mary, he kissed off her tears, with which his own mingled, and she rested her head on his shoulder, and buried her face in his plaid, almost with the wish that her eyes might never again behold the light of day.

"Mother," said Norman, struggling to suppress his emotion, "I can never reward you for what you have done for me; but the time has come when I can give you a proof L. 36. 2.

U

of the depth of my affection and gratitude, and I will do it, though it should cost me my life. Here is your Mary lying in my arms, lying there for the last time. You gave her to me, and I would not part with her for a kingdom. But 1 cannot bear to see you in such woe and poortith, when I can help it. I give her back her troth, and she is free to be the bride of a richer man than Norman Riddle. But, mother, I charge ye not to give her to Richard Scholey, and dinna think I speak ill of him because he wants to take my Mary frae me, for he is a bad and a wicked man; and if Mary were to be his wife, you would soon see her laid in her grave. But there's Mark Ogilvie, the young farmer, of Lenyburn, he worships the ground that Mary treads on, and he has only been hindered from seeking her for his wife, from knowing that she had plighted her troth to me. Now, mother, he is a good man, and he will make a kind husband to Mary, and I'll go to him this very night, and tell him a' the truth, and that Mary and me hae parted for ever; and that I will gang ower the seas as a soldier, and never see her mair. Oh! Mary-my ain Mary, how shall I ever bear to think of you as the wife of another!"

"Wife, bairns," said the shepherd, in a faint voice, come near me. Jeanie Torphichen, I have heard a' that ye have said, and I charge ye, on my blessing, to gie ower tempting Mary to commit a great sin for our sakes. We are bidden no to do evil that good may come; and would it not be evil to gie this innocent lamb to ane who would guide us as Richard Scholey has done? Let me hear nae mair o'this; and as to you, Norman, my son, naething but death shall part us in this world. You and Mary are far ower strongly heifted in ane another's hearts to be happy if you were sindered. In weal or in woe, ye shall take your part with us. Now, my bairns, I ken that our cow and the plenishing o' our house will clear our debts to Richard Scholey, and we will leave a' our gear to him to do what he likes with it; aad we will awa' to the Carse o' Gowrie, and seek out Willie Armstrong, and he'll gie us a bit bield to put our heads in, and we'll work for him day and night, and we'll get ower this sore trial, if we

dinna be weary and faint by the way.

Now, Norman,

you'll gang awa' across the moor to Andrew Fleming, and see if he will lend us his cart for twa or three days. Tell him what it's for, and I think he'll no refuse his auld neighbour."

The generosity and kindness of her father smote Mary's heart, and she secretly accused herself of the most unnatural coldness and selfishness in hesitating for a moment to sacrifice herself to save her father and mother from being driven from their home, and thrown on strangers for support. She tore herself from Norman's arms, and bending over her father, she bedewed his white locks with her tears.

"Oh, father, how can I bear to see you asking for help, and may be coming on the parish? it canna be, it canna be; and dinna think sae hardly of your ain Mary, as to believe that she would scruple to do what would drive poortith frae your hearth, if she could have made it clear to her conscience that there was not sin in the means; if I kent what was the right road, I would walk in it; but I'll gang and ask for light and counsel to guide me in this sore strait."

66

My bairn," said the shepherd, taking her in his arms, my dear good bairn, dinna let go your faith and trust; and aye mind that He that clothes the lillies o' the field, and feeds the young ravens, will not forget us, if we dinna forget Him."

In a state of the deepest grief, Mary burst from him, and running into the spence, she knelt down and covered her face with her hands, and the silence of the night was broken only by her tears and sobs.

"Wife," said John Torphichen, "take comfort; it is a sair trial to me to see the tears happing ower your auld cheeks. Rise, my woman, and make ready the last meal that we may be will ever eat in this auld biggin, where we hae seen mony happy days."

Thus admonished, Jeanie dried her eyes, and set about preparing their frugal supper of oatmeal porridge. The fire glimmered faintly, the peat stack had been consumed, and the good dame looked in vain for some fuel with which to dress their food.

In this dilemma, John desired her to take a part of the old block of wood; saying, "We have nae means o' taking it with us, for Andrew Fleming's auld horse will hae enough to draw ourselis, far less the cut o' a tree. Norman, take the axe and break off a piece to light the fire; for I canna thole that the bairns, poor things, should gang to their beds without their supper."

Norman obeyed, and at the first stroke, the wood returned a strange sound; he struck a second time, the wood flew in pieces, and from its hollowed recess there fell a

stream of gold coin, which rolled over the earthen floor. At the cry which burst from his lips, Mary rushed into the room, and was received in his arms; an instant sufficed to show, that from the depths of misery, they were raised to a state of unspeakable happiness.

Norman carried her to her father, and knelt with her by the bed of the good shepherd, who laid his hands on their heads, and blessed them.

"And, oh, my bairns," continued the shepherd, "let this lesson be aye engraven on your hearts, that in the mirkest hour o❜ adversity, there is Ane abune watching ower us, and that when we hae brought oursells to say, His will be done, he gives us cause to cry, His name be praised.””

STANZAS.

I never cast a flower away,
The gift of one who cared for me,
A little flower-a faded flower,
But it was done reluctantly.

I never looked a last adieu

To things familiar, but my heart
Shrank with a feeling almost pain,
Ee'n from their lifelessness to part.

I never spoke the word, farewell!

But with an utterance faint and broken,
A heart sick yearning for the time,

When it should never more be spoken!

Whilst all the world was talking of the " Halley Comet," which appeared in the year 1835, but few persons knew that the remains of that great astronomer reposed in the village churchyard of Lee, near Blackheath, beneath a plain and unostentatious tomb, of which the above is a correct representation.

Dr. Halley was astronomer at the Royal Observatory, Greenwich, for twenty-three years, and died in 1742, aged 86. He was of a happy constitution, and preserved his memory and judgment to the last. He suffered much from a paralytic disorder, which affected his right hand, and gradually wore him away. Being tired of the cordials ordered by his physician, Dr. Mead, he asked for a glass of wine, and having drank it, he expired as he sat in his chair, without a groan.

A WORD OF ADVICE,-FROM HORACE.
Active in indolence, abroad we roam

In search of happiness, which dwells at home:
With vain pursuits fatigued, at length you'll find
No place excludes it from an equal mind.