another went west, ane gade to the north, I wonder what he found there, and ane to the south, and left a fair patrimony, and the hope of having a pleasant haddin cut wi' my spade in the gowan knowe of Dalgarnock. They were a frank-handed race, but their race is run;-they were a liberal people, and good to beast and body, and they never forgot me at either bridal or burial, a siller crown piece afore ever I wet a spade,—and on the marriage day the drop of drink, and the roast and the boiled, made it little waur than a dredgie. They were a liberal race. I would count ye some saxteen of them, all side by side, ready to rise when heaven's will is, but they are sae covered wi' memorial stones, Symie, my lad, that the rising will be a kittle chapter-the Dargavels, and all the names that nae body cares for, will be up and through Enterkin afore a Laurie can rise." And the ancient man of Dalgarnock kirk-yard stept upon a gravestone, looked round, and began to count with his finger the graves of my ancestors. "Saxteen beds all in a row," he said, "wi' the green grass waving aboon them, and one gaping there for the coming morsel,-a bonnie sight." I stept upon another gravestone, and surveyed the line of graves; Ichabod saw me for the first time, and said in a tone more of surprise than pleasure, "Grace guide us, here's ae Laurie risen afore another's well ready to lay i' the grave."

"A Laurie risen!" said Symie, coming to my side, and examining me with a look of vacant consideration," Trouth, he's arisen, that I can avouch, for he was twice killed in battle, thrice drowned in the sea, and sax times dead wi' fair straw death, or else there's nae truth in country clatter. But risen or not, it's my ain bonnie Andrew Laurie. Ah, Andrew, my man, what have ye made of Whitefoot, and Whaupie, and the pet hawk ?and how did ye live without me? ye would not find a daft lad in every country to do ye a good turn, there's no the like of me at every dyke back. Wherefore d'ye no speak? have ye been deaf, as well as dead? and that's gaye likely, for there was my ain grandame, when she went to the kirk-hole, and ill Bauldy Beattie

basted me wi' his strap, I ran and tauld her on't, and she ne'er minded her poor bairn, but lay as quiet as the mools aboon her,"

"Whisht, ye born fool," said Icha bod, "this is ane of the queer gentlemen who never love a house till the riggins off't,-a tree, till its dead i' the top and rotten i' the heart,-nor a kirk, till the howlets forhoo it for fear it falls. I ken them bravely. Give them three or four rousty coffin nails, and an auld bane, and the tram of a wheelbarrow, and a wormeaten quaigh, and the snout of a steel bonnet, and an auld parritch spurtle, and a lang stane, wi' twa or three scratches upon it, and they'll make a book as big as Boston's Fourfold State, wi' a hundred pictures o' a' the straps, and straes, and knocking stanes in the parish. This is ane of them."

"Ah! Andrew Laurie, man," said Syrmie," d'ye mind how ye hunted me to the top of the Hazely brae, and made me lie all night among the heather, for fear of your dog Whitefoot? But then ye gied' me twa apples and a saxpence at Thornhill fair,-sae lay that and that together,-kindness clears a' scores wi' daft Symie. And then, man, d'ye mind how ye put a living hurchin in' the ae meal powk, and a howlet i the tither, and sent me crying round the parish, fidum, father, fidum, our cat has kittled twa magpies and a moudie?' Nae act of kindness cleared that score,-sae take ye that, Andrew Laurie, for what ye did to me lang syne.' And stooping suddenly to the ground, and snatching up the remains of a skull, he hurled it at my head-and this unexpected missile narrowly missed the mark. I thought if Symie visited every little deed of early mischief upon me, I was in a fair way of being stoned to death, so I threw him a crown-piece; which he caught as it flew. When he saw it was silver he gave a leap, then ran round like a pair of yarn windles, and shouted out, "Goodsooth, Symie Crosstree, it's a crownpiece, it shall work while I sleep, it shall work while I sleep,-It came frae the hand of a Laurie,—a frank free hand, the same hand that chaced me wi' stones from the top of Topstarvet down to the mains of Closeburn, and made me climb into

the top of Menteath's oak, where I sat till it took six men and three ladders to bring me down again. Nae kindness ever salved that sair,-sae take ye that, Andrew Laurie, ye ken what ye did to me lang syne;" and he threw a shank-bone, with a bitterness which my late present gave me no reason to expect, and I found some trouble in eluding it.

"I'd brain ye wi' my spade, gowk," said the grave-digger, "if it werena I would have your grave to howk gratis, and that for misusing a man wi' a frank hand, and siller in his pouch. And you, sir, wha throw away mair coin on a coof than I would dig ye three full size graves for, d'ye ye no see that he's half knave and fu' fool, wi' as much cunning as will cause him to throw dead men's banes at you, while ye throw siller at him. But take ane's counsel, who never saw a penny of your coin, and gang and sit down aside the burial bread and wine, there where they stand. Daft Symie respects burial drink, when he respects nothing else." I seated myself as Ichabod advised, and Symie came quietly and sat down beside me.

The spot where I sat was full of summer beauty and sanctity, but the desolation of the kirk, and the home of my youth, pressed upon my heart. I thought on the sabbath mornings when I had stood by the gate, and seen all the way to the house of God moving with the grave, the beautiful, and the young,-when I beheld the seats thronged, and many fair eyes glancing modestly to and fro, and that interchange of silent and holy greeting which passes among friends before worship begins. I thought too on those who bore my name, and shared kindred blood with me; and I saw the graves of many I loved growing green beside me, each headed by a memorial stone. And I said in my heart, of the seven Lauries whom I left, lo! six are sleeping there, and as I looked I thought on the new dug grave, and I saw it was for a tall person; and as my eyes dwelt upon it they filled with tears, and my heart throbbed, and I would fain have gone away, but I had not the power. Ichabod now came to my side, "Deil mend their speed," said he, "here am I standing as stiff wi' cauld as a crutch, and as hungry as

the e grave at a green yule,-but they're near now, I hear the neighing of their horses." Symie started to his feet, and laying down his ear to the earth, and listening for a moment, he clapped his hands and shouted out, "Oh! the burial bits, -the burial bits,-dads of bread and touts of wine. I wish other sax would die.. Men are far kinder to poor demented Symie when they have their timmer tap coats on, than when they sit at the board head. A piece of sour bread, and a drop of wynted milk, from the living,-but waughts of red wine, and wamefuls of white cake, from the dead. I can gang fasting and sorrowfu hame frae a reeking house, but frae the kirkyard I have to grope my way,-and the wine has whomeled me owre a grave, and left me to cool, and come to myself among the morning dew. Oh! the burial bits,-the burial bits,

dads of bread, and touts of wine. Yonder he comes, yonder he comes, in his braw black chest, with siller whirlies on the sides, and the parish cloak trailing o'er him. Well may he bruik the new."

I stood up and saw a long train of horsemen descending the western bank of the river, and approaching to Dalgarnock kirkyard, by a narrow, and woody, and unfrequented way. They were all dressed in black, and riding slowly and mournfully along. In the middle of the line of horsemen two rode abreast, bearing a coffin across the shoulders of their horses, over which a mortcloth was thrown, which reached nigh the ground. They passed the river, and, halting at the little gate, bore the coffin to the brink of the grave beside where I stood, and all gathering around gazed mournfully on it for a minute's space or more, in silence so intense, that I thought the very throbbings of my heart were audible. At length a very old man removed his hat, smoothed down a few white hairs which time had left about his temples, and looked in the grave, and in the faces of his companions, till the tears started in his eyes. As he looked round he saw me, he eyed me for a little space, and said, "His dying words are come to pass,-one has come from a far land, who will lay his head in the grave,-never, he said, would the

head of one of his blood be laid low in Dalgarnock, but the hand of one of his name would, lay it, and his words are come to pass."-And he came and took me by the hand, and leading me to the head of the grave, said, "Mine old eyes deceive me much if thou art not Andrew Laurie, -stand there," and he placed the silken cords of the coffin in my hands, which the love of some antique mind had wreathed with flowers. All eyes were turned on me,-my eyes wandered from face to face,-I dreaded to speak, and the same dread seemed visible in every one.

The old man came forward,'and said, "Let us not lay in the grave, with superstitious rites and observances, one of the kindest, and gentlest, and simplest spirits which ever breathed among us. Devout himself, and one who walked in the austere meekness of the pure Scottish kirk, we should insult him were we with uplifted hands, with heads held down, and with smooth words, and studied sentences, to offer up supplication for him. Shall we pour a prayer less than inspired over him who so often poured over others the warm and unsolicited overflowings of a tender heart and a gifted mind? Afar from me be all the vanity of such devotion, and in a homely way will I speak of a homely heart. There he lies, who for seventy years never gave a pious heart pain, nor denied an honest man's request,-he thatched the roof of the widow's house, he put food between the lips of the orphan, his door stood ever to the wall, that the needy might enter, and at his hearth was found the soldier's wife and her helpless children. He was not vain of his influence among men, nor was he proud of his wisdom,―his wit was kind and pleasant, his humour was chaste and

free, and he read a song sweeter than others could sing it. His say ings became proverbs, and his proverbs are laws in the land. He was proud of his descent,-and he said none of his blood or his name ever begged bread. The beggar will bless his house as he passes, though the hearth shall be cold and the table unfurnished. He goes where all shall go, but he goes blessed,-for him the grey headed and the wise weep, and the fool sheds tears."

The old man had elevated his hands in fervour, his voice was waxing melodious,-a flush was coming over his brow-matter bold and figurative was flowing in, and he was about to pour out one of those simple and affecting characteristic prayers which I have heard uneducated men utter over the dead, when he was suddenly interrupted. Poor demented Symie, with tears streaming down his cheeks, burst through the band of mourners, leaped into the grave, and cried out with a voice of unsurpassable agony, "Oh! Luke Laurie, Luke Laurie,-I will be buried for thee." The old man looked on him for a moment, dropped his hands, and said, "Thus men may know when the righteous and the kind-hearted die. Andrew Laurie, there lies thine uncle,-long he looked for thy return; the last look he gave was with the hope of seeing thee,-the last wish he uttered was that thou mightest lay his old white head in the grave, and he died in the belief that all this would come to pass. Now let us lay him in the dust. All has been said that Christians ought to say over the clay mansion, out of which the immortal spirit has passed; and the wisest man's words are but folly compared to those of this poor simple fool."

NALLA.

A new Opera of Rossini's composition, Matilde di Shabran e Corradino, ossia il trionfo della Belta, has been brought out since our last report, at the benefit of Signor and Madame de Begnis. A French writer on opera has remarked that his countrymen are excellent judges of e plot, situations, and dialogue of