her stool at the window wi' her coggie, ready to do any service at a look, and supping little or nothing, out of bashfulness in presence of Christopher North, who she believes is a good, and thinks may, perhaps, be some great man. Our third bannock has had the gooseberry jam laid on it thick by "the gude-wife's ain haun',"-and we suspect at that last wide bite we have smeared the corners of our mouth --but it will only be making matters worse to attempt licking it off with our tongue. Pussie! thou hast a cunning look-purring on our kneeand though those glass een o' thine are blinking at the cream on the saucer -with which thou jalousest we intend to let thee wet thy whiskers,-we fear thou mak'st no bones of the poor birdies in the brake, and that many an unlucky leveret has lost its wits at the spring of such a tiger. Cats are queer creatures, and have an instinctive liking to Warlocks. - And these two old people have survived all their children sons and daughters! Last night they told us the story of their life-and they told it as calmly as if they had been telling of the trials of some other pair. Perhaps, in our sympathy, though we said but little, they felt a strength that was not always theirs—perhaps it was a relief from silent sorrow to speak to one who was a stranger to them, and yet, as they might think, a brother in affliction-but the evening prayer assured us that there is in this hut a Christian composure, far beyond the need of our pity, and sent from a region far beyond the stars. There cannot be a cleaner cottage. Tidiness, it is pleasant to know, has for a good many years past been establishing itself in Scotland among the minor domestic virtues. Once established it will never decay, for it must be felt to brighten more than could be imagined by our fathers, the whole aspect of life. No need for any other household fairy to sweep this floor. An orderly creature we have seen she is, from all her movements out and in doors-though the guest of but a night. They told us that they had known what are called better days-and were once in a thriving way of business in a town. But they were born and bred in the country; and their manners, not rustic but rural, breathe of its serene and simple spirit-at once Lowland and Highland - to us a pleasant union, not without a certain charm of grace. What loose leaves are these lying on the Bible? A few odd numbers of the SCOTTISH CHRISTIAN HERALD. We shall take care, our friends, that all the Numbers for 1836 and 1837, bound in two large volumes, shall, ere many weeks elapse, be lying for you at the Manse. The excellent editor is a friend of ours- and henceforth you shall be subscribers to the work. Well entitled is he to say-" Literature, science, subjects of general interest, philanthropic and benevolent schemes, all viewed under a purely religious aspect, and mingled with discussions upon the evidences, and doctrines, and duties of our most holy faith, have imparted to our pages a rich and varied interest which has gained access for this little work to many a Christian home, and, we have reason to believe, to many a Christian heart." The circulation of this cheap Christ. ian periodical-sixteen double-columned beautifully printed royal octavo pages, for three-halfpence-is very great-some tens of thousandsand it has often made us happy to see it in solitary places. It is adapted for perusal on week days as well as Sabbath-for there is a permitted difference in the rest that the labourer enjoys after work from that which ought to pervade all the hours of the seventh day. The names of upwards of a hundred contributors are found among our clergy-the sermons and discourses would fill several volumes printed in the usual form-so would original papers on subjects belonging to the moral or social nature of man ; and the extracts, which occupy but a limited portion of its pages, are se'ected with judgment from a wide range of knowledge. Let us read aloud to you, our worthy friends, a small sacred Poem, which we have by heart. Christian, keep your eye on the page, and if we go wrong do not fear to set us right. Have you many psalms and hymns by heart? But we need not ask-for "Piety is sweet to infant minds," what they love they remember-and then how easy-how happy-to get things by heart! Happiest of all-the things held holy on earth as in heaven -because appertaining here to Eternal Life. TO THE SCOTTISH CHRISTIAN HERALD. BY THE REV. DUNCAN GRANT, A.M., MINISTER OF FORRES. "Beauteous on our heath-clad mountains, "CHRISTIAN HERALD! spread the story Of Redemption's wond'rous plan; 'Tis Jehovah's brightest glory, 'Tis his highest gift to man; Angels on their harps of gold, Love its glories to unfold; Heralds who its influence wield, Make the waste a fruitful field. "To the fount of mercy soaring, On the wings of faith and love; And the depths of grace exploring, By the light shed from above; Show us whence life's waters flow, And where trees of blessing grow, Bearing fruit of heavenly bloom, Breathing Eden's rich perfume. "Love to God and man expressing, In thy course of mercy speed; Lead to springs of joy and blessing, And with heavenly manna feed Scotland's children high and low, Till the Lord they truly know, As to us our fathers told, He was known by them of old. "To the young, in season vernal, 'Neath whose shade they may repose, "CHRISTIAN HERALD! may the blessing Thou may'st prove thy country's friend : "When the voice of warm devotion To the throne of God aroseMighty as the sound of ocean, Calm as nature in repose ; Sweeter, than when Araby You have heard of Mungo Park, we daresay, Christian? What! Your mother says he was a cousin of hers -and that she was born in the Forest -the Forest of Ettrick-and that she knew the Shepherd! These verses here we remember having read two years ago and we shall now refresh our memory by a perusal aloud. Stand between our knees, child, and hold the paper well up. ON MUNGO PARK'S FINDING A TUFT OF GREEN MOSS IN THE AFRICAN DESERT. "The sun had reached his mid-day height, And poured down floods of burning light On Afric's barren land; No cloudy veil obscured the sky, "No mighty rock upreared its head "Dauntless and daring was the mind "And ah! shall we less daring show, Whence flows salvation's stream? "Let peril, nakedness and sword, And blossom as the rose. "Sad, faint and weary on the sand "One tiny tuft of moss alone, Mantling with freshest green a stone, Fixed his delighted gaze Through bursting tears of joy he smiled, His lips o'erflowed with praise. "Oh, shall not He who keeps thee green, Here in the waste, unknown, unseen Thy fellow exile save? He who commands the dew to feed "The heaven-sent plant new hope inspired New courage all his bosom fired, And bore him safe along; Till with the evening's cooling shade Lulled by the negro's song. "Thus, we in this world's wilderness, "Yet, often in the bleakest wild child, Expectant of the skies, Amid the low and vicious crowd, "From gazing on the tender flower, We lift our eye to him whose power Hath all its beauty given; R. M'Ch, Larbert. The clergyman? The verses are beautiful-we wrote some ourselves many years ago on the same incident-but not nearly so good as these-and they have utterly faded from our memory -all but some broken images-two or three lines-and here and there a few floating words. - It is time we were going-but we wish to hear how thy voice sounds, Christian, when it reads. Read these lines they are by the same writerfirst "into yoursel❞—and then to us. They contain mysteries above your comprehension and ours and all men's; for they speak of the infinite goodness and mercy of God — but though thou hast committed in thy short life no sins-or but small-towards thy fellow-creatures - low couldst thou?-thou knowest we are all sinful-in His eyes and thou knowest on whose merits is the reliance of our hope of Heaven. "I once was a stranger to grace and to God, "I oft read with pleasure, to soothe or engage, "Like tears from the daughters of Zion that roll, I wept when the waters went over his soul: Yet thought not that my sins had nailed to the tree "But when free grace awoke me by light from on high, "My terrors all vanished before the sweet name; "Jehovah Tsidkēnu, my treasure and boast, In Thee I shall conquer, by flood and by field, "Even treading the valley, the shadow of death, Three minutes from seven by your house clock-she gives a clear warning-and three minutes from seven by our watch-rather curious their coincidence to such a nicety-and when she has struck-we must take up our staff and go. Thank thee, bonnie Christian, we had forgot our wallet. There, in with the bannocks and the ham and the eggs that chicken is really too bad, friends-you must take us for a sad glutton. "Zicketty, dicketty, dock, The mouse ran up the clock; The clock struck one, Down the mouse ran, Zicketty, dicketty, dock." Come closer, dear Christian, and let us put this to your ear. What a pretty face of wonder! 'Tis a repeater. Good people-you have work to do in the hay-field let us part-God bless you -good by-farewell. Half-an-hour since we parted-and we cannot help being a little sadand fear we were not so kind to the old people-so considerate-as we ought to have been-and, perhaps, though pleased with us just now, they may say to one another before evening that we were too merry for our years. Nonsense. We were all merry together and what's the use of wearing a long face, at all times, like a Methodist minister? A Methodist minister! Why, John Wesley was facete, and Whitfield humorous-yet were their hearts fountains of tears-and ours is not a rock-if it be, 'tis the Rock of Horeb. It has long been well known to the whole world that we are a sad egotist -yet our egotism, so far from being a detraction from our attraction, seems to be the very soul of it, making it impossible in nature for any reason.. able being to come within its sphere, without being drawn by sweet compulsion to the old wizard's heart. He is so humane! Only look at him for a few minutes, and liking becomes love-love becomes veneration. And all this even before he has opened his lips by the mere power of his ogles and his temples. In his large mild blue eyes is written not only his nature, but miraculously, in German text, his very name, Christopher North. Mrs Gentle was the first to discover it; though we remember having been asked more than once in our youth by an alarmned virgin on whom we happened at the time to be looking tender, "if we were aware that there was something preternatural in our eyes?" Christopher is conspicuous in our right eye-North in our left — and when we wish to be incog., we either draw their fringed curtains, or, nunlike, keep the tell-tale orbs fixed on the ground. Candour whispers us to con fess, that some years ago a child was exhibited at sixpence with WILLIAM WOOD legible in its optics-having been affiliated, by ocular evidence, on a gentleman of that name, who, with his dying breath, disowned the soft impeachment. But in that case nature had written a vile scrawl-in ours her hand is firm, and goes off with a flourish. Our egotism accompanies us into solitude-nay, is even more life-pervading there than in the hum of men. There the stocks and stones are more impressible than those we sometimes stumble on in human society, and moulded at our will, take what shape we choose to give them; the trees follow our footsteps, though our lips be mute, and we have left at home our fiddle-more potent we in our reality than the fabled Orpheus. Be hushed, ye streams, and listen unto Christopher! Be chained, ye clouds, and attentive unto North! And at our bidding silent the cataract on the cliff the thunder on the sky. The sea beholds us on the shore-and his one huge frown transformed into a multitudinous smile, he turns flowing affectionately towards us along the golden sands, and in a fluctuating hinderance of lovely foam-wreaths envelopes our feet! Proud was that pool, even now, to reflect OUR IMAGE. Do you recollect that picture in the Excursion-so much admired by Wordsworth-of the Ram and the Shadow of the Ram? "Thus having reached a bridge, that overarched Oh! that the Solitary, and the Pedlar, and the Poet, and the Priest and his Lady, were here to see a sight more glorious far than that illustrious and visionary Ram. Two Christopher Norths-as Highland chieftains -in the Royal Tartan-one burning in the air-the other in the water-two stationary meteors, each seeming native to its own element. This setting the heather, that the linn on fire-this a-blaze with war, that tempered into truce while the Sun, astonied at the spectacle, nor knowing the refulgent substance from the resplendent shadow, bids the clouds lie still in heaven, and the winds all hold their breath, that exulting nature may be permitted for a little while to enjoy the miracle she unawares has wrought-alas! gone as she gazes, and gone for ever: Our bonnet has tumbled into the Pooland Christopher-like the Ram in the Excursion-stands shorn of his beams -no better worth looking at than the late Laird of Macnab. Now, since the truth must be told, that was but a flight of Fancy-and our apparel is more like that of a Lowland Quaker than a Highland chief. 'Tis all of a snuffy brown-an excellent colour for hiding the dirt. Singlebreasted our coatee-and we are in shorts. Were our name to be imposed by our hat, it would be Sir Cloudesly Shovel. On our back a wallet-and in our hand a pole. And thus, not without occasional alarm to the cattle, though we hurry no man's, we go stalking along the sward and swinging across the stream, and leaping over the quagmires-by no means unlike that extraordinary pedestrian who has been accompanying us for the last half hour, far overhead up by yonder, as if he meant mischief; but he will find that we are up to a trick or two, and not easily to be done brown by a native, a Cockney of Cloud-Land, a long-legged awkward fellow with a head like a dragon, and proud of his red plush, in that country called thunder-and-lightning breeches, hot very, one should think, in such sultry weather-but confound us if he has not this moment stript them off, and be not pursuing his journey in puris naturalibus-yes, as naked as the minute he was born! We cannot help flattering ourselves if indeed it be flattery-that though no relative of his, we have a look of the Pedlar-as he is painted by the hand of a great master in the aforesaid Poem. "A man of reverend age, But stout and hale, for travel unimpaired.' An hour or two ago, "Here was he seen upon the cottagebench, Recumbent in the shade, as if asleep; " |