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the evening at the Blue Bells in the little village of D-——, and a gentleman advanced in life, and apparently in an ill state of health, alighted from it. To the profuse civilities of his hostess, he only replied by ordering some wine whey and a comfortable bed to be prepared, to which he very soon retired. It happened that the following day was Sunday, and as the gentleman was partaking of his breakfast, and the landlady was officiously waiting upon him, after many indirect questions as to his business there, she said, "Eh, sir! an' I'se warrant ye be for kirk this morning, for ye seem to stand weel for church and state." "It is very possible, good woman, I may; that is, if ye give a good account of your preacher; pray, who is he?" "Aweel, sir, there is the business. Why ye maun ken our puir auld parson, rest his soul! for he was a gude man as iver lived, died a few months sin', and we hae been strangely aff for anither, till at last they hae gien us, as they say, a worthy successor, an' to-day he holds forth for the first time; an unco deal hath been said about him, but maist likely ye hae heard speak of the Rev. Maister Matthew Glenarchy."

"Matthew Glenarchy ! surely that name is familiar to me: is there not a family of the same in this village ?" inquired the gentleman.

"Troth an' ye be vera right,” replied the hostess, "for auld Sandy Glenarchy an' his gude-wite nae lived here these forty years an' mair, as I hae heard my father say, an' it's nane but his ain son that has got the kirk; an' ye may be sure it's nae light matter, of joy to the auld folk to see their bairn stand sae weel in the world, for they say he is a wonderful scholar, an' vera spiritually inclined."

"Have the old people any more children ?" inquired the gen

tleman.

"An' plase ye, sir, they hae but ane besides the minister, an' a douce bonnie lassie she is-puir Jeannie! she was to hae been married to young Robin Dugald some five year sin', but somehow times were bad, an Jeannie had a sair heart on the matter, an' darena venture, but now they say the minister will bring things about as they suld be. Eh, sir! it does one's heart gude to think what a blessing young Mattie has turned out to his parents; I ken few wad hae guessed the like of this, that hae seen him as I hae, a puir senseless sawny lad as he was."

The gentleman whom the landlady of the Blue Bells so kindly. amused with her story was no other than the principal actor in it, and as he slowly pursued his way to the kirk, he could not wholly suppress his risible feelings at the idea of the prodigious bustle his

appearance had caused in the village so many years ago, though there was a degree of melancholy blended in his sensations when he thought of the changes those fleeting years had made in him. It was an interesting sight to observe the inhabitants of D-issuing from their cottages, and all flocking, as it were, with one accord to the house of prayer. Here was the sturdy peasant marching at the head of his young family, and the sober matron, with her head encircled in a kerchief of the purest white; whilst behind them strayed the village damsels, each carrying her psalm-book neatly folded in a linen handkerchief, half-serious half-coquetting, with the sun-burnt, plaided youths; whilst still further in the rear were seen advancing the more tardy steps of age, some supporting themselves on crutches, others leaning on the arms of those whom nature and affection pointed out for their best support—their children; but all bearing an appearance of great cleanliness, gravity, and de

corum.

The stranger from the Blue Bells was the last to enter the sacred edifice. The service had already commenced, and the minister stood in his place, pale, firm and tolerably collected; but vain was the endeavour to trace in his countenance any resemblance to the poor neglected boy who had formerly excited so much compassion. Matthew Glenarchy was certainly calculated for the pulpit, for when there, his lameness could not be observed, and the folds of his surplice concealed what otherwise was a great defect—his habitual stoop; besides, in his care-worn visage there was an expression of great patience and genuine mildness, which characterized well with his holy office, and the fire that but rarely sparkled from his eyes, seemed kindled by the enthusiasm of his zeal. On a seat nearest the pulpit sat the new minister's relations, who were easily distinguished from the rest of the congregation by the singular anxiety they displayed. The old man restless and perturbed, seemed unable to sit still a moment together;-one instant he shook back his silvered locks, and his face beamed with renovated hope and delight, and again his brow was wrinkled with anxiety, and he looked fearful and tremulous; at length, unable to command himself any longer, he rose, and walking with unsteady steps, drew near that side of the pulpit where his son could not see him, and remained leaning against it, with his back turned to the congregation, till the service concluded. The mother's face was concealed by her handkerchief, yet those nearest her saw that her bosom heaved convulsively, and once or twice her sobs were very audible; whilst Jeannie's clear blue eyes glistened with all a sister's hopes, and her heightened colour betrayed no slight emotion.

The opening prayer was, according to the usual custom, deliver

ed extempore: it was long and impressive, consisting chiefly of ejaculations, and verses of Scripture; at first the preacher's voice was low and tremulous, he seemed to feel that on this effort depended, in a great measure, his future success and the hopes of his beloved family, and he dreaded to disappoint them; but as the fervour of his spirit seemed gradually to awaken, so did his voice rise higher and higher till it gained its accustomed energy, and then all his mortal feelings gave place to the sublimer views of the Christian. The sermon was a composition admirably adapted to the occasion: slightly and yet affectionately he touched upon the merits of his predecessor, and from thence with great pathos, spoke of the relative duties of life, and the gratitude which children owed to the authors of their existence, summing up the whole by a comparison between the duty we owe to God and our parents. To an Englishman, accustomed to speak and decide rapidly, there may at first appear something singular in the slow and solemn manner of our northern brethren; but in the pulpit this peculiarity is not so striking, because we then expect a greater degree of precision than at any other time. There was an elegance in Mattie's language, notwithstanding his broad dialect, which delighted and astonished one, at least, of his hearers; beautiful from its very simplicity, it breathed the true essence of pure and animated eloquence, softened by the genuine spirit of Christianity. At first it was impossible not to behold portrayed in him the dutiful and affectionate son, so gently and so sweetly did he speak of parental hopes and filial obedience; but as the subject opened before him, and he expatiated at length on the bounty and love of a heavenly Parent, his voice became elevated almost to a tone of rapture, and his eyes sparkled with unusual brightness.

"Eh! Jeannie, lassie, I suppose ye winna speak to me now, sin Maister Mattie is grown sic a fine man, an' sic a great preacher," said Robin Dugald, as he waited for Jeannie near the kirk door.

"Dinna say sae, Robin," exclaimed Jeannie, smiling through the most joyous tears she had ever shed; "I ken weel eneugh there be few sic clever folk as our Mattie, but that's no raison at all against ye, because ye ken I'm no sic a clever body mysel; an' as Mattie himsel says, we maun all keep in our ain spheres."

The stranger arrived at the manse soon after Mattie had led thither his happy parents, and was received by the whole party with that unrestrained freedom and native hospitality which results from light hearts anxious to extend their own pleased emotions to all around them. But when he mentioned having once met them before, and introduced himself as an English clergyman, who,

twenty years since had, in company with his friend, a young physician, been travelling through Aberdeenshire, and had partaken of their hospitality, the surprise and delight of the little group was beyond imagination. Peggy caught his hand and pressed it repeatedly to her lips, bursting into tears; whilst Sandy, pointing to his son, exclaiming, "There he be, God bless him! an' it's all owing to ye, I ken vera weel. Mattie,lad! Jeannie, lassie! dinna ye hear, that is the gude gentleman your mither an' I hae sae often talked about." "Oh !" cried Peggy, "that iver I suld hae lived to see this blessed day: it has been the joy of my heart to see that dear bairn stand up in gude Maister MacIveson's place; and then, that ye suld hae come again, is mair than I could hae thought; and doubtless ye hae heard him preach. Eh! sir, it went to my heart like inspiration, an'-" She would have said more, had not her attention been arrested by seeing her son, usually so grave and solemn in his movements, suddenly throw himself at the feet of the stranger, and in broken language pour out his gratitude to him, acknowledging that he owed all his present happiness to his kind advice and encouragement. "Ye saw me," he said, "a puir stricken bairn, an' ye took pity upon me, and may ye be abundantly blessed for the kindness ye showed on that day."

"Rise," said the stranger, "I entreat you; your acknowledgments oppress me; for, after all, what have I done? I saw you, as I thought, a poor neglected child, I pitied you; and endeavoured to interest your parents in your favour: it appears, then, that I succeeded, and I am more than rewarded for the pains I took."

That day was a happy one at D▬▬; and in the evening, when the stranger departed for A——, the residence of Dr H—, the gentleman who had been his companion when he first entered the village, he was once more followed by the benediction of Sandy and his now happy and prosperous family.

DIRGE.*

THE fairy on Helvellyn breathes

Into the diamond's lustre fair,

And in that magic gleam she wreathes

The dew-drops round her glittering hair.

The driving blast-the dimming rains

May there disturb its secret place;

But evermore the stone retains

The image of that loveliest face.

From Wilson's "City of the Plague."

Into our lady's radiant eyes

Joy looked when she was yet a child, And there 'mid shades of sickness lies Beauteous as when at first she smiled.

-'Tis said there is a wond'rous bird
That ne'er alights to fold her wings,
But far up in the sky is heard

The music which the creature sings.

On plumes unwearied, soft, and bright,
She floateth still in hymning mirth,
For ever in her native light!

Unstain'd by any touch of earth!

Our lady's soft and gentle feet

O'er earth in mortal motion swim, But angels come from heaven to meet The incense of her holy hymn.

-On yonder pool so black and deep, In her green cradle rock'd to rest, Behold the water-lily sleep!

Serenely with untroubled breast!

Alike unto that fearless flower

The arrowy sleet-the dewy balmThe sunlight's smile-the tempest's lowerFor her's is an eternal calm.

Across our gracious lady's bed

A blast hath come as from the grave,
But on her pillow rests her head
Calm as that lily on the wave.

-From heaven fair beings come at night To watch o'er mortals while they sleep; Angels are they, whose sole delight

It is to comfort those who weep.

How softly on the dreamer's head

They lay their soft and snow-white hands! One smile! then in a moment fled, They melt away to happier lands.

I wake and lo! my lady fair

Is smiling near the orphan's bedWith all the charms the living wear Join'd to the beauty of the dead.

---O perfect is a plaintive tune

When slowly sung at fall of even,

In some wild glen beneath the moon,

When silence binds the earth aud heaven!

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