turing with which they were favoured by their stepmother. They remained out in the early moonlight till they had buried their dogs; came in, and went heavily up to their own room, where they were yet heard sobbing and talking for a while; and, in the morning, the two little rebels were missing. They had run away.

The preparations made by children on these occasions are not very extensive. A bag of oatmeal, a few apples, and a very slender remainder of pocket-money, would not have taken them far on their projected road to high fortune; though in their first eager four miles they had considered it quite a settled thing that Douglas should become a warrior and statesman like the Duke of Wellington, and Kenneth, at the very least, Lord Mayor of London.

They were pursued and brought back footsore, hungry, and exhausted, - at the end of their first day's march; before they had got even to the suburbs of the markettown from which this plunge into worldly success was to be made.

While they crept once more (less loth than boyish pride might have avowed) into their accustomed beds, a parental council was held. Lady Ross was of opinion that they should both be "flogged for their escapade within an inch of their lives;" her husband, that no further notice should be taken of it, since they probably had had a sickening of such attempts, in their failure and fatigue. But the upshot of the debate was, that Douglas and Kenneth were parted; the elder sent to Eton for civilized training, in token of a certain concession to Lady Ross's English views on the subject; and the younger delivered over in gloom and disgrace to a neighbouring Scotch minister, who had one other forlorn pupil, and a reputation for patient teaching.

child, and was an interest apart, and, in fact, subordinate, to Lady Ross's feelings of family consequence. Young Douglas would have justified a nobler pride. Frank, intelligent, spirited, and yet amenable to true discipline now that such discipline had replaced the alternate neglect and tyranny of home, he was popular alike with masters and companions; while the simplicity of such early training as he had had, rendered him insensible to the shallow compliments of strangers, struck with his personal beauty and free untutored grace of manner.

The holidays of many a "half" to come, were days of rapture. To see Kenneth waiting and watching under the tall firtrees at the turn of the road where the mail-coach was to drop him; to leap down, and strain him to his heart; to exhibit his prize-books, on which the younger brother would gaze with a sigh of curiosity-and then to plunge back into the wild happy life of the Highlands, this made home a temporary paradise. "Days amang the heather" are days which, to those who have been brought up in the wild mountain-life of Scotland, are days of intoxicating joy. Once more with his brother; once more in his kilt, clambering here and there, lounging under the silver birches by the blue lake's side, gliding over its silver surface in the coble-boat, fishing for trout, and waking the echoes, as they rowed home, with many a snatch of song; uncovering his glossy head for very sport in the sudden shower, and feeling a wild delight in the mountain storms; - young Douglas's holidays for the first three years were days of unalloyed delight.

Then came the gradual change which circumstances bring,- -a change which is not exactly alienation, but separation, between those who are differently situated as Undoubtedly the best education for man to occupations, associations, and aims. A or boy is to mingle much with his fellows; certain discontent, instead of approbation, and that is why a man educated at a pub- took possession of his father's mind. The lic school is in general better educated than prize-books were tossed aside, with some one who has received tolerably careful discouraging observation as to the value of training at home. Lessons may not be so" book-learning," and the absurd disproporwell learned, but Life is learnt; emulation is roused; the mind is not allowed to roost and slumber, like a caged bird on a perch. Douglas Ross owed to his inimical stepmother an immense service as to his future; though in her disposal of him she had merely consulted her desire to be rid of him, and certain consequential notions of how "the heir" should be educated. Had she had a boy of her own, perhaps some grudging might have mingled with such plans; but the sharp-browed Alice was her only THIRD SERIES. LIVING AGE. VOL. XXXII. 1459.

tion of such rewards with the expense of such an education. Douglas himself had a sorrowful instinct that Kenneth's life was narrowing round him, he was a companion in all purposeless pursuits to his father, but the main elements of improvement were wanting. He smoked and sat up drinking whisky-toddy, he shot and walked with Sir Neil. But he did nothing, and learnt nothing. It was neither the life of a boy nor a man; and the dawdling leisure left from its loose occupations was spent by

Kenneth in familiar visitings wherever a pretty face smiled on the threshold of a farmhouse, or a bothy in the glen; in idle talk with gamekeepers, farmers, and petty tenants; and in making love betwixt jest and earnest to the miller's daughter at the falls of Torrieburn; Torrieburn being a small separate estate of Sir Neil's, which was settled on his younger son.

In his own loving earnest way, Douglas hinted good counsel, but without good effect. Kenneth was angry; was saddened; was somehow suspicious that his Eton brother was coming the fine gentleman over him ;" and a coldness stole between them, dreamy and impalpable as the chill white mist which rises among the hills at the beginning of winter, and hides all our pleasant haunts and familiar trysting-places with its colourless and ghostlike veil.

With his stepmother he was on even worse terms than during his comfortless boyhood. Disliking her profoundly, and yet attempting a certain show of courtesy to his father's wife, his reward was only the bitter sneer with which she spoke of him as "that very stately and gentlemanly young gentleman, Mr. Douglas Ross."

With his father he was restless and uncomfortable. Too young when a resident at home, in the memorable days of the dog-hanging, to be the companion Keneth had gradualy become, and old enough

now to see all the defects of such com

a poor

panionship, he inwardly groaned in spirit at his own incapacity to give or to receive satisfaction from communion with one who in his best days was specimen of what the head of a family should be, and whose worst days were now come- days of mingled apathy and discontent, of absolute repugnance to the nearest tie in it, his irritable and irritiating wife; of selfish craving for what amusement or comfort he could get out of the society of the half-educated lad he had kept

Sir Neil considered that already he had had to much of " book-learning," which was "never of much use," and Lady Ross told him that he was "puffed with presumption in venturing to chalk out for himself what was to be done.

Even Kenneth, the loved and clung-to Kenneth, was provoked; and hastily assured his brother it was lucky he had not succeded in persuading his father, for that he, Kenneth, would certainly not have gone to study for any profession whatever. He ment to live at Torrieburn, and there'd always be grouse and oatcake enough to satisfy his notions of life. The tears started into Douglas's eyes, but there was no one to heed or understand what passed in his heart; and no evidence of that day's mental struggle, except in a brief letter to his Eton "chum," Lorimer Boyd; younger son of that Dowager Clochnaben whose visit with the sickly young Earl to Glenrossie had been the exciting cause of the sudden execution of Jock and Beardie, and the exile of the runaway boys. The letter ran as fellows:

:

"TO LORIMER BOYD, ESQ.,

you

at

"Balmossie, N. B. to college; so I shall see no more of "MY DEAR LORIMER, - I am not to go present! My father has consented, however, to my entering the army. Heaven grant I may do something more with life than accept the bare fact of living! Kenneth is to remain on at home. I am sorry for Kenneth. Such a fine, quick, handsome lad! I wish you could see him. I wish my father had given him a chance. Do not forget me, old fellow; I shall never forget you. I send you a little Elzevir Horace' you and I used to read somethat hot summer, when you sprained your times together under the trees by the river at Glenrossie without a thought of his future; and of angry surprise at the trans- arm, and had to give up rowing in the boats. formation, as it seemed to him, of the love-I would be glad you wrote to me. ly, ardent boy whose small rebellions against discipline and lady Ross he had so often protected, into the proud, thoughtful adolescent, who "seemed to think he would advise the whole family."

In this state of mind was Sir Neil, when Douglas asked that his brother might be put to some profession, and that he himself might be sent to one of the universities; and for once Sir Neil and Lady Ross united their discordant voices in a chorus of agreement, holding that his demands were preposterous, and not to be granted.

I am

sure you will, Lorimer. I don't mind owning to you that I feel so lonesome and disappointed I could cry like a girl. I hope you will distinguish yourself at college; you were much the cleverest fellow at Eton. I end with a nil desperandum; for, after all, I trust to our future meeting. You are a Scotchman, and so am I; and some day, I suppose, I shall be at home again. Meanwhile, since I cannot be at college, I am glad

to be a soldier.

"Yours ever,

"DOUGLAS Ross,"

CHAPTER II.

PASSING AWAY.

If there were not daily examples to familiarize us with the marvel, we might wonder at the strange way in which Nature asserts herself, or the effects of Nature and accident combined, in the characters of individuals. We see children, all brought up in one home, under the same tutelage, as different as night from day. Pious sons and daughters sprung from infidel and profligate parents; unredeemed and incorrigible rascals from honest and religious fathers; fools, that fritter away the vanishing hours they themselves scarcely know how, born where steady conduct and deep knowledge seemed the very life of those around them, -and earnest, intelligent, and energetic souls springing up, like palm-trees in the desert sand, where never a thought has been given to mental culture or religious improvement.

Out of that home which looked so stately and beautiful among the surrounding hills, and held such grovelling inmates the castled home of Glenrossie- went forth at least one scion of the good old name worthy to bear it. Douglas Ross drew his sword in the service of his country, in India, in America, and in China; he rose rapidly to command, and proved as strict in authority as he had formerly been in obedience. Beloved, respected, and somewhat feared, his name was one already familiar in men's mouths, as having greatly distinguished himself in the profession he had chosen, when he was recalled to Scotland, with leave of absence from the military command he held, to attend the rapidly succeeding death-beds of his father and brother.

Whether, in dying, some dim consciousness of his folly and injustice smote Sir Neil, or that he was merely haunted by his lingering love for the son who had been left with him through recent years, he made a sort of appeal to the elder when bending anxiously over him to gather the failing words. "You'll look after Kenneth," he said, "he has greatly mismanaged -You'll help him-Torrieburn's been ill sorted He's let himself down, rather with those people. I- Be good to Kenneth-Maybe he'll settle in the way of marriage, and do well yet. You'll have to make amends to

Sir Neil made great efforts to conclude this sentence, but was unable; he held convulsively by his son's hand, looked in his

face with that dying wistfulness which, once seen, is never forgotten, and fell back on the pillow exhausted the anxieties, errors, and hopes of this world at an end for ever.

Brief was the time allotted to Douglas for any obedience to his father's dying wishes, as far as his brother was concerned. Kenneth had insisted on riding home to Torrieburn every night, in spite of the urging of his brother. He did not seem to believe the end so near. He was wilful as to being at home in his own bachelor abode. He hated his stepmother, he said, and his half sister, and did not wish to see any of their mock grief for the father, who had at least treated him always with affection.

66

The night that father died, he rode away as usual. Torrents of rain, swept to and fro by the wild gusts of an autumnal storm, whistling and moaning through the ancient fir woods at the back of the castle, greeted his departure. The crash of trees blown down, the roar of the swollen torrent, sounded loud in the ear of his brother, as he stood grasping his hand at the open door, and bidding him good night. If you will, you will, Kenneth; you were always a wilful fellow; but what a night!" and for a few minutes yet, Douglas Ross watched the receding form, full of grace and activity, of the handsome rider. I shall be with you early in the morning," were his last words, as he waved his hand and put spurs to his horse. But neither that nor any other morning ever brought Kenneth Ross to the castle again. Their father died in the night; and Douglas was still pondering over the anxious, needless recommendation of his brother to his kindness, when the day dawned, as it had set, in storms of drenching rain.

Plans of affection, of hope, rational use-ful plans, chased each other like the windborne clouds through the mind of the newmade heir of Glenrossie. Yes, he would "look after Kenneth," - Kenneth, and Torrieburn, and every fraction of his destiny! He would set that destiny to rights. He would think over a suitable marriage for him. He would give, lend, do anything to get him out of the embarrassments his father had hinted at. And then he remembered the other concluding sentence of that father's dying voice: "You'll have to make amends to To whom? Could' it be some one who had already assisted Kenneth? Or perhaps to his stepmothSir Neil had never uttered his wife's name; he had begged she might not be present while he talked with his son at that solemn midnight hour. He meant to

er?

no, she "wad see the last o' him, and then dee." She offered no help; she was capable of no comfort; she kept up her loud lament, so as to bewilder all present, and it was a positive relief to Sir Douglas when, with a sudden shiver through her whole frame, she slid from the bed-foot to the floor in a swoon.

By this time the doctor had arrived, with an assistant, both of them common "bonesetters" from the village of Torrieburn rough, untutored, but not unkindly; and perhaps in nothing more kind than in the honest admission that beyond giving restoratives for the time being, and shifting the bed a little, so as to lessen (not remove) the great agony of human pain that must preface this untimely death, they could do nothing.

DO NOTHING! very solemn and trying are such death-beds; when human love, that seems so strong, stands helpless; listening to the great dreadful sentence, "You shall see this man whom you love pass to the presence of his Creator in torments inconceivable, and you shall not be able to lift away, no, not so much as one grain of his bitter pain, though you would give half your own life to do it."

"hushing her down," till suddenly Kenneth said, in a sort of dreamy voice, "Maggie, you'll call to mind the birken trees - the birken trees!"

The woman held her breath. There was no need to quiet her now:

"The birken trees by the broomy knowe," repeated he dreamily; and, in a low clear tone, he added" I'm sorry, Maggie."

Then, opening his eyes with a fixed look, he said, "Dear Douglas!" in a tone of extreme, almost boyish tenderness; and then followed a renewed silence; broken only by the wild gusty winds outside the house, and the distant sound of the fatal Falls of Torrieburn. All at once, with the rallying strength that sometimes precedes death, he spoke clearly and intelligibly: "Douglas! be kind- I'm going I'm dying-be kind to my Kenneth, for the sake of days when we were boys together! Don't forsake him! don't deny him! Have pity on Maggie!"

A little pause after that, and he spoke more restlessly: "I'm asking others, and I ought to do it myself. It's I who forsake him. It's I that didn't pity. I say I say

are you all here? Douglas! the doctor - ah! yes, and my father's factor, - Well

-I"

He struggled for a moment, with blue blanched lips, and, feeling for the little curled head of the child, at the further side of his bed, and locking his right hand in the hand of the kneeling woman, he said, “I trust Douglas with these. I declare Margaret Carmichael my WIFE, and I acknowledge Kenneth Carmichael Ross as my lawful son!"

God's will be done! Oh! how hollow sound even those solemn words! while we echo, as it were, the writhing we look on at, in the thrill of aching sympathy that goes through our own corporeal frame; and wait, and wait, and wait, and know that only Death-only Death- can end the anguish; and that, when he has ceased to suffer, we are alone for ever in the great blank. No more to hear his voice, no more to clasp his hand, no more to be conscious The woman gave a suppressed shriek; of his love; but to know that somewhere she sprang up from her knees, and flung her there is a grave, where he who suffered so arms round the dying man, with a wild, much lies stiff and still, and that "his" Oh, I thank ye! I thank ye! and mither spirit has returned to God who gave it." 'll thank ye for ever! Ou! my Kenneth!" When the doctor had arranged that dying He turned his head towards her with that bed for the best, and had attended to the unutterable smile that often flits over dying miserable woman who had fainted, and had faces. Brighter and fonder his smile could brought her back, pale, exhausted, but not have been in the days of their first love: quieter, to the sick chamber, Kenneth" by the broomy knowe, under the birken made a feeble effort to raise himself; an exertion which was followed by a dreadful groan. Then he murmured twice the name of "Maggie!-dear Maggie!" and Sir Douglas rose up, and made way for the trembling creature so called upon, to kneel down in his place; adjuring her, for the love of heaven for the love of Kenneth-not to give way, but keep still; getting only from her a burst of sobbing, and the words, "Kill me, och! kill me! and then maybe ye'll hush me down." There seemed no

trees;" and perhaps his thoughts were there, even in that supreme hour. No other word, except a broken ejaculation of prayer, came from him; only the by-standers “saw a great change" the change there is no describing - come over his brow. The anguish of mortal pain seemed to melt into peace. A great sigh escaped him, such as bursts from the bosom in some sudden relief from suffering, and the handsome man was a handsome corpse. HE who had been so much to that wailing woman, had become