arrows, out of the fiercest of the foam; or whether the fall be dwindled to a single thread, and the shingle below be as white and dusty as a turnpike road, while the salmon huddle together in one dark cloud in the clear amber pool, sleeping away their time till the rain creeps back again off the sea. You will not care much, if you have eyes and brains; for you will lay down your rod contentedly, and drink in at your eyes the beauty of that glorious place; and listen to the water-ouzel piping on the stones, and watch the yellow roes come down to drink, and look up at you with their great soft, trustful eyes, as much as to say, "You could not have the heart to shoot at us?" And then, if you have sense, you will turn and talk to the great giant of a gilly who lies basking on a stone beside you. He will tell you no fibs, my little man; for he is a Scotchman, and fears God, and not the priest; and, as you talk with him, you will be surprised more and more at his knowledge, his sense, his humour, his courtesy; and you will find out-unless you have found it out before-that a man may learn from his Bible to be a more thorough gentleman than if he had been brought up in all the drawing-rooms in London.

Charles Kingsley.

XXX.

LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER.

I.

A CHIEFTAIN to the Highlands bound,
Cries, "Boatman, do not tarry!
And I'll give thee a silver crown
To row us o'er the ferry."1

II.

"Now who be ye, would cross Lochgyle,
This dark and stormy water ?"
"Oh! I'm the chief of Ulva's isle,
And this Lord Ullin's daughter.

III.

"And fast before her father's men,
Three days we've fled together,
For, should he find us in the glen,
My blood would stain the heather.

IV.

"His horsemen hard behind us ride;
Should they our steps discover,
Then who will cheer my bonny bride
When they have slain her lover?"

V.

2

Out spoke the hardy island wight,
"I'll go, my chief-I'm ready :—
It is not for your silver bright;
But for your winsome lady:

!

VI.

"And by my word! the bonny bird In danger shall not tarry;

So, though the waves are raging white, I'll row you o'er the ferry."

VII.

By this the storm grew loud apace,
The water-wraith 3 was shrieking;

And in the scowl of heaven each face
Grew dark as they were speaking.

VIII.

But still as wilder blew the wind,
And as the night grew drearer,
Adown the glen rode armed men,
Their trampling sounded nearer.

IX,

"Oh! haste thee, haste!" the lady cries, "Though tempests round us gather; I'll meet the raging of the skies,

But not an angry father."

X.

The boat has left a stormy land,

A stormy sea before her,—

When, oh! too strong for human hand, The tempest gather'd o'er her.

XI.

And still they row'd amidst the roar

Of waters fast prevailing.

Lord Ullin reach'd that fatal shore,

His wrath was changed to wailing.

XII.

For sore dismay'd through storm and shade,

His child he did discover :

One lovely hand she stretch'd for aid,
And one was round her lover.

XIII.

"Come back! come back!" he cried in grief,

"Across this stormy water;

And I'll forgive your Highland chief,
My daughter!--oh! my daughter!"

XIV.

'Twas vain: the loud waves lashed the shore,
Return or aid preventing,-

The waters wild went o'er his child,

And he was left lamenting.

T. Campbell.

XXXI.

THE WEDDING.1

A TRUSTY man and boy were in waiting at the farm, and no sooner was the bridal party off for the church, than Mrs. Smith said to her husband, "Now, don't lose a minute, for things are quicker done than you would think for, and they will be back in no time!" So saying, Mrs. Smith hastened off with Farmer Smith and the trusty man and boy to the farther barn, where the wedding gifts had been placed in readiness by William that 1 From Ministering Children, by kind permission of Messrs. Seeley.

morning.

Mrs. Smith looked upon them with fresh satisfaction. She had said, "The girl has served me like a child, and she shall not be sent away like a stranger!" And no one who looked. into the barn that morning could doubt Mrs. Smith having kept her resolve. First stood the gift of her mistress to Patience, the prettiest of young heifers, as black as a raven's wing, with one star of white on its broad forehead. Rose had named it "Black Beauty," after the favourite horse. Mrs. Smith said, that, as a bit of meadow-land went with the cottage, there could be no reason why Patience should not have a cow of her own, and sell milk to the poor; which was a thing, Mrs. Smith said, that wanted to be done more than it was; she was thankful that, for her part, she could say, that never, with her knowledge, had the poor been sent away with an empty can, when they come up to buy a little milk for their families, if she had any in the dairy to supply them. Mrs. Smith knew how to give generously when she did give, and beside the young heifer, stood a new milk-pail, two milk-pans, a cream-pot and skimmer; all these were the wedding gifts of her mistress to Patience. But then Patience had been no common servant-the nurse and comforter of little Tim, her mistress's own devoted nurse, when infection and death were near, and in her service faithful in all things-this Patience had been, and her mistress was resolved to testify her sense of it. Next stood the gift of Rose to Patience, a pair of hens of perfect whiteness, with a black cock, all reared on