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CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.

believe that, like the patriarch, we enjoy a reprieve from the perils of sternutation. Moreover, we don't give a snuff for a sneeze-no, nor take one either; but should any of our readers think fit to investigate the subject, perhaps the society De Lunatico Inquirendo may present him with a cap and bells for his pains.

A VOICE FROM THE DEER FOREST.
In the midst of the dust and fret of political turmoils,
statistics of misery and crime, and the many vexing
questions that agitate our larger seats of population,
one's mind is inexpressibly relieved in getting into the
private society of some familiar old author, or into the
presence of some sweet picture of tranquillity and in-
nocence, or, better still, into some remote nook of the
country, where we at once find nature in her best dress,
and the few inhabitants still in a tolerable state of sim-
plícity. We must hasten to tell the reader that a relief
of this kind has been afforded to us in unusual ampli-
tude by a book of the day, which, finding us deep in
the troubles which pervade the world, from Paris to
Vienna, and from Naples to Holstein, carried us in an
instant into such a natural scene, and such a mental
intercourse, as we had scarcely believed to have been
left to these later times.

Had it fortuned to an Englishman fifteen or sixteen
years ago to visit the county of Elgin in the north of
Scotland, he could not have failed to hear of the Earl
of Moray's forest of Tarnaway, which then stretched
for miles along the banks of a grand Highland stream-
the Findhorn-in all the untrimmed luxuriance which
he would have expected in going to wait on the duke
in Arden. He would have been further surprised to
hear of two brothers entirely realising the old ballad
ideas of gallant young huntsmen-superb figures, at-
tired in the ancient dress of the country, and full of
chivalric feeling-who, giving up the common pursuits
of the world, spent most of their days in following the
deer through this pathless wild. Men of an old time
they seemed to be, of frames more robust than what
belong to men now-a-days, and with a hardihood which
appeared to make them superior to all personal expo-
sure and fatigue. At the same time, they possessed
cultivated minds, and no small skill in many of the
These gentlemen have
most elegant accomplishments.

since made their names known in connection with works illustrating our national antiquities; and it is to them we are now indebted for the book by which we have been so pleasantly witched out of the sense of It is, in reality, a report of their these dreary days. Tarnaway life, brought forth when looked back to from a distant land and a tamer period of existence, but still glowing with unwonted fires, and suffused with the colours of a rich imagination.

The first volume is composed of romantic and sentimental poems, which will, we fear, be felt as heavy, and this simply because of the indistinctness of meaning and purpose which belongs to the greater part of them. And yet there are fine things here, as, for example, in the following fragment of an address from the elder to the younger brother on parting :

Sad for thee I sigh;

Thou wert the loadstar of mine eye,
Pleasant and ever true to me,
Passing all maiden's constancy.
Thou hast been woven in my heart
Through every fibre's vital part;
For on life's weary steep till now
That we look downward from its brow,
We shared in every care and glee
From childhood to maturity.
I shaped thy toys in infant day,
And skilled thy hand in mimic fray;
Within my cloak at winter hour

Oft fenced thee from the wind and shower,
And oft the weary summer's day,
When hot the sun, and long the way,

I held thy hand, and checked the stride
Thy little footstep paced beside.
Full often when the ford was deep

I bore thee through the torrent's sweep;
And oft to win the eagle's nest,

Held fast the rope which bound thy breast,
And when thy eager arm and grasp
Too short the cushat's tree to clasp,
Have lent my shoulder to thy foot,
And borne thee upward from the root;
Often I kept the orchard gap,

Or shook the fruit into thy lap;
And often at the twilight gray
Held the fierce shepherd's dog at bay,
While thou with willow brand and shield
Routed the flock upon the field.

The days of youth have come and gone
Like shadows on the dial stone;
And manhood's sterner hour has brought
Realities for visioned thought.

We've proved each toil and peril task
Which childhood apes in idle mask. **
Thou'st fought beside me in the mell,
Warded the brand in conflict fell,
And when the dreadful day was lost,
And I was 'numbed with wounds and frost,
Thou bore me from the carnage fleet,
Through fire and smoke and battle sleet.
Thou'st seen the joys, the hopes of youth,
Wane from my heart like maiden's truth;
Through days of grief and nights of care,
Watched by my couch, and kept my chair.
In sickness, sorrow, and despair,
And when my sad soul ebbed away,
Struck the sweet harp, and waked the lay,
And stilled the trembling mortal strife,
And called my spirit back to life.
Alas! that I should live to see
The day that we should severed be,
Should look upon the earth and air,
The springing flower, the sunshine fair,
Should have a joy, a pride, a care,

And thou not near to soothe and share. * *

I stood where he had stood, and drew
The sweet wood air as he should do,
And trod his footsteps in the sand,
And grasped the tree where leant his hand,
And till mine eye could see no more,
Gazed on the boat, the stream, the shore,
The water he should ferry o'er,
The lonely rock and clatach gray,
Where he should land full many a day,
When I was long and far away.

I looked to heaven, and sun, and sky,
The gray goshawk that hovered high,
The dewy flower, the birken brae,
And turned with broken heart away,
That they could not-bird, flower, and tree-
Look back and speak farewell to me:
But they do speak, and make their mourn;
The wren flits restless through the thorn,
The linnet sits in greenwood still,
The owl is silent on her hill,
The gray hawk perches on the rock,
Nor heeds below the cuckoo mock,
And the buck bends his velvet ear,
And wonders why he does not hear
My wandering step and holla clear.
But I shall turn in happier hour

To rock and stream, and tree and flower;
The boughs shall bud, and the bloom shall spring,
And the little bird in greenwood sing,
And the owl shall cry upon the tree,

The dun-deer bell upon the lea,

And the gray hawk shriek to welcome me,
And the sun shall shine on tree and tower,
On bank and stream, on rock and flower,
And all whereon I loved to see
His blessed light shine merrily;
And I shall sit thy board beside,
And look upon thy arms of pride,
And see thy trophies won the while,
The antlers and the furry spoil;
And sit beneath, and hear thee tell
Of how they run, and where they fell.
Oft shall we trace the feut again,
By wood and stream, by hill and plain;
And often in thy shallop light,
Ferry the stream at morn and night.
Oft couch upon the heather-bed,
On the same mantle lay our head;
And when the even light grows pale,
Oft spread our meal upon the fail,
Beneath the rock, beside the stream,
And tell of this day as a dream.

So shall the dark years pass away.
And when at last our steps decay,
Upon the staff, ere day is done,
Still shall we totter to the sun;
And when we may not tread them more,
Look to the hill, and wood, and shore,
And gaze around on tree and flower,
Like travellers at parting hour.
And when shall come life's closing day,
And we from earth must pass away,
Near all that we have loved so deep,
Amid the heather we shall sleep,
Beneath the moss and lichen hoar,
Where often we have slept before.
Under our arm the fawn shall lie,
And o'er our head the owl shall cry,
And in the soft moss on our breast,
The wren and robin build their nest;
The hawk shall channer on the heath,
The wandering buck shall bell beneath;
And every year at turn of spring,
Where the gray oaks their branches swing,
The cuckoo o'er our bed shall sing.
There shall the wild rose shed her flower,
And the bat fly at evening hour;
And there the wood-dove make her moan,
And the bee wind about the stone,
And drink the dew, and suck the bell,
And there the lonely breeze shall tell
When sweetly tolls the vesper knell.'

These are the words of nature in expressing one of her most beautiful feelings.

The second volume is wholly composed of prose notes, in which the popular attraction of the book chiefly resides. Here we find copious details concerning forest life and the craft of deer-hunting, together with many curious legends of the Highlands, and what is perhaps the most respectably useful thing in the work, many original observations on the habits of wild animals. The descriptions of the forest itself are of striking beauty and interest. Few knew what Tarnaway was in those days-almost untrodden, except by the deer, the roe, the foxes, and the pine-martins. Its green dells filled with lilies of the valley, its banks covered with wild hyacinths, primroses, and pyrolas, and its deep thickets clothed with every species of woodland luxuriance, in blossoms, grass, moss, and timber of every kind, growing with the magnificence and solitude of an aboriginal wilderness--a world of unknown beauty and silent loneliness, broken only by the sough of the pines, the hum of the water, the hoarse bell of the buck, the long wild cry of the fox, the shriek of the heron, or the strange mysterious tap of the northern woodpecker. For ten years we knew every dell, and bank, and thicket, and excepting the foresters and keepers, during the early part of that time we can only remember to have met two or three old wives who came to "crack sticks" or shear grass, and one old man to cut hazels for making baskets. If a new forester ventured into the deep bosom of the wood alone, it was a chance that, like one of King Arthur's errant-knights, he took a tree "to his host for that night," unless he might hear the roar of the Findhorn, and on reaching the banks, could follow its course out of the woods before the fail of light. One old wife, who had wandered for a day and a night, we discovered at the foot of a tree, where at last she had sat down in despair, like poor old Jenny Macintosh, who, venturing into the forest of Rothemurchas to gather pine-cones, never came out again. Three years afterwards, she was found sitting at the foot of a great pine, on the skirt of the Brae-riach, her wasted hands resting on her knees, and her head bent down upon her withered fingers. The tatters of her dress still clung to the dry bones like the lichen upon the old trees, except some shreds of her plaid, which were in the raven's nest on Craig-dhubh, and a lock of her gray hair that was under the young eagles in the eyry of Loch-an-Eilean.

'If such danger had no real existence in Tarnaway, it was an appalling labyrinth to the simple muirland cotters, accustomed to no more foliage than a rowantree and a kail-stock, and who had no thought to guide themselves with the sun by day and the stars by

night. It had been otherwise in the old time, for Tarnaway was only the remnant of the vast expanse of wood which had stretched over the plains and braes of Moray, from Rothemurchas to the sea, and from the shaws of Elgin to the ancient oaks of Calder and Kilravoch. Enclosed, like Cadzow and Chillingham, out of the remains of the ancient British forests, within its range every species of native tree bore testimony of its aboriginal vigour. . . . Natural oaks and ash have shown a diameter of six feet, and shoots from the stools of the former have grown seven feet in the first year. There was an alder opposite to Slui which was eleven feet in circumference, and in other banks of the river grew birches from nine to twelve. In 1826, some of the forest roads and large tracks of the wild wood were avenued, and filled with the most beautiful beeches, equal, according to their growth, with the best of their contemporaries in Oxfordshire or Buckinghamshire. One approach to the castle was an alley of larches a mile in length, and of unrivalled magnificence; and many a secluded knoll in the depths of the forest was tufted by august spruces feathering into the grass, and exhibiting the richest foliage and most_vigorous growth. It is probable that at this time Tarnaway was unequalled in Great Britain for the beauty, extent, and variety of its wood scenery. Its artificial productions, however, were less interesting than the remains of the mighty aboriginal pines, the oaks which had no doubt seen the Raid of Harlaw, and the gigantic hollies, which in some parts covered the "pots" and braes, and were not exceeded, perhaps not equalled, in Great Britain. Of the former there were a few, of which the largest were fourteen feet in girth, and of the latter many of the trunks were six feet in circumference, and supported a mass of foliage from fifteen to twenty feet in diameter, and so close, that the heaviest snow and driving rain never laid the dust at their feet. Many a storm have we sat out dry and warm under their green roofs, and often scared the humpbacked bucks and ruffled woodcocks, which ran cowering before the drift, or dropped out of the blast to shelter where we had gone before them.'

Through this region and the neighbouring hills the two brothers pursued the deer for many a day. Sometimes they would lie abroad all night, waiting to renew the chase of some particular animal next day. Sometimes, to regain their home, they would cross the Findhorn under circumstances involving such peril, that, considering the frequency of the act, it is surprising that they escaped drowning. One of the things essential to such a life is to have deposits of refreshments concealed in various places throughout the wilderness, to which the hunter can resort when it suits his conveniency. The brothers ultimately found it necessary to build a hunter's hut, in which themselves and their attendant could pass the night when occasion demanded. According to the description by the younger-'There is a high and beautiful crag at the crook of the river near the "Little* Eas"'-a precipice eighty feet in height, and then, like a vast stone helmet, crowned with a feathery plume of wood, which nodded over its brow. From its top you might drop a bullet into the pool below; but on the south side there is an accessible woody bank, down which, by planting your heels firmly in the soil, and among the roots of the trees, there is a descent to a deep but smooth and sandy ford. Upon the summit of the rock there is, or there wasmy blessing upon it!-a thick and beautiful birdcherry, which hung over the crag, and whose pendent branches taking root on the edge of the steep, shot up again like the banana, and formed a natural arbour and close trellis along the margin of the precipice.f Behind its little gallery there is a mighty holly, under which the snow rarely lies in winter, or the rain drops

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in summer. Beneath the shelter of this tree, and within the bank at its foot, I dug a little cell, large enough to hold two beds, a bench, a hearth, a table, and a "kistie." The sides were lined with deals well calked with moss, and the roof was constructed in the same manner, but covered with a tarpauling, which, lying in the slope of the surrounding bank, carried off any water which might descend from thaw or rain, and when the autumn trees shook off their leaves, could not be distinguished from the adjoining bank, Its door was on the brink of the crag, veiled by the thick birdcherries on the edge of the precipice; and the entrance to the little path, which ascended from either side upon the brow of the rock, was concealed by a screen of birch and hazel, beneath which the banks were covered with primroses, wood-anemones, and forget-me-not. Bowers of honeysuckle and wild roses twined among the lower trees; and even in the tall pines above, the rose sometimes climbed to the very top, where all its blossoms clustering to the sun, hung in white tassels out of the dark-blue foliage. There the thrush and the blackbird sung at morning and evening, and the owl cried at night, and the buck belled upon the Torr. Blessed, wild, free, joyous dwelling, which we shall never see again!'

I followed to hear what had become of him; and though I lost the cry of the hound, tracked the slot till it brought me out of the wood to a little cottage, where I found Dreadnought, very unlike himself, pottering about at the gavel of the house. I thought he was bewitched, till, as I traced the buck's foot, I also lost it near the same place, and neither he nor I, by nose or sight, could make any more of it than if, like one of Tasso's dragons, the buck had started into the air. While we were groping in the road, and Dreadnought taking a cast about the house, to the great discomfort of the old wife's cocks and hens, she brought out the usual cottage hospitality—the bowl of "set" milk; and as I was rewarding her with news of her cow, which she had lost for three days in the forest, and was the same "knock-kneed, how-backit, glaikit horned auld carline" which had turned the buck in the morningthere was a challenge from old Dreadnought in the kailyard! I threw the bowl into the barley-mow, and sprang upon the dike, where I saw the deep print of the buck's foot in the soft mould of the potato plot, into the middle of which he had bounded from the road, clearing the dike at a right angle, over which the dog had run, wondering where he had flown from his last slot. I had scarce time to observe the marks, when the hound opened at full cry, made a demi-tour into the wood, across the road, and into the thorn jungle on the burn; from which, as before mentioned, we had lost our buck of the three days' run. As, however, the roe was now tolerably fresh, I judged that, rather than follow the water into the open pines, he would return for the birken braes and thorny hollows behind him. To intercept him, therefore, I kept the flank of the stunted firs, which, straggling over the moss between the burn and the castle road, are the connecting cover between the jungle and the woods. I had just left the tall trees, and was making for the dike, when the cry of the dog turned towards me; in an instant after, and for the first time in the day, I saw the buck himself; he came bounding through the centre of the little scroggy firs, glanced over the road, and as he leaped upon the dike, the shot just caught him in the spring with which he topped the fail.'

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Many adventures with the deer are recorded, some of them full of wild animation, and at the same time displaying the extraordinary sagacity of the animals. There is one story of a deer which, after being wounded, kept up a run till the third day, passing in this space of time over a large tract of country, and making many singular treasons, as the phrase is, in his attempts to escape. We have not room for any of these more lengthened narratives, interesting as they are, and must content ourselves with one which, in comparison, is little better than an anecdote, and yet is characteristic of the animal. One dark cloudy day, in the depth of winter, we followed a buck, which was like the German leg or the Wandering Jew, and took us all over the forest, into all the burns, and round all the lochs and heights, crossed through the middle of the castle park, down the road of the east farm, between the houses and the square, across the garden, and into the burn at its foot, where of course we lost him for a time. "WonWe conclude for the present with a picture of aniderful buck, sir!" said Donald; but "buck" only by mated nature, which no common hand could have conjecture: for whether buck, doe, or demon, we had sketched. In the bedding season the does retire into never a glimpse of his head to say, and only judged his the most secret thickets, or other lonely places, to progender by the size of his slot and the wide spread of the duce their young, and cover them so carefully, that they dew-clees. With the burn he returned again into the are very rarely found; we have, however, deceived their forest, and only left the water, as we suppose, because vigilance. There was a solitary doe which lived in the he met an old woman's cow, which was standing up to hollow below the Bràigh-cloiche-léithe in Tarnaway. I her knees in the pool, where the long sweet grass grows suppose that we had killed her "marrow;" but I was down to the Glac-Lucrach. From thence he went away careful not to disturb her haunt, for she was very fat over the pots to St John's Logie, treasoned all over the and round, stepped with much caution, and never went wet woody bog, and into the brae of the Tober-shìth. far to feed. Accordingly, when, at evening and morning, made for the Giuthas-mòr, where a famous run comes she came out to pick the sweet herbs at the foot of the up from the hollow, but the deep toll of the hounds brae, or by the little green well in its face, I trode softly passed along the middle of the bank, and went away out of her sight, and if I passed at noon, made a circuit for the river. I examined the slot, to see that it really from the black willows, or thick junipers, where she had four legs, though, it is true, that was little satisfac- reposed during the heat. At last, one fine sunny morntion, since we have no authority that the fiend does not ing I saw her come tripping out from her bower of young sometimes go on all-fours, as, according to the Ara- birches as light as a fairy, and very gay and "canty bians, he occasionally does on one. As long as the-but so thin, nobody but an old acquaintance could dogs led, however, we should certainly have followed, though he had as many legs as a millepede, or no more than a Nim-Juze. Where he went, however, or how we followed, it would be too tedious to relate. Keeping under the wind, we continually checked him by the cry of the dogs, until only old Dreadnought was left on the track, and at last the roe turned short in the face of a pass where I was posted before him, and took wild away for the hamlet of Ceann-na-Coille. This utterly threw me out, as there was no understanding such a buck-who, like Napoleon in Italy, left fortified posts on his flank, and otherwise disregarded the old pigtailed rules of war-besides which, from his last direction, it was probable that he was a Brodie buck, and was gone straight away for his own woods. However,

have known her. For various mornings afterwards I saw her on the bank, but she was always restless and anxious-listening and searching the wind-trotting up and down-picking a leaf here and a leaf there, and after her short and unsettled meal, she would take a frisk-round-leap into the air-dart down into her secret bower-and appear no more until the twilight. In a few days, however, her excursions became a little more extended, generally to the terrace above the bank, but never out of sight of the thicket below. At length she ventured to a greater distance, and one day I stole down the brae among the birches. In the middle of the thicket there was a group of young trees growing out of a carpet of deep moss, which yielded like a down pillow. The prints of the doe's slender forked feet were thickly

tracked about the hollow, and in the centre there was a bed of the velvet "fog," which seemed a little higher than the rest, but so natural, that it would not have been noticed by any unaccustomed eye. I carefully lifted the green cushion, and under its veil, rolled close together, the head of each resting on the flank of the other, nestled two beautiful little kids, their large velvet ears laid smooth on their dappled necks, their spotted sides sleek and shining as satin, and their little delicate legs as slender as hazel wands, shod with tiny glossy shoes as smooth and black as ebony, while their large dark eyes looked at me out of the corners with a full, mild, quiet gaze, which had not yet learned to fear the hand of man: still, they had a nameless doubt which followed every motion of mine-their little limbs shrunk from my touch, and their velvet fur rose and fell quickly; but as I was about to replace the moss, one turned its head, lifted its sleek ears towards me, and licked my hand as I laid their soft mantle over them. I often saw them afterwards when they grew strong, and came abroad upon the brae, and frequently I called off old Dreadnought when he crossed their warm track. Upon these occasions he would stand and look at me with wonder-turn his head from side to side-snuff the ground again, to see if it was possible that he could be mistaken-and when he found that there was no disputing the scent, cock one ear at me with a keener inquiry, and seeing that I was in earnest, trot heavily onward with a sigh.'

OUR COUSIN EPPY FORBES. WE were on a visit to some friends, residing in a retired country town, when hearing of the eccentricities, or, more properly speaking, the peculiarities of an ancient lady, Miss Forbes by name, and comparing notes, we found that she was a cousin of our own. This relationship, indeed, was thrice removed; but according to Scotch computation, that is no very distant degree: so we determined to seek her out, and gain admittance to her domicile; a mark of favour not always vouchsafed to the many, the value of the privilege being of course enhanced to the favoured few. After more than one failure, our repeated summons, both with knocker and bell, being unheeded or unheard, we at length succeeded in introducing ourselves. Miss Forbes inhabited an old dingy - looking house, situated on the further hill - side, beyond the precincts of the town; it was several storeys high, tall and thin, and bare of windows towards the highway; and we understood that she had never crossed the threshold for the last twenty years, except to attend divine service in a neighbouring church twice on each Sabbath day. We were, moreover, informed that, since the death of her old servant, she retained no regular domestic, but always slept fearlessly in the habitation alone; her wants being attended to each morning, as the case might require, by a young girl, who gladly performed the simple offices required; for although Cousin Elspeth, or, as she was familiarly called, Eppy, was not reputed to be wealthy, but, on the contrary, was known to possess a very slender competence, yet the half of that she divided with those who were poorer, and needed help.

The door was opened by a stout upright old lady, very much scarred and disfigured in the face by the smallpox. On listening to our errand, and producing our credentials, Miss Forbes-for it was she-requested us to walk into the parlour and be seated. We really felt half abashed in the presence of this lone woman, for the simple dignity and calm courtesy of her bearing, old-fashioned and quaint though it was, repelled anything like familiarity or undue curiosity; whilst kindness unfeigned, and an innocent truthfulness, which

evidently came from the heart, disarmed all wish, if such a wish existed for a moment, to turn her into ridicule.

After our pretensions to relationship had been freely discussed, and frankly admitted by the old lady, she produced refreshments of the most primitive order from an adjoining closet, inviting us to partake of them, and the breezy air on the hill-side had such an appetising effect, that we did ample justice to the wheaten loaf; but when our entertainer arose to leave the room, taking in her hand a vase of the classic shape, which, we are given to understand, the Pompeian damsels used to carry water in, and which Cousin Eppy designed for the same purpose, we insisted on performing the office for ourselves. But with a soft and gingerly step, and an air as dignified as that of some fabled princess, she courteously waved her hand for us to resume our seat, and swam out of the apartment, returning in about five minutes with the vase filled to the brim with sparkling ready-iced delicious nectar, eagerly quaffed by thirsty, dusty, matter-of-fact mortals. And yet, notwithstanding her hospitality and kindness, we intuitively felt that all attempts on our part to converse intimately as relatives were met with good-breeding, it is true, but also with an impassable barrier of self-withdrawal: so we readily accepted Cousin Eppy's invitation to take a turn in the garden, looking about us, nevertheless, in gratification of our curiosity, as much as circumstances permitted.

The reception parlour had literally nothing in it save a few high-backed antique chairs and a table; and in the small room leading into the garden (Cousin Eppy's own sanctum), in addition to the same articles of furni ture, there was a Bible and Prayer-Book; but no sign of feminine occupation; no books save the best; no nicknacks or nonsense of any description. We heard the regular monotonous tick of the clock, but we looked in vain for a cat to enliven the scene with its companionable purr; and I speedily found myself picturing the long winter evenings of the past twenty years, passed alone, without books, without conversation, interest, or occupation.

By and by I endeavoured to frame a romance, with all its adjuncts, as appertaining to our cousin's history; but when I looked on the old lady's countenance, and conjectured at what epoch of her life the puckerings and seams had thus disfigured it, and when I learnt that she was only ten years of age when attacked by the virulent enemy which had left its mark behind, I no longer succeeded in fancying her the heroine of a bygone tale of sentiment, wherein celibacy and a love of solitude originated in the somewhat commonplace episode of disappointed affections.

The garden-if garden it might be designated, when its aspect was that of waste land, with long coarse grass luxuriantly waving, and wild rose-trees scattered about

lay on the hill-side, open and airy; a broad gravelled walk or terrace ran along the high part, while the domain was bounded by a row of hardy Scotch firs, whose stems were entwined with rich masses of honeysuckle, the summer bloom and sweet odours contrasting strongly with the wintry savage foliage of the dark evergreens. On this terrace, Cousin Eppy informed us, it had been her custom to promenade for at least three hours, during some portion of each day, for the last twenty years, leisurely sauntering up and down, shaded by her huge green parasol from the summer's heat and glare, and protected by a capacious muff from the winter's frost and cold. The view from this terrace,

CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.

which had a southern aspect, was a lovely and extensive one, far away over hill and plain; and in the distance, just peeping and glittering between the hills, the sea, the deep blue sea,' was discernible, with now and then the snowy sails of some passing bark, on which a ray of sunshine rested-the only moving object in the solitary scene. Here, too, half-hidden by eglantine and wild creepers, midway down the ascent, we found the fairy spring which had afforded us such refreshing beverage; the water gushed gently up into a small rounded basin, and from thence trickled away unseen beneath the profuse underwood of Cousin Eppy's neglected pleasure-grounds.

I longed to ask this strange antiquated cousin how she passed her time?-how she reckoned up the innumerable days which had glided by ?-what her memories were, and what her hopes or anticipations? Was she devoted to contemplation, or was it the mere apathetic indulgence of a misanthropic disposition, joined to eccentric habits and whims? After-circumstances, indeed, proved that there was no mystery to be solved; for the time arrived when I enjoyed close and frequent communion with Eppy Forbes, and after a lengthened period had elapsed, her confidence and friendship; which latter marks of favour had been so sparingly dispensed by her during her long pilgrimage, that felt myself especially honoured in possessing

them.

dined early and frugally, read her Bible again, walked
again on her terrace, took a great many cups of tea,
walked again, and read the 'Best Book,' and finally
ascended to her 'observatory'-one of the empty rooms
at the top of the house, from whence she made her own
primitive observations, and still more extraordinary
calculations concerning the heavenly bodies: in short,
Eppy had invented an astronomical code of her own.
In this 'observatory' she passed many peaceful and
happy hours, far removed from earthly cares, pomps,
and vanities; and though her usual hour of retiring to
rest was at nine o'clock punctually, yet a cloudless
starry night often enticed her to commit the dissipation
of late hours.

There was one little episode during her long and passionless career which probably was as full of sentiment and interest to Eppy Forbes as a cherished remembrance of deep and sad import to others differently circumstanced. The good old lady would blush on repeating her simple narrative, and use her large fan, not without having frequent recourse to a bottle of pungent smelling salts. It was as follows:-One of the very few journeys she had ever performed was on her removal to Annesley Park, situated in a remote part of England. She travelled in a stage-coach, and the fellow-traveller who shared the inside with her was, as Eppy described him, 'a comely, fresh-coloured, elderly gentleman, who, she thought, must be a law practitioner, from the nice way in which he spoke, and also because he had a large blue bag with him.'

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She had been transplanted from her native Highland Eppy was a timid traveller, the road was hilly, and home at an early age, to fulfil the duties of companion and humble friend to a noble lady, with whom she had continued to reside after the latter's marriage with the coach was a fast one; but the pleasant gentleman Lord Annesley. It was surmised that ties of blood- with the blue bag reminded her that it was always the relationship' existed between the impoverished Scotch safest plan to sit quite still, with the arms kept close family and the wealthy English one from intermarriages to the sides, to prevent their being broken, should an long ago. Be that as it might, after more than twenty accident occur. Soon after enforcing this prudent and years' devoted attendance on her lady, ten of which excellent advice, which Eppy scrupulously followed, were passed in a sick-room, tending the heroic and there was a sudden crash, and the coach overturned. gentle sufferer, who at length breathed her last in The insides happily escaped unhurt, but poor Eppy's Eppy's arms, she was installed as housekeeper at An- terror was of course excessive. Her fellow-traveller was nesley Park, which became a deserted mansion after extricated first, and then she heard his friendly voice Lady Annesley's death, and the situation, consequently, exclaiming, Give me your hand, madam; gentlywas considered a sinecure. Here Eppy passed ten more gently. I hope you are not hurt. There-step lower, years of loneliness, amidst tapestried desolation and madam. Don't be afraid-you are all safe now!' The mouldering grandeur, happy in occasionally receiving accident had happened within a mile or two of the tidings of her dear young lady, the only child of her nearest town, and in the midst of a beautiful wooded late lamented mistress; but whenever Eppy came to valley, and the passengers walked forward to wait until this part of her reminiscences, she always spoke in a another conveyance should be in readiness. And only half-whispering mysterious manner, just as if, by so imagine my feelings,' Eppy added in a softened tone, doing, she concealed what the world knew full well-when my amiable fellow-traveller, escorting me along namely, the sad history of the fair Maude Annesley, the highway, smilingly asked if I knew by what means whose ill-assorted union and early death formed the I had descended with so much ease from the topsyone engrossing theme of poor Eppy's life, although turvy coach! I did indeed remember stepping on someshe rarely indulged herself in speaking of it, and then thing; and never have I ceased to cherish the rememgallant knight, "your fairy feet rested for a moment on with deep solemnity. She communed with her own brance of so chivalrous an act. "Ah, madam," said this heart silently in her chamber, and was still. the knee of your humble servant, who, kneeling on the other, thus performed a page's duty, most happy in being able to tender his poor services!" I could not express my thanks, for I was perfectly overcome; and though I never heard of him again, or learnt who he my husband might closely resemble this charming inwas, yet had I ever married, I would have desired that dividual.'

On Lord Annesley's decease, Eppy was removed from Annesley Park, and a small annuity being conferred upon her, together with the freehold on the hill-side, Eppy considered that she was permanently settled for the remainder of her days; and, as already mentioned, she had never quitted her home, save for the purposes of devotion, during twenty years occupancy.

It seemed Eppy Forbes's fate to pass her life amid scenes of suffering and solitude; and when trouble fell heavily on her noble patron, it fell heavily on Eppy's heart also, and caused her sun of life to set,' to use her own poetical expression. And she used to say, having once associated with the great, the good, and the learned, how was it possible she could bear to mix in inferior society? She could feel no new interests, and what to her were the petty concerns and gossippings of the little world around? No: she rose at six every morning, read her Bible, and performed her religious exercises, breakfasted, attended to her simple domestic concerns, received her poor patients-for Eppy was somewhat of a quack, though well skilled in the use of medicinal herbs walked on her terrace and sniffed the sea-breeze,

6

Worthy, simple, true-hearted Cousin Eppy! She passed away as calmly as she had lived, after only a few days' illness; and there came into my possession a small cabinet picture, the dearest hoarded treasure of her life, and which I succeeded in restoring to those who value it as an inestimable relic. It represents a bright happy-looking girl, with laughing blue eyes and waving sunny locks; and this was the resemblance of the fair Maude Annesley, who had died, it was said, of or the snowy brow betrayed a line. As Eppy herself a broken heart ere the auburn ringlets turned to gray, often used to remark, when gazing on that picture, it was an owre true lesson on the instability and perishing nature of earthly happiness and grandeur; uncon

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