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This is a cauld and an eerie night to be sae late on Ánneslie Muir," and immediately it glided away. Andrew lay a few minutes in a trance, and then, arising from his cold bed, ran hastily towards the cottage of his mistress. His hair stood an end, and the vapours of the night sunk chill upon his brow, as he lifted up the latch and flung himself on an oaken seat.

"Preserve us !" cried the old woman, "why you are mair than aneugh to frighten a body out o' her wits, to come in wi' sic a jerk, bare-headed, and the red blood spattered a' o'er your new jerkin. Shame on you, Andrew! In what mishanter hast thou broken that fule's head o' thine!"


“Peace, mither!” cried the young man, taking breath, "I hae seen the bogle."

The old lady had a long line of reproaches drawn up in order of march between her lips, but the mention of the bogle was the signal for disbanding them. A thousand questions poured in rapid succession-" How old was she? How was she drest? Who was she like? What did she say?"

"She was a tall thin woman, about seven feet high." "Oh, Andrew!" cried Effie.

"As ugly as sin !"

"Other people tell a different story," said Effie. "True, on my bible oath-and then her beard." “A beard! Andrew,” shrieked Effie, "

a woman with

a beard! For shame, Andrew.”

"Nay, I will swear it. She had seen full saxty winters afore she died to trouble us."


"But wha was she like, Andrew?" cried the old woman; was she like auld Janet that was drowned in the pond hard by? Or was she like that auld witch, that your master hanged for stealing a sheep? or was she like-"

"Are you sure she was nae like me, Andrew?" said Effie, looking archly in his face.

"You-Pshaw!-Faith, gude mither, she was like naebody that I ken, unless it be auld

Elspeth, the

cobbler's wife, that was spirited awa by the abbots, for breaking father Jerome's head wi' a tin frying-pan."

"And how was she drest, Andrew?"

"In that horrible three-cornered hat, which, may I be blistered, if ever I seek to look upon again, and in a long blue apron."

"Green, Andrew," cried Effie, twirling her own green apron round her thumb.

"How you like to teaze one!" said the lover.

Poor Andrew did not at all enter into his mistress's pleasantries, for he laboured under great depression of spirits, and never lifted his eyes from the ground.

"But ye ha' na' tauld us what she said, lad," inquired the old woman, assuming an air of deeper mystery, as each question was put and answered in its turn.

"Lord what signifies it whether she said this or that! Haud your tongue, and get me some comfort, for to speak truth I'm vera cauld."

"Weel mayest thou be sae," said Effie, "for, indeed," she continued, in a feigned voice, "it was a cauld and an eerie night to be sae late on Anneslie Muir.”

Andrew started, and a doubt seemed to pass over his mind. He looked upon the damsel, and perceived, for the first time, that her large blue eye was laughing at him from under the shade of a huge three-cornered hat. The next moment he hung over her in an ecstacy of gratitude, and smothered with his kisses the ridicule which she forced upon him as the penalty of his preservation. "Seven feet high, Andrew!"

My dear Effie!"

"As ugly as sin!"


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My darling lassie!"

"And a beard!"

"Na', na', now you carry the jest o'er far." "And saxty winters!"

"Sixteen springs, Effie, dear, delightful, smiling springs."

"And Elspeth, the cobbler's wife. Oh, Andrew! Andrew! I ne'er can forgive you for the cobbler's wife.


And what say you now, Andrew, is there nae bogle on the muir?"


'My dear Effie, for your sake I'll believe in all the bogles in Christendie."

That is," said Effie, at the conclusion of a long and vehement fit of risibility, "in a' that wear threecornered hats."

Pocket Magazine.



MRS. MORRISS, the lady of Major Morriss, who a year or two ago descended in the diving-bell at Plymouth, whilst under water wrote a long letter to her father, which concluded with the following lines :

From a belle, my dear father, you've oft had a line,
But not from a bell under water;

Just now I can only assure you I'm thine

Your diving affectionate daughter.


The following striking resemblance to the death of the elder worthy of that name, as described in the novel, occurs in an old novel, called the Witch of the Woodlands, and relates to the final exit of a provincial esquire.

The worthy clergyman, who never attended him till now, did all that a gentleman of that venerable character could do in such a case; he advised him cordially, prayed for him fervently, gave him all reasonable hope, and endeavoured to dispel any needless fear. He left him with his pious benediction. Some time after, his hopeful son, and his two servants, Clod and Blunder, attended him he was seized with a strong convulsion fit; recovering, he gained his speech, and these were his last words :


- "I did not think to die yet-I'm glad the parson has been.' 'Shall I send for him again?' said the son. 'No, no,' replied the venerable parent; he will be for giving me the sacrament, and then there will be another bottle of wine to uncork. Lord have mercy upon me-that last high wind played the devil with the old pig-sty. I die in charity with all men ; but insist upon Thomas Trueman being turned out of his farm, for not voting as I ordered him. Bury me by your mother ; she lies quiet now. I go home and ask forgiveness. Í know many people will say I am gone to Old Nick; but if I go there I'll be hanged Patch up the old barn, and try it once more-luck's all. Make much of precious time; and, Blunder, sell off the old mare; she's not worth keeping, but you need not tell your chapman that-he'll soon'

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Atterbury, opposing a bill in the 'House of Peers, said that he prophesied, last winter, that this bill would be attempted in the present sessions, and he was sorry to find that he had proved a true prophet." Lord Coningsby, who always spoke in a passion, remarked that "one of the Right Reverends had set himself forth as a prophet; but for his part, he did not know what prophet to liken him to, unless to that furious prophet, Balaam, who was reproved by his own ass." The bishop, in a reply, with great wit and calmness exposed this rude attack, concluding that, "Since the noble lord hath discovered in our manners such a similitude, I am well content to be compared to the prophet Balaam; but, my lords, I am at a loss how to make out the other part of the parallel. I am sure that I have been reproved by nobody but his lordship."


Miners are known to be a superstitious race. Their superstition, however, is sometimes made a pretext for idleness. There is a recipe for curing this species of disorder. In some extensive mines in Wales, the men

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frequently saw the devil, and when once he had been seen, the men would work no more that day. This evil became serious, for Old Beelzebub repeated his visits as often as if he had a design to injure the proprietor. That gentleman at last called his men together, told them that it was very certain that the devil never appeared to any body who had not deserved to be so terrified, and that as he was determined to keep no rogues about him, he was resolved to discharge the first man that saw the devil again. The remedy was as efficient as if he had turned a stream of holy water into the mines.


"THOUGH last, not least of nature's works, I must now introduce you to a friend of mine," said Mr. Douglas, as they bent their steps towards the Castlehill of Edinburgh. "Mrs. Violet Macshake is an aunt of my mother's, whom you must often have heard of, and the last remaining branch of the noble race of Girnachgowl."

"I am afraid she is rather a formidable person then?” said Mary.

Her uncle hesitated-" No, not formidable,-only rather particular, as all old people are; but she is very good-hearted."

"I understand, in other words, she is very disagreeable. All ill-tempered people, I observe, have the character of being good-hearted, or else all good-hearted people are ill-tempered, I can't tell which.'

"It is more than reputation with her," said Mr. Douglas, somewhat angrily; "for she is, in reality, a very good-hearted woman, as I experienced when a boy at college. Many a crown piece and half-guinea I used to get from her. Many a scold, to be sure, went along with them; but that, I dare say, I deserved.

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