from the ruins of Kilburn Priory; and crowning all was a large, irregularly shaped stone, having a deep red stain, no doubt of ferruginous origin. This stone was sent to my father by Lord Mulgrave, in one of his cement vessels, my father having been struck with its appearance on the shore at Whitby; and from these simple, really unconnected facts Scott made out the following story, in verses which might be regarded as a kind of friendly offering in return for services rendered. Here are the lines; I had supposed them lost, but my sister, in turning over 'some old papers, found a copy

For the blessed rood of Sir Gervase the good

The nuns of Kilburn pray,

But for the wretch who shed his blood
No tongue a prayer shall say.

The bells shall ring and the nuns shall sing
Sir Gervase to the blest,

But holiest rites will never bring
His murderer's soul to rest.

Now tell me, I pray, thou palmer gray,
Why thou kneelest at this shrine,
And why dost thou cry so eagerly
Upon the help divine?

Oh, tell me who the man may be,

And what his deadly sin,

That the Church's prayer for his soul despair
The mercy of Christ may win.

I cry at this shrine on the help divine
To save the soul of one

Who in death shall lie ere morning light
Upon this ancient stone.

Sir Gervase rode forth far in the North
To Whitby's holy see;

In her bower alone his lady made moan,
A fairer could not be.

His false brother came to the weeping dame:
Oh, I love you dearer than life.

Hence! would you win to shame and sin
Thy brother's wedded wife?

He is far away, thou sweet ladie,
And none may hear or see,

So, lady bright, this very night,

Oh, open your door to me.

Sir Gervase rides forth far in the North, 'Tis long ere he comes back,

And thine eyes shine out like stars by night
From thy hair of raven black.

The fire shall burn at the door stone
Ere I open my door to thee,

And thy suit of hell to Sir Gervase I'll tell,
And a traitor's death thou wilt die.

Then fare ye well, Dame Isabel,

Thou lady of mickle pride;

Thou shalt rue the day thou saidst me nay When back to thee I ride.

The day declined, the rising wind

Sung shrill on Whitby's sands;

With ear down laid and ready blade,
Behind a rock he stands.

Sir Gervase rode on in thought alone,
Leaving his men behind;
The blow was sure, the flight securo,
But a voice was in the wind:
False brother, spur thy flying steed,
Thou canst not fly so fast

But on this stone where now I bleed
Thyself shalt breathe thy last.
That stone was then on Whitby's shore
And now behold it here!

And ever that blood is in mine eye,
And ever that voice in mine ear!
Now, thou palmer gray, now turn thee, I pray.
And let me look in thine eye.

Alas! it burns bright with a fearful light
Like guilt about to die.

That stone is old, and o'er it has rolled

The tempest of many years;

But fiercer rage than of tempest or age
In thy furrowed face appears.

Oh, speak not thus, thou holy man,
But bend and pray by me,

And give me your aid in this hour of need,
Till I my penance drie.

With book and beads, with ave and creed,

Oh, help me while you may;
When the bell tolls one, oh, leave me alone,
For with me you may not stay.

Sore prayed the friar by the gray palmer

As both knelt o'er the stone,

And redder grew the blood-red hue,

And they heard a fearful groan.

Friar, leave me now, on my trembling brow

The drops of sweat run down,

And alone with his spirit I must deal this night
My deadly guilt to atone.

By the morning light the good friar came
By the sinners side to pray;

But his spirit had flown, and stretched on the stone
A corpse the palmer lay.

And still from that stone at the hour of one

Go visit it who dare

The blood runs red and a shriek of dread Pierces the midnight air.

As a little boy I determined to go and sit on that stone in the night, and at last conquered my fear and sat there triumphantly, and have never feared anything since.

"You are not certain of that," he said, in a dogged tone. "I am. Don't you suppose my heart tells me so? You are tired of me. Any person could tell that I am no longer to you what I used to be before"-her voice quivered, and she hid her face against the gate-"before Ella Wolf came."

However, it was a sad business for Lu. She loved Jim truly and well, and there she now stood with him by the gate, the snow deep on the ground, the wind cold, and her heart more desolate and bleak than all:

She was so miserably jealous, that she felt she could die

"I know I am, and I don't pretend not to be. Oh, Jim, I do love you so! I can't help it. I ought to have more pride about me than to act as I am doing; but I would sooner die than lose you."

"Why, Lu, you talk as if there were no other men in the world. There are plenty much better-looking men than I am, and superior to me in every respect. You might have your pick of the best."

She put her hand on his arm almost as if he were already slipping away from her, and that touch could hold him. For she loved him, indeed, and they were to have been married. She had his dainty gold ring, with a single pearl in it, on her finger then. But since the last six weeks he had met a Miss Ella Wolf, from the city of B.

Lu Reynolds was pretty enough for a country girl, but how plain before this gorgeous Miss Wolf, dressed in her wondrous silks that would stand alone! Lu had, it is true, great blue eyes, that were very captivating, and a rosy mouth and dimpled cheeks; but her complexion was tanned, and alas! the sun, despito coal-scuttle bonnets, had freckled her, too. And somehow her hands had got so brown and vulgar-looking, that she almost hated them. Her chestnut hair could not be managed, and she couldn't wear earrings, because her ears had never been pierced. These things she had never noticed till since the last six weeks.

Jim had liked her well enough, and was as little aware of her imperfections as herself. But, lo! Miss Wolf from B— appeared, and poor Lu's sad lack of so much that was necessary was ruthlessly unvailed. Miss Wolf's complexion was as fair, smooth and velvety as pearl-powder at one dollar per box could make it. Her cheeks had no sunburn on them, but bloomed with that faint soupçon of red which so beautifies the pale rose. Her hair was something glorious-a very dream of enchantment. Her figure and carriage nearly surpassed imagination itself. She had diamonds in her ears, and her fingers were stiff with rings, and at the end of a valuable gold chain which hung around her neck was attached a tiny Geneva watch, which was a miracle to Lu, who had never seen anything in the shape of a watch less dainty than her father's enormous turnip, that wound up with a noise like a clock, and Jim's silver chronometer, that was a railroad timepiece, and scarcely an ornament.

Miss Wolf sang also, and accompanied herself on a guitar, wrote verses, and read them aloud very graciously, and even sketched.

tinuo to bear that pain in her breast-that fang gnawing there sharper than the vulture's beak!

Jim, though, seemed quite calm. He was flattered by the girl's jealousy, but certainly not much moved. "How you do hate Miss Wolf, don't you, Lu ?" he said, laughing.

"Hate her? I could-well, I won't say anything wicked; but if she were drowning, and I by, I wouldn't do more than hold out a straw to see if she would follow the proverb and clutch at it. Jim, please don't visit her again." It wouldn't look well to drop off suddenly." "Then say that you won't go there till next Sunday." He shook his head.

"I must.

"Can't; I'm going to-night." "To-night!"

"Yes; I can't stand the dreariness of that confounded office more than three times a week," he said, in a tono expressive of his extreme disgust.

"Come over to see me. We can talk, or play cards, or do what we please."

"Cards bore me, Lu, as you're aware. I like music. What a pity you don't sing!"

Lu evidently thought so, too. It was plain, then, that he was resolved to go.

She could have cried, but contrived to keep the tears back. Suddenly a thought struck her.

"But, Jim, you can't go to-night," she cried, "for you must attend to the switch when the 9:30 passes."

"That's nothing. I shall arrange all that," he said, quietly.

"How?"

"Pres Ames will look after the switch. I'll give him a drink for it."

"Ames !" exclaimed Lu, clasping her hands, and looking up to him with a sudden fear in her eyes. 'Oh, Jim. take my advice aud do not trust to that Pres Ames. Ho drinks so, and cannot be depended on. If the train should be switched on to the other track, it would meet. the express, and you know what the dreadful result would be. Take heed, Jim."

"Lu, you are really getting silly. Don't you suppose that I am fully aware of the importance of attending to the switch? Ames drinks a good deal, it is true, but never too much when he has business on hand. Besides, I don't believe a gallon of liquor would seriously affect him, he is so used to it."

"Oh, if you ever cared anything for me, I implore you by the memory of that vanished love to listen and be

The six weeks had passed by for Jim like an intoxicating vision of that length. He went to see Miss Wolf every day at least once. She lived a good three miles from his office, but he did not care for that, nor for the snow and cold. She tolerated his visits, even flirted slightly with him, but, as several village authorities justly said, "Any

spending a few hours with that heartless girl. She is only laughing at you in her sleeve, Jim. You are not good enough for her. Your foolish admiration flatters and amuses her, and you may rest assure that she is ridiculing you in all the letters she writes to her friends at home. She is not the sort of person to be satisfied with love such as you could give her, and love alone. You could give

You are only She wouldn't thousand dol

her nothing else, Jim, for you are not rich. a clerk at a little railway stopping-place. marry a man who had less than five or ten lars a year, and, above all, she wouldn't marry an awkward countryman such as she views you to be. These are plain words, my own darling boy, but they are truths."

He was simply fiendishly angry.

During the torrent of her speech his face turned red and white alternately with anger and surprise, and when she at length finished, his handsome countenance was so contorted with

passion, that it seemed absolutely festered and sore. "Truths, Miss Reynolds !" he said, really gnashing his teeth. "Then you certainly have a nice opinion of me. Upon my soul, it is well for you that you are not a man. So, with all your love, you, ia reality, only consider me 'a poor clerk,' and 'an awkward bumpkin,' and a laughingstock for everybody! I congratulate you upon your telling the truth for once. You call yourself a lady, I suppose, and you have spoken

plain words to me. I call myself a gentleman, and will reciprocate. In the first place I advise you to cultivate a

from this time forth. Good-night." He turned his back upon her and walked away.

She stood there a while looking after him, and the snow began to fall again sadly around her.

The Winter day was closing in.

As for him, he strode on toward the village. How angry he was, and how savagely he hated her!

Yes, it was really hate. All she had said repeated itself in his mind until his rage almost maddened him. "A poor clerk !-a couutry bumpkin !" he exclaimed,

little decency. It is not modest to follow a man up as you do me. I am sick and tired of you, and everybody knows it; therefore it looks very bad for you to pursue me in the bold fashion you've been doing"

"Jim, you are forgetting yourself. You must not talk so to me, and you will be sorry when you are again in your senses."

"I am in my senses at last, thank heaven! Now mark this, if you please: I don't wish to have anything more to do with you; so don't speak to or notice me in any manner hereafter. The ring you have you can throw in the fire. We are enemies, you understand, Miss Reynolds,

aloud. "To think that the girl would dare to use such language to me! Well, I am rid of her at last, and that's a blessing, for I didn't see my way out of the entanglement. Snowing again, by Jove!" he said, glancing up. "What a nuisance! shall have to walk to Miss Wolf's, for of course I can't borrow old man Reynolds's horse after the row with his daughter. First of all, I must see Pres

Ames."

I

He found this Mr. Pres

Ames at his usual place of resort, which was, of course, the village tavern. Mr. Ames was a social being, and liked to mix with his fellow mortals -especially to mix whisky

toddies with them. In the ardent and industrious performance of the latter he had acquired an extremely red nose, a breath which was not altogether like the south winds blowing over violets, and a condition of nerves that gave him the seeming of a person suffering from chronic ague.

However, at the appearance of Jim in the tavern he came forward very briskly, for his instant conjecture was : "Something's up when Jim Gilraith comes here. Probably a drink in prospect."

"Pres, I want you to do something for me this evening," said Jim, coming to the point at once. "I am going