sided under the table into a dark place, and was motionless, all but his eye, which followed every one. Ailie got worse, and began to wander in her mind. For a time she knew her head was wrong, and was always asking our pardon, the dear, gentle old woman; then delirium set in strong, without pause. The end was drawing on; the golden bowl was breaking; the silver cord was fast being loosed. The body and soul-companions for sixty years-were being sundered, and taking leave. She was walking alone through the valley of that shadow into which one day we must all enter; and yet she was not alone, for we know whose rod and staff were comforting her. She lay for some time breathing quick, and passed away so gently that, when we thought she was gone, James, in his old-fashioned way, held the mirror to her face. After a long pause, one small spot of dimness was breathed out; it vanished away, and never returned, leaving the blank, clear darkness without a stain. "What is our life? It is even a vapor, which appeareth for a little time, and then vanisheth away." Rab, all this time, had been fully awake and motionless; he came forward beside us. Ailie's hand, which James had held, was hanging down; it was soaked with his tears; Rab licked it all over carefully, looked at her, and returned to his place under the table. "Rab," said James, roughly, pointing with his thumb to the bottom of the bed. Rab leaped up and settled himself. "Master John, wait for me," said the carrier, and disappeared in the darkness, thundering down stairs in his heavy shoes. I ran to a front window; there he was, already round the house, and out at the gate, fleeing like a shadow. I was afraid about him, and yet not afraid; so I sat down beside Rab, and, being wearied, fell asleep. I awoke from a sudden noise outside. It was November, and there had been a heavy fall of snow. Rab heard the noise, too, and plainly knew it, but never moved. I looked out, and there, at the gate, in the dim morning-for the sun was not up-was Jess and the cart, a cloud of steam rising from the old mare. I did not see James; he was already at the door, and came up the stairs and met me. It was less than three hours since he left, and he must have posted out, who knows how? to Howgate, full nine miles off, yoked Jess, and driven her into town. He had an armful of blankets, and was streaming with perspiration. Motioning Rab down, he took his wife in his arms and laid her in the blankets; then, lifting her, he nodded sharply to me, and, with a resolved but utterly miserable face, strode along the passage and down stairs, followed by Rab. I would have helped him, but I saw he was not to be meddled with, and he was strong and did not need it. He laid her down as tenderly, as safely, as he had lifted her out ten days before, and then, taking Jess by the head, he moved away. He did not notice me; neither did Rab, who presided behind the cart. James buried his wife, with his neighbors mourning, Rab watching the proceedings from a distance. James looked after everything; then, rather suddenly, fell ill, and was insensible when the doctor came. A sort of low fever was prevailing in the village, and his want of sleep, his exhaustion, and his misery made him apt to take it. The grave was not difficult to reopen. Rab once more looked on, and slunk home to the stable. And what of Rab? I asked for him next week of the carrier who got the good-will of James's business, and was now master of Jess and her cart. "How 's Rab?" He put me off, and said, rather rudely, "What's your business with the dog?" I was not to be so put off. 66 Where's Rab ?" He, getting confused and red, and intermeddling with his hair, said, "Indeed, sir, Rab's dead." "Dead! what did he die of ?" 'Well, sir," said he, getting redder, "he did n't exactly die; he was killed. I was loth to make away with the old dog, but I could do nothing else." I believed him. Fit end for Rab, quick and complete. His teeth and friends gone, why should he keep the peace and be civil ? He was buried near the burn; the children of the village, his companions, who used to make very free with him and sit on his ample stomach as he lay half asleep at the door in the sun, watching the solemnity. -Adapted from John Brown, M. D. 4. A TURKISH LEGEND. A certain Pasha, dead five thousand years, So these four words above the city's noise Lost is that city's glory. Every gust Lifts, with crisp leaves the unknown Pasha's dust, - Thomas Bailey Aldrich. 5. THE LADY OF SHALOTT. On either side the river lie Long fields of barley and of rye, That clothe the wold and meet the sky; And up and down the people go, Willows whiten, aspens quiver, Flowing down to Camelot. Four gray walls, and four gray towers, And the silent isle imbowers By the margin, willow-veil'd, Skimming down to Camelot: But who hath seen her wave her hand? Or at the casement seen her stand? Or is she known in all the land, Only reapers, reaping early And by the moon the reaper weary, There she weaves by night and day A curse is on her if she stay To look down to Camelot. She knows not what the curse may be, And little other care hath she, And moving thro' a mirror clear There the river eddy whirls, Sometimes a troop of damsels glad, And sometimes thro' the mirror blue But in her web she still delights |