too, opened more widely, and misty as they were, they saw, indeed, close by her, the huddled up, mangled, and bloody body of her husband.

dead, and she at last lifted herself up a little way out of Marion's lap, and then falling down with her arms over her husband's neck, uttered a few indistinct words of prayer, and expired.

The soldiers stood like so many beasts of prey, who had gorged their fill of blood; their rage was abated and they offered no violence to the affectionate child, as she continued to sit before them, with the head of Christian Lindsay in her lap, watering it with tears, and moaning so as to touch, at last, some even of their hardened hearts. When blood is shed it soon begins to appear a fearful sight to the shedder-and the hand begins to tremble that has let out human life. Cruelty cannot sustain itself in presence of that rueful colour, and remorse sees it reddening into a more ghastly hue. Some of the soldiers turned away in silence, or with a half-suppressed oath others strayed off among the trees, and sat down together; and none would now have touched the head of pretty little Marion. The man whom they shot deserved death-so said they to one another-and he had got it; but the woman's death was accidental, and they were not to blame because she had run upon their fire. So, before the smell and the smoke of the gun-powder has been carried away by the passing breeze from that place of murder, all were silent, and could hardly bear to look one another in the face. Their work had been lamentable indeed. For now they began to see that these murdered people were truly bridegroom and bride. She was lying there dressed with her modest white bridal garments and white ribbands, now streaked with many streams of blood from mortal wounds. So, too, was she who was supporting her head. It was plain that a bridal party had been this very day -and that their hands had prepared for a happy and affectionate newly wedded pair that bloody bed, and a sleep from which there was to be no awaking at the voice of morn. They stood looking appalled on the bodies, while, on the wild flowers around them, which the stain of blood had not yet reached, loudly and cheerfully were murmuring the mountain-bees.

Marion Scott had never seen death before and it was now presented to her in its most ghastly and fearful shape. Every horror she had ever heard talked of in the hiding-places of her father and relations was now realized before her eyes, and for any thing she knew it was now her turn to die. Had she dreamed in her sleep of such a trial, her soul would have died within her,—and she would have convulsively shrieked aloud on her bed. But the pale,placid, happy-looking face of dead Christian Lindsay, whom she had loved as an elder sister, and who had always been so good to her from the time she was a little child, inspired her now with utter fearlessness-and she could have knelt down to be shot by the soldiers without one quickened pulsation at her heart. But now the soldiers were willing to leave the bloody green, and the leader told Marion she might go her ways and bring her friends to take care of the dead bodies. No one, he said, would hurt her. And soon after, the party disappeared.

Christian Lindsay was not quite

Marion remained for a while beside the dead. Their wounds bled out now. But she brought water from the little spring and washed them all decently, and left not a single stain upon either of their faces. She disturbed as little as possible, the position in which they lay; nor removed Christian's arms from her husband's neck. She lifted one of the arms up for a moment to wipe away a spot of blood, but it fell down again of itself, and moved no more.

During all this time the setting sunlight was giving a deeper tinge to the purple heather, and as Marion lifted up her eyes to heaven she saw in the golden west the last relics of the day. All the wild was silent-not a sound, was there but that of the night-hawk. And the darkening stillness touched Marion's young soul with a trembling superstition, as she looked at the dead bodies, then up to the uncertain sky and over the glimmering shades of the

solitary glen. The poor girl was half afraid of the deepening hush, and the gathering darkness. Yet the spirits of those she had so tenderly loved would not harm her they had gone to Heaven. Could she find heart to leave them thus lying together ?-Yes-there was nothing, she thought, to molest the dead. No raven inhabited this glen; nothing but the dews would touch them, till she went to the nearest hiding-place, and told her father or some other friends of the murder.

Before the moon had risen, the same party that on the morning had been present at their marriage, had assembled on the hillside before the shealing where Mark Kerr and Christian Lindsay were now lifted up together on a heather-couch, and lying cold and still as the grave. The few maids and matrons who had been in that happy scene in the Queen-Fairy's Parlour, had not yet laid aside their white dresses, and the little starry ribband-knots, or bride's favours, were yet upon their breasts. The old Minister had come from his cave, and not for many years, had he wept till now; but this was a case even for the tears of an old religious man of fourscore.

To watch by the dead all night, and to wait for some days till they could be coffined for burial, was not to be thought of in such times of peril. That would have been to sacrifice the living foolishly for the dead. The soldiers had gone. But they might no doubt would return and scatter the funeral. Therefore it was no sooner proposed than agreed to in the afflicted souls of them all, that the bridegroom and his bride should be buried even that very

night in the clothes in which they had that morning been wedded. A bier was soon formed of the birch-tree boughs; and with their faces meekly looking up to Heaven, now filled with moonlight, they were borne along in sobbing silence, up the hills and down along the glens, till the party stood together in the lone burial-ground, at the head of St. Mary's Loch. A grave was dug for them there, but that was not their own burial-place. For Mark Kerr's father and mother lay in the churchyard of Melrose, and the parents of Christian Lindsay slept in that of Bothwell, near the flow of the beautiful Clyde. The grave was half filled with heather, and gently were they let down together, even as they were found lying on the green before their shealing, into that mournful bed. The old man afterwards said a prayer-not over thembut with the living. Then sitting down on the grave-stones, they spoke of the virtues of the dead. They had, it is true, been cut off in their youthful prime; but many happy days and years had been theirs their affection for each other had been a pleasant solace to them in toil, poverty, and persecution. This would have been a perplexing day to those who had not faith in God's perfect holiness and mercy. But all who mourned now together were wholly resigned to his dispensations, and soon all eyes were dried. In solemn silence they all quitted the churchyard, and then the funeral party which a few hours ago had been a marriage one, dissolved among the hills and glens and rocks, and left Mark Kerr and Christian Lindsay to everlasting rest.

or some other deformity.

to the ground senseless, with a great effusion of blood, and was conveyed to the Hospital of St. Andrew, where a large and hard substance was discovered on the right side of his crown, or top of the head. In its circumference it was about fourteen inches, and divided into two branches, at a little distance from its base, forming two large crooked horns, whose extremities, some inches in length, bent back under the ear. One of them, the highest, was found to be broken off, about two-thirds, from its origin or root; the other, at the distance of three inches from its root, had a much smaller branch appended to it, which protruded sideways down to the middle of the cheek. By means of a circular interval the person could easily reach at his ear. The whole lump was of a horny nature, and the surface was like that of ram's horns, striated and full of knots, as if formed of successive layers. A fragment that was burnt yielded a scent like animal substances of the same kind, when submitted to the action of fire.

The violence of the blow from the barrel had rent and detached one of the horns in several places, and this gave rise to the bleeding. Though near, this enormous excrescence had no adherence with the bones of the cranium. The eye-lids and forehead had been swelled and puffed up, so that the person could but half open his right eye.

To the above may be added analogous instances, which seem no less remarkable, and are equally circumstantial and satisfactory.

In 1599, De Thou saw in the province of Le Maine, a peasant named François Trouillet, aged thirty-five, who had on the right side of his forehead a horn, chamfered or fluted longitudinally, spreading out and curving to the left, till the point came in contact with the cranium. This protru

sion would have inflicted a wound, if he had not submitted, from time to time, to the operation of cutting it. But this was always attended with extreme pain; and even roughly handling this excrescence excited uneasiness.

This peasant had retired into the woods, to conceal this disagreeable deformity from the world; but one day he was pursued and overtaken by the people belonging to the Marechal de Lavardin, and, when the valets pulled off his bonnet, to salute their master, they were overwhelmed with astonishment at the sight of the horn. Trouillet was afterwards taken to court, and presented to Henry IV.; but, when made a common spectacle to the Parisians, as some singular wild beast, he took it to heart, and died of chagrin.

Aldobrandi reports the case of a young peasant, who carried on his head a horn about the size of the middle finger. He was but a child, and was removed in 1689 to the hospital of Bologna, for the excision of this vegetative product.

Mr. Scudder, proprietor of the New York Museum, reports that he has seen and handled a horn seven inches long, taken from the head of an elderly lady, after her death. It had grown on the mastoid apophysis, along the ear, and on the root of another horn, which had been previously amputated.

About six years ago, a man was exhibited in the Philadelphia Museum, who had on his sternum a horn four inches in length, and who felt no other inconvenience from it than what its size and weight excited.

Dr. Chatard, of Baltimore, relates his having seen at New York, some years ago, an old woman who had on her nose a horn about an inch in length, and shaped like that of the rhinoceros.