"He must be a brave warrior," said the young chief, compressing his breath, and looking with anger and astonishment at the tenacious and cool old man. "I should like to see this Calum Dhu."

"Ye may, soon enough; an', gin ye were a M'Gregor, feel him too. But what is the man glunching and glooming at! Gin ye were Black John himsel, ye could na look mair deevilish-like. And what are you fidging at, man?" addressing the third M'Gregor, who had both marked and felt the anger of his young chief, and had slowly moved nearer the old man, and stood with his right hand below the left breast of his plaid, probably grasping his dirk, ready to execute the vengeance of his master, as it was displayed on his clouded countenance, which he closely watched. The faith of the Gael is deeper than "to hear is to obey"-the slavish obedience of the East: his is to anticipate and perform-to know and accomplish, or die. It is the sterner devotedness of the north.

But the old man kept his keen gray eye fixed upon him, and continued, in the same unsuspecting tone: “But is there ony word o' the M'Gregors soon coming over the hills? Calum wad like to try a shot at Black John, their chief; he wonders gin he could pass an arrow through his great hardy bulk as readily as he sends them through his clansmen's silly bodies. John has a son, too, he wad like to try his craft on; he has the name of a brave warrior-I forget his name. Calum likes to strive at noble game, though he is sometimes forced to kill that which is little worth. But I'm fearfu' that he o'errates his ain strength; his arrow will only, I think, stick weel through Black John, butDotard, peace!" roared the young chief, till the glen rang again, his brow darkening like midnight; "peace! or I shall cut the sacrilegious tongue out of your head, and nail it to that door, to show Calum Dhu that you have had visitors since he went away, bless his stars that he was not here."

and

A dark flash of suspicion crossed his mind as he gazed at the cool old tormentor who stood before him, unquailing at his frowns; but it vanished as the imperturbable old man said, "Haoh! ye're no a M'Gregor-and though ye were, ye surely wadna mind the like o' me! But anent bending this bow," striking it with the long arrow, which he still held in his hand, "there is just a knack in it; and your untaught young strength is useless, as ye dinna ken the gait o't. I learned it frae Calum, but I'm sworn never to tell it to a stranger. There is mony a man in the clan I ken naething about. But as ye seem anxious to see the bow bent, I'll no disappoint ye; rin up to yon gray stane -stand there, and it will no be the same as if ye were standing near me when I'm doing it, but it will just be the same to you, for ye can see weel enough, and when the string is on the bow, ye may come down, an' ye like, an' try a flight; it's a capital bow, and that ye'll fin."

A promise is sacred with the Gael; and, as he was under one, they did not insist on his exhibiting his art while they were in his presence; but, curious to see the sturdy bow bent, a feat of which the best warrior of their clan would have been proud, and which they had in vain essayed, and perhaps thinking Calum Dhu would arrive in the interval, and as they feared nothing from the individual, who seemed ignorant of their name, and who could not be supposed to send an arrow so far with any effect,—they therefore walked away in the direction pointed out; nor did they once turn their faces till they reached the gray rock. They now turned, and saw the old man (who had waited till they had gone the whole way) suddenly bend the stubborn yew, and fix an arrow on the string. In an instant it was strongly drawn to his very ear, and the feathered shaft, of a cloth-breadth length, was fiercely launched in air.

"M'Alp-hooch!" cried the young chief, meaning to

raise the M'Gregor war-cry, clapping his hand on his breast as he fell. "Ha!" cried Calum Dhu, for it was he himself; "clap your hand behin'; the arm shot that never sent arrow that came out where it went in ;" -a rhyme he used in battle, when his foes fell as fast as he could fix arrows to the bow-string. The two M'Gregors hesitated a moment whether to rush down and cut to atoms the old man who had so suddenly caused the death of their beloved young chief; but seeing him fix another arrow to his bow, of which they had just seen the terrible effects, and fearing they might be prevented from carrying the news of his son's death to their old chieftain, and thus cheat him of his revenge, they started over the hill like roes. But a speedy messenger was after them; an arrow caught Evan as he descended out of sight over the hill: sent with powerful and unerring aim, it transfixed him in the shoulder. It must have grazed the bent that grew on the hill top, to catch him, as only his shoulders could be seen from where Calum Dhu stood. On flew the other M'Gregor with little abatement of speed till he reached his chieftain with the bloody tidings of his son's death. "Raise the clan!" were Black John's first words; "dearly shall they rue it." A party was soon gathered. Breathing all the vengeance of mountain warriors, they were soon far on their way of fierce retaliation, with Black John at their head. Calum Dhu was in the meantime not idle; knowing, from the escape of one of the three M'Gregors, that a battle must quickly ensue, he collected as many of his clansmen as he could, and, taking his terrible bow, which he could so bravely use, calmly waited the approach of the M'Gregors, who did not conceal their coming; for loud and fiercely their pipes flung their notes of war and defiance on the gale as they approached; and mountain cliff and glen echoed far and wide the martial strains. They arrived, and a desperate struggle immediately commenced.

The M'Gregors carried all before them: no warriors of this time could withstand the hurricane onset, sword in hand, of the far-feared, warlike M'Gregors. Black John

raged through the field like a chafed lion, roaring in a voice of thunder, heard far above the clash, groans, and yells, of the unyielding combatants-" where was the murderer of his son?" None could tell him-none was afforded time, for he cut down, in his headlong rage, every foe he met. At length, when but few of his foes remained, on whom he could wreak his wrath, or exercise his great strength, he spied an old man sitting on a ferny bank, holding the stump of his leg, which had been cut off in the battle, and who beckoned the grim chief to come nearer. Black John rushed forward, brandishing his bloody sword, crying, in a voice which startled the yet remaining birds from the neighboring mountain cliffs— "where was his son's murderer!" "Shake the leg out

o' that brogue," said the old man, speaking with difficulty, and squeezing his bleeding stump with both hands, with all the energy of pain, "and bring me some o' the water frae yon burn to drink, and I will show you Calum Dhu, for he is yet in the field, and lives: rin, for my heart burns and faints." Black John, without speaking, shook the leg out of the brogue, and hasted to bring water, to get the wished-for intelligence. Stooping to dip the bloody brogue in the little stream, "M'Alp-hooch!" he cried, and splashed lifeless in the water, which in a moment ran thick with his blood. "Ha!" cried Calum Dhu, for it was he again; "clap your hand behin'; that's the last arrow shot by the arm that sent those which came not out where they went in."

LONDON WEEKLY REVIEW.

HANNAH.

THE prettiest cottage on our village-green is the little dwelling of Dame Wilson. It stands in a corner of the common, where the hedgerows go curving off into a sort of bay, round a clear, bright pond, the earliest haunt of the swallows. A deep, woody, green lane, such as Hobbima or Ruysdael might have painted—a lane that hints of nightingales-forms one boundary of the garden, and a sloping meadow the other; whilst the cottage itself, a low, thatched, irregular building, backed by a blooming orchard, and covered with honeysuckle and jessamine, looks like the chosen abode of snugness and comfort. And so it is.

Dame Wilson was a respected servant in a most respectable family, where she passed all the early part of her life, and which she quitted only on her marriage with a man of character and industry, and of that peculiar universality of genius which forms what is called, in country phrase, a handy fellow. He could do any sort of work, was thatcher, carpenter, bricklayer, painter, gardener, game-keeper, every thing by turns, and nothing long." No job came amiss to him. He killed pigs, mended shoes, cleaned clocks, doctored cows, dogs, and horses, and even went as far as bleeding and drawing teeth in his experiments on the human subject. In addition to these multifarious talents, he was ready, obliging, and unfearing; jovial withal, and fond of good-fellowship; and endowed with a promptness of resource which made him the general adviser of the stupid, the puzzled, and the timid. He was universally admitted to be the cleverest man in the parish ; and his death, which happened, about ten years ago, in consequence of standing in the water, drawing a pond for one neighbor, at a time when he was overheated by load