common calamity. The terms proposed by the Africans were some. what exorbitant. They demanded to have half of the wealth of those whom they restored to health. But the provost told them that he believed many of the most wealthy citizens would be glad to employ them on these terms; and, for his own part, he was willing to sacrifice any thing he had, short of his salvation, for the behalf of his daughter. Assured of at least the safety of their persons and goods, the strangers drew from their ship a large quantity of medicines, and began that very evening to attend, as physicians, those who chose to call them in. The captain-a man in the prime of life, and remarkable amongst the rest for his superior dress and bearing-engaged himself to attend the provost's daughter, who had now nearly reached the crisis of the distemper, and hitherto had not been expected to survive.

The house of Sir John Smith, the provost of Edinburgh, in the year 1645, was situated in Cap-and-Feather Close, an alley occupying the site of the present North Bridge. The bottom of this alley being closed, there was no thoroughfare or egress towards the North Loch; but the provost's house possessed this convenience, being the tenement which closed the lower extremity, and having a back-door that opened upon an alley to the eastward, named Halkerston's Wynd. This house was, at the time we speak of, crammed full of valuable goods, plate, &c., which had been deposited in the provost's hands by many of his afflicted fellow-citizens, under the impression that, if they survived, he was honest enough to restore them unim.. paired, and, if otherwise, he was worthy to inherit them. His daughter, who had been seized before it was found possible to remove her from the town, lay in a little room at the back of the house, which, besides one door opening from the large staircase in the front, had also a more private entry communicating with the narrower and obsolete turnpike behind. At that time, little precaution was taken any where in Scotland about the locking of doors. To have the door simply closed, so that the fairies could not enter, was in general considered sufficient, as it is at the present day in many remote parts. In Edinburgh, during the time of the plague, the greatest indifference to security of this sort prevailed. In general, the doors were left unlocked from within, in order to admit the cleansers, or any charitable neighbour who might come to minister to the bed-rid sick. This was not exactly the case in Sir John Smith's house; for the main door was scrupulously locked, with a view to the safety of the goods committed to his charge. Nevertheless, from neglect, or from want of apprehension, the posterior entrance was afterwards found to have been not so well secured.

The Barbary physician had administered a potion to his patient

soon after his admission into the house. He knew that symptoms either favourable or unfavourable would speedily appear, and he therefore resolved to remain in the room in order to watch the result About midnight, as he sat in a remote corner of the room, looking towards the bed upon which his charge was extended, while a small lamp burned upon a low table between, he was suddenly surprised to observe something like a dark cloud, unaccompanied by any noise, interpose itself slowly and gradually between his eyes and the bed. He at first thought that he was deceived-that he was beginning to fall asleep or that the strange appearance was occasioned by some peculiarity of the light, which, being placed almost directly between him and the bed, caused him to see the latter object very indistinctly. He was soon undeceived by hearing a noise-the slightest possibleand perceiving something like motion in the ill-defined lineaments of the apparition. Gracious heaven! thought he, can this be the angel of death hovering over his victim, preparing to strike the mortal blow, and ready to receive the departing soul into the inconceivable recesses of its awful form? It almost appeared as if the cloud stooped over the bed for the performance of this task. Presently, the patient uttered a half-suppressed sigh, and then altogether ceased the regular respirations, which had hitherto been monotonous and audible throughout the room. The awe-struck attendant could contain himself no longer, but permitted a sort of cry to escape him, and started to his feet. The cloud instantly, as it were, rose from its inclined posture over the bed, turned hastily round, and, in a moment contracting itself into a human shape, glided softly, but hastily, from the apartHa! thought the African, I have known such personages as this in Aleppo. These angels of death are sometimes found to be mortals themselves,—I shall pursue and try. He, therefore, quickly followed the phantom through the private door by which it had escaped, not forgetting to seize his semicircular sword in passing the table where it lay. The stair was dark and steep, but he kept his feet till he reached the bottom. Casting then, a hasty glance around him, he perceived a shadow vanish from the moon-lit ground, at an angle of the house, and instantly started forward in the pursuit. He soon found himself in the open wynd above-mentioned, along which he supposed the mysterious object to have gone. All here was dark; but being certain of the course adopted by the pursued party, he did not hesitate a moment in plunging headlong down its steep profundity. He was confirmed in his purpose by immediately afterwards observing, at some distance in advance, a small jet of moonlight, proceeding from a side alley, obscured for a second by what he conceived to be the transit of a large dark object. This he soon also reached, and finding that his own person caused a similar obscurity, he was con

ment.

firmed in his conjecture that the apparition bore a substantial form. Still forward and downward he boldly rushed, till reaching an open area at the bottom, part of which was lighted by the moon, he plainly saw, at the distance of about thirty yards before him, the figure as of a tall man loosely enveloped in a prodigious cloak, gliding along the ground, and apparently making for a small bridge, which at this particular place crossed the drain of the North Loch, and served as a communication with the village called Mutries-Hill. He made directly for the fugitive, thinking to overtake him almost before he could reach the bridge. But what was his surprise, when, in a moment, the flying object vanished from his sight, as if it had sunk into the ground, and left him alone and objectless in his headlong pursuit. It was possible that it had fallen into some concealed well or pit, but this he was never able to discover. Bewildered and confused, he at length returned to the provost's house, and re-entered the apartment of the sick maiden. To his delight and astonishment he found her already in a visible state of convalescence, with a gradually deepening glow of health diffusing itself over her cheek. Whether his courage and fidelity had been the means of scaring away the evil demon, it is impossible to say; but certain it is, that the ravages of the plague began soon afterwards to decline in Edinburgh, and at length died away altogether.

The conclusion of this singular traditionary story bears, that the provost's daughter, being completely restored to health, was married to the foreigner who had saved her life. This seems to have been the result of an affection which they had conceived for each other during the period of her convalescence. The African, becoming joint-heir with his wife of the provost's vast property, abandoned his former piratical life; became, it is said, a douce presbyterian, and settled down for the remainder of his days in Edinburgh. The match turned out exceedingly well; and it is even said, that the foreigner became so assimilated with the people of Edinburgh, to whom he had proved so memorable a benefactor, that he held at one time an office of considerable civic dignity and importance. Certain it is, that he built for his residence a magnificent land near the head of the Canongate, upon the front of which he caused to be erected a statue of the emperor of Barbary, in testimony of the respect he still cherished for his native country; and this memorial yet remains in its original niche, as a subsidiary proof of the verity of the above relation.

DECEMBER.

WHERE late the wild flower bloomed, the brown leaf lies;
Not even the snow-drop cheers the dreary plain :
The famished birds forsake each leafless spray,
And flock around the barn-yard's winnowing store.

Season of social mirth! of fireside joys!
I love thy shortened day, when, at its close,
The blazing tapers, on the jovial board,
Dispense o'er every care-forgetting face

Their cheering light, and round the bottle glides ;
Now far be banished, from our social ring,
The party wrangle fierce, the argument
Deep, learned, metaphysical, and dull,
Oft dropt, as oft again renewed, endless:
Rather I'd hear stories twice ten times told,
Or vapid joke, filched from Joe Miller's page,
Or tale of ghost, hobgoblin dire, or witch:
Nor would I, with a proud fastidious frown,
Proscribe the laugh-provoking pun: absurd
Though't be, far-fetched, and hard to be discerned,
It serves the purpose, if it shake our sides.
Now let the circling wine inspire the song,

The catch, the glee; or list the melting lays

Of Scotia's pastoral vales,-they ever please.

Loud blows the blast; while, sheltered from its rage,

The social circle feel their joys enhanced.

Ah, little think they of the storm-tossed ship,
Amid the uproar of the winds and waves,

The waves unseen, save by the lightning's glare,
Or cannon's flash, sad signal of distress.
The trembling crew each moment think they feel
The shock of sunken rock ;-at last they strike:
Borne on the blast their dying voices reach,
Faintly, the sea-girt hamlet; help is vain:
The morning light discloses to the view

The mast alternate seen and hid, as sinks

Or heaves the surge. The early village maid

Turns pale, like clouds when o'er the moon they glide;
She thinks of her true love, far, far at sea;

Mournful, the live long day she turns her wheel,
And ever and anon her head she bends,

While with the flax she dries the trickling tear.

JAMES GRAHAME.

A TALE OF THE TIMES OF THE BUCCANEERS.

"Thus said the rover

To his gallant crew,
Up with the black flag,
Down with the blue;
Fire on the main-top,
Fire on the bow,
Fire on the quarter-deck,

Fire down below."

Old Ballad.

"HIST, Ben, hist; we must be hauling close on to it now; and, by the hookey, there's the very cross she spoke of, heaving in sight over those trees; so belay, lad, and bring your hull to anchor astern of that oak,-'twill keep you out of eye shot."-" Ay, ay, sir; but I hope as how you won't be 'fended if I speak a bit of my mind, 'case, d'ye see, I don't think this here kind of coquetting with the crafts, near so taut a way of doin' it as to bear down and engage at once, and cut the little hooker out; and if she's for openin' fire, why a little lip-salve will soon make her lay-tc and obey orders; but, workin' about this way, we may perhaps get hulled by one of those d-d pateraroes, and smite my timbers if I don't fancy that 'bout as much as short allowance."-" No, no, Ben, she must volunteer, no pressing for me; but are you sure the boat's within hail of our fusils?""Ay, ay, sir. All right there away a little to the nor❜ard, close under the lee of that point."- Away with you, then, to your berth, and here I go, full sail, on a sentimental tack. Hem! Hem!

"The soft breath of eve hath lull'd into night,
And soon the first blush of the dawning day
Will steep the young world in beautiful light,
And we must be off o'er the billows away.
Like down floats the spray on the ocean's breast,
And the moonlight there has a softer ray

No sound or alarm thy step shall molest,
Then, Lora, love, wake! my bark's in the bay.
Queen thou shalt be of a hundred brave hands!
They rule o'er the waves and the storms of the sea;
Thy word shall unsheathe a hundred keen brands,
The flag of thy empire to guard safe and free.

And I've left my native land,

And I've led mine own true band.

Through the tempest and the wave,
To win thee, or a grave.