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compared to the "gleam of herring-scales" was
indeed the mouth of the loch. Never did
voyagers hail the sight of haven with greater joy.

It was a run of nearly a mile up to the anchorage,
and the passage was by no means a safe
one; but Hamish, once in the loch, knew every
stone and shallow perfectly. When we cast
anchor, the thin "smurr" had changed into a
heavy rain, and all the scene around was black
and wild. But what cared we? The fire was
lighted in the forecastle, Hamish put on the
kettle, and the kettle began to sing. Then,
after putting on dry clothes, we sat down as
merry as crickets. The cook recovered, and
poached the eggs. The Wanderer dozed
smilingly in a corner. The Viking swore
roundly that it had been the "jolliest night"
he had ever spent, and that such nights made
him in love with sailing. Hamish Shaw, to
whom all the glory of the night belonged, first
lit his black cutty pipe as he rested his head
against the side of the forecastle; and then, in
an instant, dropped off heavy as a log, worn
out with fatigue, and still gripping the cutty
firmly between his teeth as he slept.


   THE princess she was a winsome thing,
   Only seventeen years that spring.

   She said to her love, "I fain would see
   Your pack of hounds loose on the lea.

   "Saddle thy horse and gird thee, Brand,
   And we will ride to a friendlier land."

   "Lady fair, I've no steed but one;
   But thou shalt ride and I will run."

   "Earl Brand, my father has horses three:
   More than enough for you and me."

   So away they gallopped o'er moss and moor
   And these lovers met neither rich nor poor.

   They never slackened for sun or rain
   On the hill-side, or over the plain.

   Fox might bark, or the wild hawk scream,
   Life with them was a summer dream.

   Till at last they met, at the side of a wood,
   With one who was evil and never good.

   "Earl Brand," said the maiden, "if ye love me,
   Slay that traitor, or he'll slay thee."

   "I cannot slay him, my lady fair,
   For bent is his back, and grey his hair."

   ''Why, sir knight, in such haste to ride,
   And where have you stolen that bonny bride?"

   "She is my sister, and not my wife,
   And I fear me much for the maiden's life."

   "If she is weary, and all but dead,
   Why does she wear that hood of red?

   "If she's been sick and like to die,
   Why do I gold and jewels spy?"

   He ran back fast to her kith and kin,
   And beat at the door till they let him in.

   "Now where is the lady of this hall?"
   "Out at play with the cowslip ball."

   "No!" he cried, "you are all mista'en;
   Go count your maidens o'er again.

   "I met her but now in headlong flight
   With young Earl Brand, the English knight."

   Her father he mounted with fifteen men,
   And rode swift down the mountain glen.

   The lady looked back, as the stream they ford,
   And cried, "Ride faster, or draw your sword."

   "If they come on me one by one,
   You must stand by till the fight be done;

   "But if they charge on me one and all,
   You must stand by and see me fall."

   Then one by one they on him ran,
   And fourteen times he slew his man:

   Ten of the rascals dead by the burn,
   Four rogues dead on the trampled fern;

   Then the fifteenth traitor stealing round,
   Gave him a deep and deadly wound.

   The knight of his wound took little heed,
   And set his lady upon her steed.

   They rode till they came to the brimming tide,
   And there he bound his bleeding side.

   "O, Earl, I see your red heart's blood!"
   "Nay, 'tis but the gleam of your scarlet hood."

   They rode till he came to his mother's door,
   Then he fell dead on the chamber floor.


NOT long ago, the mighty Head of the
Honourable Court of Aldermen of the City
of London, and, for aught we know, even
of that terrible Assembly, The (very)
Common Council, authoritatively made, at the
Mansion House, from that judgment seat
which the magnificent potentate occupies
in virtue of being what it is the facetious
custom to call the chief magistrate of this
great city, the remarkable statement: That
Recreation was a special cause of crime.
The wise experience of the civic sovereign,
prompted him to this great utterance.

The close observation and accurate
knowledge on which this dictum is founded, are
beyond praise. Leaving out of the question
the small consideration that a people
without recreation might be rather difficult
to govern, and might (so History teaches
common men who are not Lord Mayors)
in fact have an avenging tendency to turn
and rend their governors, consider how
exquisitely timed this Pearl of the
nineteenth century! Among the younger men
of the day, what demoralising sports, what
brutal pastimes, are fostered and encouraged
by the degrading system of early
closing, and by the Saturday half-holiday!
Take the wicked and cruel game of cricket,
for instance, in which it is notoriously
impossible to attain excellence without
defiance of rule and order, and the habitual
consumption of large quantities of strong
drink. Consider the rowing matches, of
which large numbers take place on Saturday
afternoons, if the tide be favourable;