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and her kind innocent heart was gladdened when she looked on the little purse that was, on the long-expected Saturdaynight, to be taken from her bosom, and put, with a blessing, into the hand of her father, now growing old at his daily toils.

5. Of such a child the happy cottagers were thinking in their silence. And well might they be called happy. It is at that sweet season that filial piety is most beautiful. Their own Hannah had just outgrown the mere unthinking glad ness of childhood, but had not yet reached that time, when inevitable selfishness mixes with the pure current of love. The father rose from his seat, and went to the door to look out into the night. The stars were in thousands, and the full moon was risen. It was almost light as day, and the snow, that seemed incrusted with diamonds, was so hardened by the frost, that his daughter's homeward feet would leave no mark on its surface. Returning to the fireside, they began to talk of her whose image had been so long passing before them in their silence.

6. While the parents were speaking of their daughter, a loud gust of wind came suddenly over the cottage, and the leafless ash-tree, under whose shelter it stood, creaked and groaned dismally, as it passed by. The father started up, and going again to the door, saw that a sudden change had come over the face of the night. The moon had nearly disappeared, and was just visible in a dim glimmering sky. All the remote stars were obscured, and one or two faintly appeared in a sky, that, half an hour before, was perfectly cloudless; but the whole atmosphere was now in commotion, and mist and sleet were driven rapidly by a furious wind. He stood for a single moment to observe the direction of this unforeseen storm, and then hastily asked for his staff. "I thought I had been more weatherwise. A storm is coming, and we shall have nothing but a wild night." He then whistled for his dog-an old sheepdog, too old for its former labours-and set off to meet his daughter, who might then, for aught he knew, be crossing the Black-moss.

7. The mother accompanied her husband to the door, and took a long frightened look at the angry sky. As she kept gazing, it became still more terrible The last shredt of blue was extinguished-the wind went whirling in roaring edres, and great flakes of snow circled about in the middle air, whe

ther drifted up from the ground, or driven down from the clouds, the fear-stricken mother knew not, but she at least knew, that it seemed a night of danger, despair, and death. Lord have mercy on us, James, what will become of our poor child?" But her husband heard not her words, for he was already out of sight, in the snow-storm, and she was left to the terror of her own soul, in that lonesome cottage.

8. Little Hannah Lee had lert her master's house, soon as the rim of the great moon was seen rising, like a joyful dream, over the gloomy mountain tops; and all alone, she tripped along beneath the beauty of the silent heaven. Still as she kept ascending and descending the knolls that lay in the bosom of the glen, she sung to herself a song, a hymn, or a psalm. There were none to hear her voice, or see her smiles, but the ear and eye of Providence.

9. As she glided on, and took her looks from heaven, she saw her own little fireside-her parents waiting for her arri val-the Bible opened for worship-her own little room, kept so neatly for her, with its mirror hanging by the window, in which to braid her hair by the morning light-her bed prepared for her by her mother's hand-the primroses in her garden peeping through the snow-old Tray, who ever welcomed her home with his dim white eyes-the pony and the cow; friends all, and inmates of that happy household. So stepped she along, while the snow diamonds glittered around her feet, and the frost wove a wreath of lucid pearls around her forehead.

10. She had now reached the edge of the Black-moss, which lay half way between her master's and her father's dwelling, when she heard a loud noise coming down the Glen, and in a few seconds, she felt on her face some flakes of snow. She looked up, and saw the snow-storm coming fast as a flood. She felt no fears; but she ceased her song; and had there been a human eye to look upon her there, it might have seen a shadow on her face. She continued her course, and felt bolder and bolder every step that brought her nearer to her parent's house.

11. But the snow-storm had now reached the Black-moss, and the broad line of light that had lain in the direction of her home, was soon swallowed up, and the child was in utter darkness. She heard nothing but one wild, fierce, fitful howl. The cold became intense, and her little feet and

hands were benumbed with cold. At last she could no longer discern a single mark on the snow, either of human steps, or of sheep-track, or the foot-print of a wild fowl. Suddenly, too, she felt out of breath, and exhausted, and shedding tears, at last sunk down in the snow.

12. It was now that her heart began to quake for fear. She remembered stories of shepherds lost in the snow-of a mother and child frozen to death on that very moor. Bitterly did the poor child weep; for death was terrible to her, who, though poor, enjoyed the bright little world of youth and innocence. She had been happy at her work-happy in her sleep-happy in her kirk on Sabbath. But now there was to be an end to all this-she was to be frozen to death -and lie there till the thaw might come, and then her fa ther would find her corpse, and carry it away to be buried in the kirkyard.

13. The tears were frozen on her cheeks as soon as shed -and scarcely had her little hands strength to clasp themselves together, as the thought of an overruling and merci. ful Providence came across her heart. "I will repeat the Lord's prayer." And drawing her plaid more closely around her, she whispered beneath its ineffectual cover: "Our father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name; thy king dom come; thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven." Had human aid been within fifty yards, it could have been of no avail; eye could not see her; ear could not hear in that bowling darkness. But that low prayer was heard in the centre of eternity-and that little sinless child was lying in the snow, beneath the all-seeing eye of God.

14. The maiden having prayed to her father in heaven, then thought of her father on earth. Alas! they were not far separated. The father was lying but a short distance from his child. He too had sunk down in the drifting snow, after having, in less than an hour, exhausted all the strength of fear, pity, love, despair, and resignation, that could rise in a father's heart, blindly seeking to rescue his only child from death, thinking that one desperate exertion might enable them to perish in each other's arms. There they lay within a stone's throw of each other, while a huge snow drift was every moment piling itself up between the dying parent, and his dying child.

15. There was all this while a blazing fire in the cottage

a white spread table and beds prepared for the family to lie down in peace. Yet was she who sat therein more to be pitied, than the old man and the child, stretched out upon the snow. "I will not go to seek them-that would be tempting Providence, and wilfully putting out the lamp of life. No! I will here abide, and pray for their souls!" Then as she knelt down, she looked at the useless fire burning away so cheerfully, when all she loved might be dying of cold; and unable to bear the thought, she shrieked out a prayer, as if she might pierce the sky up to the very throne of God, and send with it her own miserable soul to plead before him for the deliverance of her child and husband. She then fell down in blessed forgetfulness of all trouble, in the midst of the solitary cheerfulness of that bright-burning hearth, while the Bible, which she had been trying to read in the pauses of her agony, remained clasped in her hands. 16. Hannah Lee had been a servant for more than six months. Soon after she had left the house, her master's son, ga youth who had been among the hills, looking after the sheep, came home, and was disappointed to find that he had lost an opportunity of accompanying Hannah part of the way to her father's cottage. But the hour of eight had gone by, and not even the company of young William Grieve could induce the kind-hearted daughter to delay setting out on her journey, a few minutes after the time promised. "I do not like the night," said William; "there will be a fresh fall of snow soon, for a snow-cloud is hanging over the Birchtree-linn, and it may be down to the Black-Moss as soon as Hannah Lee." So he called his two sheepdogs, that bad taken their place under the long table before the window, and set out, half in fear, to overtake Hannah, and see her safe across the Black-Moss.

17. The snow began to drift so fast, that before he had reached the head of the glen, there was nothing to be seen but a small part of the wooden rail of the bridge across the brook. William Grieve was the most active shepherd in a large pastoral parish; he had often passed the night among the wintry hills for the sake of a few sheep, and all the snow that ever fell from heaven, would not have made him turn back when Hannah Lee was before him; and, as his terrified heart told him, in imminent danger of being lost. As he advanced, he felt that it was no longer a walk of love or

friendship, of which he would have been glad as an excuse. Death stared him in the face, and his young soul, now beginning to feel all the passions of youth, was filled with phrensy.

18. He had seen Hannah every day; at the fireside; at work; in the kirk; on holydays; at prayers; bringing supper to his aged parents; smiling and singing about the house from morning to night. She had often brought his own meal to him, among the hills, and he now found that he loved her beyond father, or mother, or his own soul. "I will save thee, Hannah," he cried, with a loud sob, "or lie down beside thee in the snow; and we will die together in our youth." A wild whistling wind went behind him, and the snow-flakes whirled so fiercely round his head, that he staggered on for a while in utter blindness.

19. He knew the path that Hannah must have taken, and went forward shouting aloud, and stopping every twenty yards to listen for a voice. He sent his well-trained dogs over the snow in all directions-repeating to them her name, "Hannah Lee," that the dumb animals might, in their sagacity, know for whom they were searching; and as they looked up in his face, and set off to scour the moor, he almost believed that they knew his meaning, (and it is probable they did,) and were eager to find the kind maiden by whose hand they had so often been fed. Often went they off into the darkness, and as often returned, but their looks showed that every quest had been in vain. Meanwhile the show was of a fearful depth, and falling without intermission or diminution.

20. Still there was no trace of poor Hannah Lee; and one of his dogs at last came close to his feet, worn out entirely, and afraid to leave his master; while the other was absent, and, as the shepherd thought, probably unable to force his way out of some hollow, or through some floundering drift. Then he all at once felt that Hannah Lee was dead-and threw himself down in the snow in a fit of despair. "God," he then thought, "has forsaken me; and why should he think on me, when he suffers one so good and beautiful as Hannah, to be frozen to death!" God thought both of him and Hannah. "His voice has told us to love one another; and William loved Hannah in simplicity, innocence, and truth." That she should perish was a thought so dreadful, that, in its

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