at times almost a little afraid of her ; or perhaps it was only a vein of shyness that cropped up from time to time through his hard mental characteristics. In any case, he was at this moment neither the shy lover nor the eager student; he was full of the prospect of having sole command of the ship during a long night on the Atlantic, and he hurried us up on deck after dinner without a word about that return battle at bézique.

Then

The night had come on apace, though there was still a ruddy mist about the northern skies, behind the dusky purple of the Coolin hills. The stars were out overhead; the air around us was full of the soft cries of the divers; occasionally, amid the lapping of the water, we could hear some whirring by of wings. the red port light and the green starboard light were brought up from the forecastle, and fixed in their place; the men went below; Angus Sutherland took the tiller; the Laird kept walking backward and forward as a sort of lookout; and the two women were as usual seated on rugs together in some invisible cornercrooning snatches of ballads, or making impertinent remarks about people much wiser and older than themselves.

"Now, Angus," says the voice of one of them-apparently from somewhere about the companion, "show us that you can sail the yacht properly, and we will give you complete command during the equinoctials.

64

"You speak of the equinoctials," said he, laughing, as if it was quite settled I should be here in September."

"Why not?" said she promptly. "Mary is my witness you promised. You wouldn't go and desert two poor lone women.

"But I have got that most uncomfortable thing, a conscience," he answered; "and I know it would stare at me as if I were mad if I proposed to spend such a long time in idleness. It would be outraging all my theories, besides. You know for years and years back I have been limiting myself in every way-living, for example, on the smallest allow ance of food and drink, and that of the simplest and cheapest-so that if any need arose, I should have no luxurious habits to abandon-"

"But what possible need can there be?" said Mary Avon warmly.

"Do you expect to spend your life in a jail?" said the other woman.

No," said he, quite simply. 'But I will give you an instance of what a man who devotes himself to his profession may have to do. A friend of mine, who is one of the highest living authorities. on Materia Medica, refused all invitations for three months, and during the whole of that time lived each day on precisely the same food and drink, weighed out in exact quantities, so as to determine the effect of particular drugs on himself. Well, you know, you should be ready to do that—"

"Oh, how wrong you are!" says Mary Avon, with the same impetuosity. Α man who works as hard as you do should not sacrifice yourself to a theory. And what is it? It is quite foolish!"

"Mary!" her friend says.

"It is, she says with generous warmth. It is like a man who goes through life with a coffin on his back, so that he may be ready for death. Don't you think that when death comes it will be time enough to be getting the coffin ?'" This was a poser.

"You know quite well," she says, "that when the real occasion offered, like the one you described, you could deny yourself any luxuries readily enough: why should you do so now?" At this there was a gentle sound of laughter.

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Luxuries-the luxuries of the White Dove!" says her hostess, mindful of tinned meats.

"Yes, indeed," says our young Doctor, though he is laughing too. "There is far too much luxury-the luxury of idleness-on board this yacht to be wholesome for one like me."

"Perhaps you object to the effeminacy of the downy couches and the feather pillows," says his hostess, who is always grumbling about the hardness of the beds.

But it appears that she has made an exceedingly bad shot. The man at the wheel-one can just make out his dark figure against the clear starlit heavens, though occasionally he gets before the yellow light of the binnacle-proceeds to assure her that, of all the luxuries of civilization, he appreciates most a horse-hair pillow; and that he attributes his sound sleeping on board the yacht to the hard

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Ay, said he, the further I went away from my own country the more I saw nothing but decadence and meesery. The poor craytures !-living among ruins and tombs and decay, without a trace of public spirit or private energy. The disregard of sanitary laws was something terrible to look at—as bad as their universal beggary. That is what comes of centralization, of suppressing local government. Would ye believe that there are a lot of silly bodies actually working to get our Burgh of Strathgovan annexed to Glasgow-swallowed up in Glasgow !"

"Impossible!" we exclaim.

ures.

"I tell ye it is true. But no, no! We are not ripe yet for those Radical measWe are constituted under an Act of Parliament. Before the House of Commons would dare to annex the free and flourishing Burgh of Strathgovan to Glasgow, I'm thinking the country far and near would hear something of it!"

Yes; and we think so too. And we think it would be better if the hamlets and towns of Palestine were governed by men of public spirit like the Commissioners of Strathgovan; then they would be properly looked after. Is there a single steam fire-engine in Jericho?

However, it is late; and presently the women say good-night and retire. And the Laird is persuaded to go below with them also; for how otherwise could he have his final glass of toddy in the saloon? There are but, two of us left on deck, in the darkness, under the stars.

It is a beautiful night, with those white

and quivering points overhead, and the other white and burning points gleaming on the black waves that whirl by the yacht. Beyond the heaving plain of waters there is nothing visible but the dusky gloom of the Island of Eigg, and away in the south the golden eye of Ardnamurchan light-house, for which we are steering. Then the intense silencebroken only when the wind, changing a little, gybes the sails and sends the great boom swinging over on to the lee tackle. It is so still that we are startled by the sudden noise of the blowing of a whale; and it sounds quite close to the yacht, though it is more likely that the animal is miles away.

Though she does not look very strong," continues the young Doctor, she must have a thoroughly healthy constitution, or how could she have such a happy disposition? She is always contented; she is never put out. If you had only seen her patience and cheerfulness when she was attending that old woman-many a time I regretted it—the case was hopeless-a hired nurse would have done as well."

Hiring a nurse might not have satisfied the young lady's notions of duty.

Well, I have seen women in sickrooms, but never any one like her," said he, and then he added, with a sort of emphatic wonder, "I'm hanged if she did not seem to enjoy that too! Then you never saw any one so particular about following out instructions."

It is here suggested to our steersman that he himself may be a little too particular about following out instructions. For John of Skye's last counsel was to keep Ardnamurchan light on our port bow. That was all very well when we were off the north of Eigg; but is Dr. Sutherland aware that the south point of Eigg-Eilean-na-Castle-juts pretty far

out; and is not that black line of land coming uncommonly close on our starboard bow? With some reluctance our new skipper consents to alter his course by a couple of points; and we bear away down for Ardnamurchan.

And of what did he not talk during the long starlit night-the person who ought to have been lookout sitting contentedly aft, a mute listener?-of the strange fears that must have beset the people who first adventured out to sea; of the vast expenditure of human life that must have been thrown away in the discovery of the most common facts about currents and tides and rocks, and so forth, and so forth. But ever and again his talk returned to Mary Avon. "What does the Laird mean by his suspicions about her uncle?" he asked on one occasion—just as we had been watching a blue-white bolt flash down through the serene heavens and expire

in mid-air.

Mr. Frederick Smethurst has an ugly

face."

"But what does he mean about those relations between the man with the ugly

face and his niece?"

"That is idle speculation. Frederick Smethurst was her trustee, and might have done her some mischief—that is, if he is an out-and-out scoundrel; but that is all over. Mary is mistress of her own property now."

Here the boom came slowly swinging over; and presently there were all the

sheets of the head-sails to be looked after -tedious work enough for amateurs in the darkness of the night.

Then further silence; and the monotonous rush and murmur of the unseen

sea; and the dark topmast describing circles among the stars. We get up one of the glasses to make astronomical observations, but the heaving of the boat somewhat interferes with this quest after knowledge. Whoever wants to have a good idea of forked lightning has only to take up a binocular on board a pitching yacht, and try to fix it on a particular planet.

The calm, solemn night passes slowly; the red and green lights shine on the black rigging; afar in the south burns

the guiding star of Ardnamurchan. And we have drawn away from Eigg now, and passed the open sound; and there, beyond the murmuring sea, is the gloom of the Island of Muick. All the people below are wrapped in slumber; the cabins are dark; there is only a solitary candle burning in the saloon. It is a strange thing to be responsible for the lives of those sleeping folk-out here on the lone Atlantic, in the stillness of the night.

Our young Doctor bears his responsibility lightly. He has for a wonderlaid aside his pipe; and he is humming a song that he has heard Mary Avon singing of late-something about

Oh think na lang, lassie, though I gang awa', For I'll come and see ye in spite o' them a',

and he is wishing the breeze would blow a bit harder and wondering whether the wind will die away altogether when we Point. get under the lee of Ardnamurchan

But long before we have got down to Ardnamurchan, there is a pale gray light beginning to tell in the eastern skies; and the stars are growing fainter; and the black line of the land is growing clearer above the wrestling seas. Is it a fancy that the first light airs of the morning are a trifle cold? And then we suddenly see, among the dark rigging forward, one or two black figures; and presently John of Skye comes aft, rubbing his eyes. He has had a good sleep at last.

Go below, then, you stout-sinewed young Doctor; you have had your dethe still watches of the night. And soon sire of sailing the White Dove through you will be asleep, with your head on the hard pillow of that little state-room; and though the pillow is not as hard as a stone, still the night and the sea and the who knows that you may not perchance, stars are quickening to the brain; and after all, dream of angels, or hear some faint singing far away?

Some say that ever 'gainst that season comes
Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated,
The bird of dawning singeth all night long :
And then, they say, no spirit dares stir abroad;
The nights are wholesome; then no planets
strike,

No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm,
So hallowed and so gracious is the time.

Hamlet.

To

THE greater number of superstitions regarding_animals, so common in all parts of Ireland, like those of France, Germany, Denmark, and Sweden, relate to the part played by the brute_creation during Christ's life on earth. It is generally supposed that these stories had their origin in Pagan times, and that the early Christian teachers, despairing of being able to eradicate the superstitious observances of the people, thought fit to divert them to their own use, and rebaptized the ancient myths and legends. The reader of "Farrar's Life of Christ" will remember the extracts given from the Apocryphal Gospels, which relate how the ox and the ass in the stable knelt in adoration at the Saviour's birth. this old tradition, and to the fact that the ass's colt was ridden by Christ, and has the mark of a cross upon its back, may be traced the esteem in which the ass is held throughout Ireland. The people consider it lucky to have one of these animals to graze in the field with their cattle, thinking its presence a protection from witch or fairy. The Roman Catholic peasantry of the county Donegal gravely assure you that every ass falls upon its knees at midnight on Christmas Eve, and brays three times; and many of them are ready to swear that this is certainly the case, they having remained awake until the holy hour, on purpose to see and hear it for themselves. In Derry, Antrim, and Tyrone the people say that all the animals in the stable do the same. The reader will be reminded of the Breton legend that the ox and ass receive the gift of speech for the 'space of an hour upon Christmas Eve.

The cock is also held in very high esteem, and is believed to be well aware of the reason for rejoicing at Christmastide, since for nine nights at that season

Nor is this be

he crows all night long. lief altogether confined to Roman Catholics. A Presbyterian family in Carrigans, a village in the county Donegal, had some years ago a hen so piously disposed that she imitated her crested spouse, and crowed loudly on Christmas Eve. Now, as the crowing of a hen is at all other times considered a most unlucky omen, the mistress of the house exclaimed in consternation from her bed, "Whisht, you villain of a bird! Just wait till to-morrow, an' I'll wring your unlucky neck.'

"'Deed you will not!" cried the master. "You'll no stir thon hen, for she has more wit nor many a Christian.'

So the crowing hen lived on; but had she happened to crow at any other time than Christmas Eve, she would have been thought the herald of death or misfortune to the family, and would have met with a speedy end. with a speedy end. Everybody in Ulster knows the old saying:

A whistling maid and a crowing hen Was never good in one town end. The insect known in some parts of England as the "devil's coach-horse," in others as the " coffin-cutter," and in Ireland and the Highlands of Scotland as the diaoul, or devil, is everywhere in evil repute. If one of the old legends regarding this insect is to be believed, it earned the enmity of mankind very early in the world's history. It is said to have eaten the core of the apple thrown away by Eve, and to this day a strong smell of apples is perceived when it is crushed. But this ancient sinner is hated by the Irishman for quite another cause. das, on his way to betray Christ to His enemies, met a number of diaouls, who turned up their tails to indicate the direction in which He had gone. The Roman Catholic in Cavan, Louth, and Meath says that any one killing a diaoul before it has time to turn up its tail is forgiven seven sins; and if so fortunate as to kill it on a Friday, the sins of the whole week are remitted.

Ju

The common black beetle has gained a still worse reputation. The reason

given in all parts of Ireland for the evil odor in which this insect is held is the following: Some days before our Saviour's Passion, when the rulers of the Jews sent men to apprehend Him, they met a young man at work in the fields, of whom they inquired whether Jesus of Nazareth had passed that way.

"Yes," replied the young man. "But when ?"

No answer.

A black beetle, however, raised its tiny head and said, "Yesterday, yesterday;' since when it has always been considered a praiseworthy action to kill a beetle wherever encountered. The Roman Catholics believe that they are forgiven seven sins if they kill it on any day in the week except Friday; but if on Friday, they are absolved from the sins of the whole week. The Irish-speaking peasant, while crushing it, exclaims, Nie, nie, a-gaddah !"-i.e., " Yesterday, yesterday, you thief!" Should an educated Protestant ask why this insect is persecuted with so much rancor, he is not always told the story given above, but sometimes receives this answer : The black clock is listening; it will tell something." A favorite cure for whoopingcough in Derry and Donegal is to catch a beetle which flies against you unawares (you must not be on the lookout for it), and to cork it up tightly in a bottle. As it slowly dies, the patient is supposed to get better. Perhaps this last superstition may somehow be connected with the virtuous action involved in the destruction of a beetle.

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Before leaving the subject of Irish superstitions relating to Christ's life on earth, we may mention that in Ireland, as in other countries, the robin is believed to have plucked a thorn out of the crown of thorns, and to have got its breast stained with blood in so doing.

Tinkers are looked down upon in Donegal for the following reason. When the blacksmith was ordered to make nails for the Cross, he refused, but the tinker consented to make them; and Christ condemned him and all his race to be wanderers, and never to have a roof of their own to cover them, till the world's end.

"Can that be true?" we asked the woman who told us the foregoing story. "Is it not the case that tinkers must

Na, na, miss; it's the blessed Lord's judgment on them that keeps them from having a house o' their ain.'

The same person declares that she has seen the sun dance for joy on Easter morning. She" (the Irish peasant always makes the sun feminine) "was just risen above the mountains, when she gave three wee skips for joy that Christ is risen. Sure I seen it wi' my ain eyes.'

The cock is esteemed very highly for his wisdom, inherited, in all probability, from the ancestor that crowed when Peter denied his Lord. Should he crow at an untimely hour, such as from six P.M. to eleven P.M., he is believed to prophesy some event affecting the family, and the mistress hastens to feel his feet. If they are cold, her heart sinks, for she knows that he foretells a death; but if warm, she is comforted and reassured, sure that the house prophet is but rejoicing at the expected arrival of a good letter from America, or some other piece of luck.

A curious anecdote is told of St. Columba's last night in Ireland, in which a cock plays a prominent part. The good saint honored the village of Ballyfay by lodging there, and informed the mistress of the house that he must positively leave her at cock-crow next morning. The woman's cock crowed very early in the night, awakening St. Columba, who departed wearily, cursing the village as he went, in the following words:

Oh, luckless Ballyfay,
Deprived of Chanticleer,
Evil to drive away

And morning light to cheer. Since when no cock has ever been heard to crow at Ballyfay.

The cock's superior intelligence sometimes leads him to give warning of danger, even during the daytime. About a mile from the gap of Barnsmore, in County Donegal, is a lonely inn, standing beside a black lake, which reminds the tourist of Moore's lines:

By that lake whose gloomy shore
Skylark never warbles o'er,-

so dreary is the wide solitude of the surrounding boggy plains and distant frowning hills. The mountains of the gap form a majestic background to this forbidding