box that was to set the town on fire. All, however, were agreed upon this one fact, that they stood a very good chance of having their town burned one way or another. And the old manuscript informs us, the greater. part of the inhabitants of the burgh, being "resolved to make a contention for their tenements against the prophecy, provided themselves with buckets and tubbes, lest the fire should take them unawares."

But what the meaning of the Culver's Nass (which was a tall projecting cliff overhanging the sea) ringing the knell of the town was, nobody could understand. short, the learned declared it to be a passage confessedly difficult.

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But the curse of the fountain was only one half of their misfortunes; for friar John had assured them, in the second place, that if they were instigated to the murder by a person whose name and whose dwelling was unknown, they would all most assuredly be

: at any rate, he said, that a thousand years of penance and repentance would not cleanse them from their crime.

Now, the prospect of losing everything, both in this world and in the next, made all the people very melancholy, and, instead of occupying themselves with their accustomed labours, they remained the greater part of the day collected in different groups, bewailing their evil fate, and consulting with one another how they might avert the curse of the fountain, and discover the name or the actual place of abode of the hermit of the Culver.

The sun went down, and evening was closing in upon their fruitless communings; and they began to meditate carrying their repinings and condolences from the open air to the more comfortable neighbourhood of the fireside; when whom should they see strutting up the centre of the High Street, bobbing, and bowing, and smiling to every one he met, but the hermit of the Culver himself. One would have imagined that common delicacy would have prevented him from showing himself just after he had been the cause of bringing misery and destruction upon all around him. However, the old man

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of the Culver was not possessed of common delicacy; but, on the contrary, he appeared to be actually proud of what he had done. To every old acquaintance he met, he took off his little fur cap, and bowed his long, lean body almost to the ground in a kind of mock obeisance, as much as to say, My dear friend, what do you think of me now? and then he gave a smile-such an unearthly smile! The manuscript of Peter Smith describes it as actually turning inside out the consciences of all who beheld it. Up the street he walked, accosting every one he met in the most familiar manner, to their great horror and perturbation.

"Go," said they one to another, "to friar John; he wanted to know who got us into all this trouble; tell him here is the gentleman himself!"

However, though they all wanted friar John, nobody went for him; but they stood in a manner panic-struck, astounded as it were at the old man's impudence, or perhaps fascinated, as we are told little birds are by the wiles of a serpent.

They wanted to cut their old acquaintance; but they found, to their dismay, that it is a very difficult thing to cut an acquaintance who is determined not to be cut-an observation, the truth of which has been confirmed by the experience of subsequent generations.

Through the town he walked, bowing and smiling, and cutting his jokes. If no one laughed at them, he laughed more heartily himself; if no one answered him, he answered himself. And when he came to the gate by which he usually left the town, (for the town was to a certain extent fortified,) he turned round, made one of his lowest bows, doffing his little fur cap to the very ground, and out he went.

Meanwhile Edgar, who had been endeavouring to keep up his spirits rather by drinking mead than in condoling with his friends, had just arrived at that point in his cups which the learned in these things call comfortable, when the old man made his appearance. He sat, however, very quietly until the hermit had gone quite up the street,

and was going out of the town gate, when up he jumped, and said, "If the old gentleman won't tell me his name, at any rate I will find out where he lives;" and after him he went.

He overtook him a short distance from the town.

"A fine evening, sir," said Edgar; but the old man had altogether lost his merry, joking, communicative manner, and only answered, "Hum !"

Edgar was not a man, after two or three warm glasses of mead, to be put down with a "hum;" so he continued-"It's getting late, sir; I suppose now you are walking homeward?"

"I suppose I am," answered the old man, in a very short, dry, testy tone.

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Might I take the liberty to ask just whereabouts your residence is?"

"Better come and see," said the old man, with a very disagreeable smile; "better come and see."

"Happy to accept your kind invitation," replied Edgar, with a civil bow.