y, Crawford--for a little while. We'll hae nae tears. I hae
lived joyfully before my God these ninety years; I am going out o' the
sunshine into the sunshine. Crawford, through that sair strait o'
yours you hae set a grand, wide-open door for a weight o' happiness. I
am glad ye didna wait. A good will is a good thing, but a good life is
far better. It is a grand thing to sow your ain good seed. Nae ither
hand could hae done it sae well and sae wisely. Far and wide there are
lads and lasses growing up to call you blessed. This is a thought to
mak death easy, Crawford. Good-night, dears."

And then "God's finger touched him and he slept."

Crawford lived but a few weeks longer. After the dominie's death he
simply sat waiting. His darling Alexander came home specially to
brighten these last hours, and in his company he showed almost to the
last hour the true Crawford spirit.

"Alexander," he would say, "you'll ding for your ain side and the
Crawfords always, but you'll be a good man; there is nae happiness
else, dear. Never rest, my lad, till ye sit where your fathers sat in
the House o' Peers. Stand by the State and the Kirk, and fear God,
Alexander. The lease o' the Cowden Knowes is near out; don't renew it.
Grip tight what ye hae got, but pay every debt as if God wrote the
bill. Remember the poor, dear lad. Charity gies itsel' rich. Riches
mak to themselves wings, but charity clips the wings. The love o' God,
dear, the love o' God--that is the best o' all."

Yes, he had a sair struggle with his lower nature to the very last,
but he was constantly strengthened by the conviction of a "Power
closer to him than breathing, nearer than hands or feet." Nine weeks
after the dominie's death they found him sitting in his chair, fallen
on that sleep whose waking is eternal day. His death was like
Tallisker's--a perfectly natural one. He had been reading. The Bible
lay open at that grand peroration of St. Paul's on faith, in the
twelfth of Hebrews. The "great cloud of witnesses," "the sin which
doth so easily beset us," "Jesus, the Author and Finisher of our
faith"--these were probably his last earthly thoughts, and with them
he passed into

"That perfect presence of His face
Which we, for want of words, call heaven."

James Blackie's Revenge.

JAMES BLACKIE'S REVENGE.

CHAPTER I.

Few people who have travelled will deny that of all cities Glasgow is
apparently the least romantic. Steeped in wet, whi