h time; but I am going to be put on my trials to-morrow, and shall
come forth a preacher of the word."

The thunder which had hitherto been muttering at a distance--each peal,
however, nearer and louder than the preceding one--now began to roll
overhead, and the lightning, as it passed the window, to illumine every
object within. The hapless poet stretched out his thin wasted arm, as if
addressing a congregation from the pulpit:--

"There were the flashings of lightning," he said, "and the roll of
thunder; and the trumpet waxed louder and louder. And around the summit
of the mountain were the foldings of thick clouds, and the shadow fell
brown and dark over the wide expanse of the desert. And the wild beasts
lay trembling in their dens. But, lo! where the sun breaks through the
opening of the cloud, there is the glitter of tents--the glitter of ten
thousand tents that rise over the sandy waste, thick as waves of the
sea. And there, there is the voice of the dance and of the revel, and
the winding of horns and the clash of cymbals. Oh, sit nearer me,
dearest mother, for the room is growing dark, dark; and, oh, my poor
head!

'The lady sat on the castle wa',
Look'd ower baith dale and down,
And then she spied Gil-Morice head
Come steering through the town.'

Do, dearest mother, put your cool hand on my brow, and do hold it fast
ere it part. How fearfully--oh, how fearfully it aches!--and oh, how it
thunders!" He sunk backward on the pillow, apparently exhausted. "Gone,
gone, gone," he muttered; "my mind gone for ever. But God's will be
done."

I rose to leave the room; for I could restrain my feelings no longer.

"Stay, Mr. Lindsay," said the poet, in a feeble voice; "I hear the rain
dashing on the pavement; you must not go till it abates. Would that you
could pray beside me!--but, no--you are not like the dissolute
companions who have now all left me, but you are not yet fitted for
that; and, alas! I cannot pray for myself. Mother, mother, see that
there be prayers at my lykewake; for--

'Her lykewake, it was piously spent
In social prayer and praise,
Performed by judicious men,
Who stricken were in days.
'And many a heavy, heavy heart
Was in that mournful place;
And many a weary, weary thought
On her who slept in peace.'

They will come all to my lykewake, mother, won't they?--yes, all, though
they have left me now. Yes, and they will come far to see