my grave. I
was poor, very poor, you know, and they looked down upon me; and I was
no son or cousin of theirs, and so they could do nothing for me. Oh, but
they might have looked less coldly! But they will all come to my grave,
mother; they will come all to my grave; and they will say--'Would he
were living now to know how kind we are!' But they will look as coldly
as ever on the living poet beside them--yes, till they have broken his
heart; and then they will go to his grave too. O dearest mother, do lay
your cool hand on my brow."

He lay silent and exhausted, and, in a few minutes, I could hope, from
the hardness of his breathing, that he had fallen asleep.

"How long," I inquired of his sister, in a low whisper, "has Mr.
Ferguson been so unwell, and what has injured his head?"

"Alas!" said the girl, "my brother has been unsettled in mind for nearly
the last six months. We first knew it one evening on his coming home
from the country, where he had been for a few days with a friend. He
burnt a large heap of papers that he had been employed on for weeks
before--songs and poems that his friends say were the finest things he
ever wrote; but he burnt them all, for he was going to be a preacher of
the word, he said, and it did not become a preacher of the word to be a
writer of light rhymes. And, O sir! his mind has been carried ever
since; but he has been always gentle and affectionate, and his sole
delight has lain in reading the Bible. Good Dr. Erskine, of the
Greyfriars, often comes to our house, and sits with him for hours
together; for there are times when his mind seems stronger than ever,
and he says wonderful things, that seem to hover, the minister says,
between the extravagance natural to his present sad condition, and the
higher flights of a philosophic genius. And we had hoped that he was
getting better; but, O sir, our hopes have had a sad ending. He went
out, a few evenings ago, to call on an old acquaintance; and, in
descending a stair, missed footing, and fell to the bottom; and his head
has been fearfully injured by the stones. He has been just as you have
seen him ever since; and, oh! I much fear he cannot now recover. Alas!
my poor brother!--never, never was there a more affectionate heart."

CHAPTER VII.

"A lowly muse!
She sings of reptiles yet in song unknown."

I returned to the vessel with a heavy heart; and it was nearly three
months from this time ere