d, and to whom in the Jewish
economy the gates of the Cities of Refuge would have stood wide open,
yet who are never again light of thought and light of heart? On their
heads the grey is soon sprinkled, and in the chamber of their hearts is
drawn a ghastly picture, whose freshness fades, but whose distinct
characters are never obliterated.

Of this class of men, of hot passions, with rash advisers, who meditated
wrong, but not the last wrong, victims of a narrow, imperious code of
honour, only to-day expunged from military and social etiquette, was the
Laird of the Ewes. Many of us may have seen such another--a tall, lithe
figure, rather bent, and very white-headed for his age, with a wistful
eye; but otherwise a most composed, intelligent, courteous gentleman of
a laird's degree. Take any old friend aside, and he will tell, with
respectful sympathy, that the quiet, sensible, well-bred Laird, has
suffered agonies in the course of his life, though too wise and modest a
man to hold up his heart for daws to peck at, and you will believe him.
Look narrowly at the well-preserved, well-veiled exterior, and you will
be able to detect, through the nicely adjusted folds, or even when it is
brightened by smiles, how remorse has sharpened the flesh, and grief
hollowed it, and long abiding regret shaded it.

Twenty years before this time, Crawfurd of the Ewes, more accomplished
than many of the lairds, his contemporaries, and possessed of the sly
humour on which Scotchmen pride themselves, had been induced to write a
set of lampoons against a political opponent of his special chief. He
was young then, and probably had his literary vanity; at least he
executed his task to the satisfaction of his side of the question; and
without being particularly broad and offensive, or perhaps very fine in
their edge, his caricatures excited shouts of laughter in the parish,
and in the neighbouring town.

But he laughs best who laughs last. A brother laird, blind with fury,
and having more of the old border man in him than the Laird of the Ewes,
took to his natural arms, and dispatched Mr. Crawfurd a challenge to
fight him on the Corn-Cockle Moor. No refusal was possible then, none
except for a man of rare principle, nerve, and temper. The Laird of the
Ewes had no pretensions to mighty gifts; so he walked out with his
second one autumn morning when his reapers were flourishing their
sickles, met his foe, and though without the skill to defend hi