n' next day they
were found clasped in each other's arms. Oh, my bairn, my bairn!--what
brocht ye here the day?"

Janet was found, next morning, dead in her bed--the exertion and excitement
had killed her.

FOOTNOTES:

[B] _Vide_ Jameson.

THE RECLUSE.

The situations of farm-houses, or steadings, as we call them in Scotland,
are very rarely selected so much for their beauty, with reference to the
surrounding scenery, as for conveniency; and hence it is that we find but
few of them in positions which a view-hunter would term strikingly
felicitous. When they are so, we rather presume the circumstance arises
from its happening that eligibility and choice have agreed in determining
the point. Yet, seriously, though the generality of farm-steadings have
little to boast of as regards situation, there are many pleasing
exceptions. Nay, there are some to be found occupying the most choice
positions--surrounded with or overlooking all that is beautiful in nature.
One of these, most certainly, is the farm-house of West Mains, in the
parish of Longorton, Lanarkshire. It stands on the summit of a gentle,
isolated eminence that rises in the very centre of a deep and romantic
valley, formed of steep green hills, thickly wooded towards the bottom, but
rising in naked verdancy from about the centre upwards. The view from the
house is thus, indeed, limited; but this limitation is amply compensated by
its singular beauty.

About fifty years ago, this beautifully-situated farm-house was occupied by
one Robert Adair, who rented also the entire valley in which it is
situated. Adair's family, at this time, consisted of himself, his wife, a
son, and two daughters, Martha and Rosina, or Rosy, as she was familiarly
called. The former was, at the period of our story, in her twentieth year,
the latter in her eighteenth. Martha was a good-looking and good-tempered
girl; but, in both respects, and in several others, she was much surpassed
by her younger sister, Rosy, as we, too, prefer to call her. The latter,
with, personal attractions of no common order, was one of the liveliest and
most cheerful creatures imaginable. Nothing could damp her buoyant spirit;
nothing, be it what it might, could make her sad for longer than ten
minutes together. From morning to night she continued pouring out, in a
voice of the richest and most touching melody, the overflowings of a light
and innocent heart. And scarcely less melodious was the joyous