RAB AND HIS FRIENDS.

Nothing more touching, or, in a sense,
more strangely beautiful did I ever wit-
ness. Her tremulous, rapid, affectionate,
eager, Scotch voice; the swift, aimless,
bewildered mind, the baffled utterance,
the bright and perilous eyes; some wild
words, some household cares, something
for James; the names of the dead; Rab
called rapidly and in a “fremyt”’ voice,
and he starting up, surprised, and slink-
ing off as if he were to blame somehow,
or had been dreaming he heard. Many
eager questions and beseechings, which
James and I could make nothing of, and on
which she seemed to set her all and then
sink back ununderstood. It was very sad,
but better than many things that are not
called sad. James hovered about, put out
and miserable, but active and exact as
ever, read to her when there was a lull,
short bits from the Psalms, prose and me-
tre, chanting the latter in his own rude

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