the　weeping　that　would　not　be　comforted。
  Robert　had　not　the　vaguest　fancy　that　God　was　with　himthe　spirit
  of　the　Father　groaning　with　the　spirit　of　the　boy　in　intercession
  that　could　not　be　uttered。　　If　God　had　come　to　him　then　and
  comforted　him　with　the　assurance　of　individual　favourbut　the　very
  supposition　is　a　taking　of　his　name　in　vainhad　Robert　found
  comfort　in　the　fancied　assurance　that　God　was　his　friend　in
  especial；　that　some　private　favour　was　granted　to　his　prayers；　that；
  indeed；　would　have　been　to　be　left　to　his　own　inventions；　to　bring
  forth　not　fruits　meet　for　repentance；　but　fruits　for　which
  repentance　alone　is　meet。　　But　God　was　with　him；　and　was　indeed
  victorious　in　the　boy　when　he　rose　from　his　knees；　for　the　last
  time；　as　he　thought；　saying；　'I　cannot　yieldI　will　pray　no
  more。'With　a　burst　of　bitter　tears　he　sat　down　on　the　bedside　till
  the　loudest　of　the　storm　was　over；　then　dried　his　dull　eyes；　in
  which　the　old　outlook　had　withered　away；　and　trod　unknowingly　in　the
  silent　footsteps　of　Shargar；　who　was　ever　one　corner　in　advance　of
  him；　down　to　the　dreary　lessons　and　unheeded　prayers；　but；　thank
  God；　not　to　the　sleepless　night；　for　some　griefs　bring　sleep　the
  sooner。
  My　reader　must　not　mistake　my　use　of　the　words　especial　and　private；
  or　suppose　that　I　do　not　believe　in　an　individual　relation　between
  every　man　and　God；　yes；　a　peculiar　relation；　differing　from　the
  relation　between　every　other　man　and　God！　　But　this　very
  individuality　and　peculiarity　can　only　be　founded　on　the　broadest
  truths　of　the　Godhood　and　the　manhood。
  Mrs。　Falconer；　ere　she　went　to　sleep；　gave　thanks　that　the　boys　had
  been　at　their　prayers　together。　　And　so；　in　a　very　deep　sense；　they
  had。
  And　well　they　might　have　been；　for　Shargar　was　nearly　as　desolate　as
  Robert；　and　would　certainly；　had　his　mother　claimed　him　now；　have
  gone　on　the　tramp　with　her　again。　　Wherein　could　this　civilized　life
  show　itself　to　him　better　than　that　to　which　he　had　been　born？　　For
  clothing　he　cared　little；　and　he　had　always　managed　to　kill　his
  hunger　or　thirst；　if　at　longer　intervals；　then　with　greater
  satisfaction。　　Wherein　is　the　life　of　that　man　who　merely　does　his
  eating　and　drinking　and　clothing　after　a　civilized　fashion　better
  than　that　of　the　gipsy　or　tramp？　　If　the　civilized　man　is　honest　to
  boot；　and　gives　good　work　in　return　for　the　bread　or　turtle　on　which
  he　dines；　and　the　gipsy；　on　the　other　hand；　steals　his　dinner；　I
  recognize　the　importance　of　the　difference；　but　if　the　rich　man
  plunders　the　community　by　exorbitant　profits；　or　speculation　with
  other　people's　money；　while　the　gipsy　adds　a　fowl　or　two　to　the
  produce　of　his　tinkering；　or；　once　again；　if　the　gipsy　is　as　honest
  as　the　honest　citizen；　which　is　not　so　rare　a　case　by　any　means　as
  people　imagine；　I　return　to　my　question：　Wherein；　I　say；　is　the　warm
  house；　the　windows　hung　with　purple；　and　the　table　covered　with　fine
  linen；　more　divine　than　the　tent　or　the　blue　sky；　and　the　dipping　in
  the　dish？　　Why　should　not　Shargar　prefer　a　life　with　the　mother　God
  had　given　him　to　a　life　with　Mrs。　Falconer？　　Why　should　he　prefer
  geography　to　rambling；　or　Latin　to　Romany？　　His　purposelessness　and
  his　love　for　Robert　alone　kept　him　where　he　was。
  The　next　evening；　having　given　up　his　praying；　Robert　sat　with　his
  Sallust　before　him。　　But　the　fount　of　tears　began　to　swell；　and　the
  more　he　tried　to　keep　it　down；　the　more　it　went　on　swelling　till　his
  throat　was　filled　with　a　lump　of　pain。　　He　rose　and　left　the　room。
  But　he　could　not　go　near　the　garret。　　That　door　too　was　closed。　　He
  opened　the　house　door　instead；　and　went　out　into　the　street。　　There；
  nothing　was　to　be　seen　but　faint　blue　air　full　of　moonlight；　solid
  houses；　and　shining　snow。　　Bareheaded　he　wandered　round　the　corner
  of　the　house　to　the　window　whence　first　he　had　heard　the　sweet
  sounds　of　the　pianoforte。　　The　fire　within　lighted　up　the　crimson
  curtains；　but　no　voice　of　music　came　forth。　　The　window　was　as　dumb
  as　the　pale；　faintly　befogged　moon　overhead；　itself　seeming　but　a
  skylight　through　which　shone　the　sickly　light　of　the　passionless
  world　of　the　dead。　　Not　a　form　was　in　the　street。　　The　eyes　of　the
  houses　gleamed　here　and　there　upon　the　snow。　　He　leaned　his　elbow　on
  the　window…sill　behind　which　stood　that　sealed　fountain　of　lovely
  sound；　looked　up　at　the　moon；　careless　of　her　or　of　aught　else　in
  heaven　or　on　earth；　and　sunk　into　a　reverie；　in　which　nothing　was
  consciously　present　but　a　stream　of　fog…smoke　that　flowed　slowly；
  listlessly　across　the　face　of　the　moon；　like　the　ghost　of　a　dead
  cataract。　　All　at　once　a　wailful　sound　arose　in　his　head。　　He　did
  not　think　for　some　time　whether　it　was　born　in　his　brain；　or　entered
  it　from　without。　　At　length　he　recognized　the　Flowers　of　the　Forest；
  played　as　only　the　soutar　could　play　it。　　But　alas！　the　cry
  responsive　to　his　bow　came　only　from　the　auld　wifeno　more　from　the
  bonny　leddy！　　Then　he　remembered　that　there　had　been　a　humble
  wedding　that　morning　on　the　opposite　side　of　the　way；　in　the　street
  department　of　the　jollity　of　which　Shargar　had　taken　a　small　share
  by　firing　a　brass　cannon；　subsequently　confiscated　by　Mrs。　Falconer。
  But　this　was　a　strange　tune　to　play　at　a　wedding！　　The　soutar
  half…way　to　his　goal　of　drunkenness；　had　begun　to　repent　for　the
  fiftieth　time　that　year；　had　with　his　repentance　mingled　the　memory
  of　the　bonny　leddy　ruthlessly　tortured　to　death　for　his　wrong；　and
  had　glided　from　a　strathspey　into　that　sorrowful　moaning。　　The
  lament　interpreted　itself　to　his　disconsolate　pupil　as　he　had　never
  understood　it　before；　not　even　in　the　stubble…field；　for　it　now
  spoke　his　own　feelings　of　waste　misery；　forsaken　loneliness。　　Indeed
  Robert　learned　more　of　music　in　those　few　minutes　of　the　foggy
  winter　night　and　open　street；　shut　out　of　all　doors；　with　the　tones
  of　an　ancient　grief　and　lamentation　floating　through　the　blotted
  moonlight　over　his　ever…present　sorrow；　than　he　could　have　learned
  from　many　lessons　even　of　Miss　St。　John。　He　was　cold　to　the　heart；
  yet　went　in　a　little　comforted。
  Things　had　gone　ill　with　him。　　Outside　of　Paradise；　deserted　of　his
  angel；　in　the　frost　and　the　snow；　the　voice　of　the　despised　violin
  once　more　the　source　of　a　sad　comfort！　　But　there　is　no　better
  discipline　than　an　occasional　descent　from　what　we　count　well…being；
  to　a　former　despised　or　less　happy　condition。　　One　of　the　results　of
  this　taste　of　damnation　in　Robert　was；　that　when　he　was　in　bed　that
  night；　his　heart　began　to　turn　gently　towards　his　old　master。　　How
  much　did　he　not　owe　him；　after　all！　　Had　he　not　acted　ill　and
  ungratefully　in　deserting　him？　　His　own　vessel　filled　to　the　brim
  with　grief；　had　he　not　let　the　waters　of　its　bitterness　overflow
  into　the　heart　of　the　soutar？　　The　wail　of　that　violin　echoed　now　in
  Robert's　heart；　not　for　Flodden；　not　for　himself；　but　for　the
  debased　nature　that　drew　forth　the　plaint。　　Comrades　in　misery；　why
  should　they　part？　　What　right　had　he　to　forsake　an　old　friend　and
  benefactor　because　he　himself　was　unhappy？　　He　would　go　and　see　him
  the　very　next　night。　　And　he　would　make　friends　once　more　with　the
  much　'suffering　instrument'　he　had　so　wrongfully　despised。
  CHAPTER　II。
  THE　STROKE。
  The　following　night；　he　left　his　books　on　the　table；　and　the　house
  itself　behind　him；　and　sped　like　a　grayhound　to　Dooble　Sanny's　shop；
  lifted　the　latch；　and　entered。
  By　the　light　of　a　single　dip　set　on　a　chair；　he　saw　the　shoemaker
  seated　on　his　stool；　one　hand　lying　on　the　lap　of　his　leathern
  apron；　his　other　hand　hanging　down　by　his　side；　and　the　fiddle　on
  the　ground　at　his　feet。　　His　wife　stood　behind　him；　wiping　her　eyes
  with　her　blue　apron。　　Through　all　its　accumulated　dirt；　the　face　of
  the　soutar　looked　ghastly；　and　they　were　eyes　of　despair　that　he
  lifted　to　the　face　of　the　youth　as　he　stood　holding　the　latch　in　his
  hand。　　Mrs。　Alexander　moved　towards　Robert；　drew　him　in；　and　gently
  closed　the　door　behind　him；　resuming　her　station　like　a　sculptured
  mourner　behind　her　motionless　husband。
  'What　on　airth's　the　maitter　wi'　ye；　Sandy？'　said　Robert。
  'Eh；　Robert！'　returned　the　shoemaker；　and　a　tone　of　affection　tinged
  the　mournfulness　with　which　he　uttered　the　strange　words'eh；
  Robert！　the　Almichty　will　gang　his　ain　gait；　and　I'm　in　his　grup
  noo。'
  'He's　had　a　stroke；'　said　his　wife；　without　removing　her　apron　from
  her　eyes。
  'I　hae　gotten　my　pecks　（blows）；'　resumed　the　soutar；　in　a　despairing
  voice；　which　gave　yet　more　effect　to　the　fantastic　eccentricity　of
  conscience　which　from　the　midst　of　so　many　grave　faults　chose　such　a
  one　as　especially　bringing　the　divine　displeasure　upon　him：　'I　hae
  gotten　my　pecks　for　cryin'　doon　my　ain　auld　wife　to　set　up　your
  bonny　leddy。　　The　tane's　gane　a'　to　aise　an'　stew　（ashes　and　dust）；
  an'　frae　the　tither；'　he　went　on；　looking　down　on　the　violin　at　his
  feet　as　if　it　h