collection. And yet not one of the twenty works seemed to be of any remarkable rarity.

day of the year. On every side undulating ranges of hills met her eye, and seemed to close in the wide valley from the world beyond. The sun was low in

But on the other hand, while it is impossible to doubt that the British Mu- the west, enveloped in a strange reddish seum collection at present approaches haze; behind the hills to the north, nearer than any other extant collection great masses of heavy clouds were rolling to completeness, if not in number of books at least in kind, it is the still prouder boast of our national library that nowhere is the reader's freedom of use in all its priceless treasures more entirely unrestricted. As many as two hundred volumes have been at one time in a reader's hands in the British Museum; there being, in truth, no limit to the number of books which may be asked for and supplied. Nor can any loyal lover of letters who enters its noble hall, repress a thrill of grateful admiration for the large-minded liberality, the enlightened energy, and the unwearied perseverance of the distinguished scholars and administrators by whom these great things have been conceived and carried into execution. And when, fresh perhaps from the delays and embarrassments encountered in other repositories of books, he comes to the reading-room of the Museum with his note-book crowded with memoranda for reference; when he hands in his book-dockets almost by the sheaf and in the most opposite departments of study; when he finds his scores of requisitions answered by the delivery of pile after pile of volumes, till he is ashamed of taxing to such a degree the ready service and cheerful courtesy which he experiences; - he must acknowledge that here indeed is realized at once the magnificent ideal of Mr. Watts of "bringing under one roof all the current literature of the world that has any intrinsic value, regardless of the language in which it may be couched," and the large-hearted resolve of Gabriel Naudé in the Mazarin Library, "From its door shall resound that cry which has never yet been heard in the Republic of Letters: Come in all you who desire to read, come in freely!""

From Chambers' Journal.
A HOMELY HEROINE.

"WHAT can hae come owre Archie?" murmured Kirstie Brydone, as, for the twentieth time that day, she rose and went to the cottage-door to look for her husband. It was between two and three on the afternoon of Hogmanay, the last

up, piled one above another; a bitter icy wind whistled down the valley, bearing on its wings an occasional snow-flake; while to the south the great range of hills rose up, clear and distinct in their slight mantle of snow, against the purplish sky. Kirstie looked round in all directions, but could see nothing of her husband, who had been absent since the early morning, and saying to herself: "I wish I saw him safe hame; it's gaun to be a wild nicht, I doubt," she closed the door, and returned to the fireside. She put on some more peats, made herself certain that the kettle was boiling, so that she might "mask" the tea as soon as Archie came in; then, drawing forward the little table which was all ready set for tea, she sat down on a low chair, and resumed her occupation of rocking the cradle. As she bent over the fair little baby it contained, the firelight lit up a very homely face; a mouth rivalling in width the famous Meg of Harden's; small gray eyes, and a low forehead; and yet the face was not without its redeeming points. The large mouth disclosed two rows of pearly teeth; the eyes were frank and sweet, with a confiding trustfulness in them; and the forehead was crowned with masses of thick soft brown hair. She was remarkably tall, nearly six feet, and splendidly proportioned, with the exception of her arms, which were rather long. And at the time of her marriage - just a year before this — there were many jokes passed upon the fact that she was two or three inches taller than her husband, who was little and slight, with a fair boyish face, which made him look younger than Kirstie, though he was twenty-five, and she was only twenty-two. Archie Brydone let them laugh away, and could well afford to do so, for none knew so well as himself what a treasure he had got in this homely wife of his.

When Kirstie was a little lassie of eight years old, her father and mother died of fever within a few weeks of each other, and left her a friendless orphan. Strangely enough, her father, who was a shepherd also, had had this very herding of Dynefoot, and the cottage to which she returned as a bride, was the same in

which she had passed a happy childhood. the Highlands. She was in the kitchen Mr. Gray, the farmer of Auchensack, her alone when he came in: it was dusk, and father's master, took her to the farm- she did not recognize his voice; but the house, and there she remained till she firelight was shining full upon her as she was married, first as a little herd-girl, stood making the porridge, in the cook's then as nurse to the children, and finally absence; and after a minute's quiet suras dairymaid. It was during the two or vey, he was certain that this tall girl, three summers which she spent herding with the grand figure and plain face, was the cows that she first knew Archie Bry- no other than his old friend Kirstie. done. He was a delicate, puny boy, who even then looked young for his years, and his parents feared at one time that he was going to be lame, though he grew out of it afterwards. His father had taken a dairy on the neighbouring farm of Barbreck, and Archie was set to the task of herding, a very necessary one in those great stretches of moorland and pasture, where there were few, if any, proper fences.

She tried, meanwhile, to calm her anx

and worked as children, he asked her if | really anxious about Archie's long-conshe would be his life-long companion. tinued absence. He had left home in No one can doubt what Kirstie's answer the morning with the first peep of daywas; he had been the one love of her light to climb the hill, according to his childhood and of her later years, and the custom, and intended to come home, as sun never shone upon a prouder, hap- he usually did, about eleven. pier bride. It was an additional source of happi-iety by thinking that something might ness, too, the fact that they were to live have happened to one of the sheep, or in her old home, though many a one that he might have been detained gathwould have thought it a solitary place ering them into the folds in preparation enough. It was three miles from Auch- for an approaching storm. At length, ensack, and about as far from the near- she heard the dog scratching at the door; est shepherd's house, and was away quite and joyfully she said to herself: "He up among the hills, commanding a splen- canna be far off noo;" but on opening did view of one of the loveliest of the the door, the dog, instead of running joylovely Dumfriesshire valleys. It was a fully to the fire, or curling himself up roomy, comfortable cottage, white-beneath one of the beds, as he usually washed, with a thatched roof, a nice gar- did, began to jump fawningly upon her, den in front, and two elm-trees at one and to whine pitifully: she could not unside. Inside, it was the picture of com-derstand the reason of this at all, when fort; the kitchen especially, with its suddenly an idea burst upon her mind, sanded floor clean as hands could make which speedily became a certainty. it; the dresser gay with willow-pattern Archie was ill, had hurt himself, perhaps, plates and many-coloured bowls and somewhere on the hills, and the dog had "pigs;" the long settle by the fire; come for help. She shook off a deadly and the antique clock, which had be-faintness which crept over her at the longed to Kirstie's grandfather. It stood just about a hundred yards from the mouth of the deep, dark, precipitous glen which took its name from the Dyne, a little burn which brawled along at the foot.

thought; and rousing herself she drew the fire together, in case of sparks, placed the cradle on one of the beds for safety, and throwing a plaid about her, followed the dog.

During these preparations, "Laddie " Archie entered on his duties at Mar- had stood still and motionless as a statue; tinmas, and they were married on the but when she moved towards the door he Hogmanay following, at Auchensack, jumped with delight, fawned upon her, when there was a dance in the barn and and licked her hands, and then bounded general merry-making. And so time hastily forwards in the direction of the had slipped away, every season seeming glen. The ordinary route along Glen happier than the last, Kirstie thought, Dyne was to climb the steep hill which and happiest of all, the dark days of win-rose behind Dynefoot, and then to keep ter, since a little blossom came upon a by a footpath which wound along the top November day, and filled their cup of happiness to overflowing. It was a lovely, fair little infant, with Archie's blue eyes and flaxen hair; and he was, if possible, more passionately fond of it than Kirstie herself.

Kirstie thought of her happy lot with a deep unutterable thankfulness, as she sat absently rocking the cradle. She was one of those women who have great difficulty of utterance, whose words are few, but their thoughts many, and above all, her religion was truly a part of herself and of her daily life. The sun had now set, and darkness was coming on, while the wind whistled more shrilly than ever, and with an eerie sound, which made her shudder. She was becoming

* Crockery.

of the glen for about a mile. There was no fence or protection whatever; and there were several sad stories told of people who had missed their footing, or, in the darkness, had wandered too near the edge, and so had come to a violent end. Just two winters before this, an unfortunate man had perished not far from the mouth of the glen. He was a packman, with a donkey, who was well known at all the farm-houses; and was, in his way, a well-to-do man, with a wellassorted pack, the contents of which ranged from ribbons and jewellery to note-paper, hair-pins, and stay-laces. In fact, it was designed to supply all the little wants of a female population, who were seldom able to indulge in the luxury of going a-shopping. Tom Carson the packman was therefore a great fa

rowly escaped falling. The snow now began to fall more quickly and in large flakes, and she had to trust more to memory for the path than actual sight. On and on she went, however, till she had gone nearly a mile up the glen, when suddenly" Laddie " gave a short joyful bark, and she saw a dark object stretched across the path. It was indeed Archie; he was leaning against a large stone which seemed to have broken his fall; his hair was powdered with snow, his face was white and rigid, and his lips were livid. Kirstie never doubted but that he was dead, and threw herself on the ground beside him, with a cry of agony; when suddenly his eyes opened -a conscious look came into his face, and he said in faint low tones: "Is that you, Kirstie ? I thocht I was gaun to dee my lane, and never see ye mair."

vourite, and not only because of his wares, but because he was a cheery, pleasant fellow; and Kirstie remembered well what consternation was caused in the kitchen at Auchensack when a rumour arose that Tom Carson had disappeared; and it was thought that some one must have made away with him, for the sake of his pack, which, as it was new year's time, was unusually heavy. It was only conjecture, however, for nothing could be heard of him; but when at last the snow, which lay that winter for several weeks, had melted, the mystery was solved, and poor Tom Carson, with his donkey and his pack, were found at the bottom of Glen Dyne. It was supposed that he had been coming to Auchensack, where he was a great favourite — that he had been overtaken by the storm that the donkey had lost its footing, and in his efforts to save the poor animal, he had perished along with it. It was a sad story, and cast a deeper shade of gloom over Glen Dyne, which indeed bore no good name already. As Kirstie toiled up" I slipped at the top o' the brae, and the hill, it all came back appallingly afresh to her memory.

About half-way up the steep precipitous side of the glen, there ran a very narrow, insecure footpath called the "Tod's Path," owing to a fox-burrow up near the head of the glen. Few people ever ventured along it, except the game-keepers and the shepherds, and even they did not care to try it except in broad daylight. At the point where this path turned off from the face of the hill, "Laddie" began again to jump upon his mistress, then running a few steps along the path and coming back, he wagged his tail and looked up at her with beseeching eyes, saying, as plainly as dog could say, in his mute but expressive language: Come this way." Kirstie did not hesitate to follow, bad though the way was, for it led, she was sure, to her husband; and besides, as a little child she used often to come with her father before she knew what fear was, and therefore knew every turn and bend in the path. Toiling up the wild solitude, her feelings overcame her, and unconsciously forced from her lips the cry: "O Archie, Archie, my man, where are ye?"

Just at this point, a little runlet of water which came down from the hill had spread itself across the path in a solid sheet of ice. Kirstie hesitated, but there was no other way; it was life or death, and she must hasten on: so she did cross, but her foot slipped, and she nar

"Oh, wheest, Archie, wheest," she wailed; "ye'll break my heart; dinna speak that way."

He continued, after a moment's pause:

I maun hae dwamed, for I wakened as cauld as a stane wi' Laddie licking my face; so I sent him home, puir beast. No help could do me guid now, Kirstie," he said, as if in answer to the thoughts which were passing through her mind at the moment. "My leg is broken; and I've hurt my side; and wi' the darkness and the storm, there's nobody fit to help me, gin they were here; and it wad be hours before onybody could come. O Kirstie, woman, I maun leave ye and the wee bairn," he added with a choking sob.

Kirstie did not answer for a moment; and then her face was lighted up with a look of high resolve, and she said: "Mony a time, Archie, have I wondered why the Lord gied me my great strength and my lang arms, but I see it now; and if it be His will, I will save you this nicht."

"Ye're no fit to carry me," Archie remonstrated feebly; "and think what a road, Kirstie."

"Do I no ken the road better than ony herd in the country?" she replied; "and we maun ask for help higher than man's."

As she knelt beside her husband, with the snow falling on her upturned face, and the wild wind whistling round, and in few and simple words, as if she were speaking to a near and loving friend, asked the aid of the Almighty arm to guide her on her perilous way, and keep her feet from falling, Archie Brydone,

• Fainted.

tage. They had been sent rather against their will, and felt as if they were on a wild-goose chase; but when they arrived at the house, they were horrified with the state of matters, and thankful that a childish fancy-as they thought it at firstshould have been the means of bringing them to Dynefoot so opportunely.

even in the midst of all his pain and house, enter the door, place Archie on weakness, felt that he had never before the long settle by the fireside, and then truly known his wife. She then lifted - fell on the floor perfectly unconscious. Archie, as gently and tenderly as she Poor "Laddie " ran from one to another, could; but he gave a deep groan, and she not knowing what was the matter, and found that he had fainted quite away. howling pitifully, while the baby was wail"Maybe it's better," she murmured; "he ing in the cradle. Help, however, was winna know, till the danger's past." near at hand, and in a few minutes two Then, with another upward glance for men from Auchensack entered the cothelp, she set out on her dangerous way. It would, by this time, have been perfectly dark, but there was a little moonlight, just enough to shew the mere outline of the path and the glen. The path itself was, by this time, quite covered with snow; every step was taken in uncertainty; she hardly knew if she were keeping the path at all. Strong as she The children at Auchensack were exwas, she staggered at times under her tremely fond of Kirstie, and it was a faburden, while everything around looked vourite amusement of theirs, every afterwild and weird in the half-darkness and noon, as the dusk came on, to watch for the thick-falling snow. "Laddie" trot- the light appearing in her window. When ting in front of her, and guiding her on long after the usual time, none appeared, her way, was the only gleam of comfort they couid not understand it at all; the she had. She went along more by in- anniversary of her wedding-day too: what stinct than sight, and after a weary while, could be the matter? At last, Mr. and she began to think that she must be com- Mrs. Gray became uneasy themselves, ing near the mouth of the glen, when sud-and sent off the two men, who arrived at denly she remembered the sheet of ice the very time when their help was most across the pathway. If she could hardly needed. cross it then, what was to become of her now, with a heavy burden, and the snow covering the path, so that she could not tell where she was going? Her heart sank within her; she remembered that it was near that very spot that poor Tom Carson was killed, and she felt as if she could not move another step. Just at this moment a ray of moonlight pierced through the drift, and shewed her young Archie's head resting on her shoulder; the face was more boyish than ever in its pallor, and the rings of fair hair lay damp on his forehead. New strength seemed to come to her arms with the sight, and new courage and faith to her heart, and she went bravely on a few more steps, and then, to her joy and surprise, found herself safe out on the hillside, and far past the dangerous place. She had passed it safely and quietly, not knowing of the danger till it was gone. She had the wind to contend with now, and the snowdrift in her face; but in her thankfulness, she felt as if she could overcome everything, and soon was within a few yards of their own door. Then her strength utterly failed; she struggled with beating heart and labouring breath against her weakness, as if it were some physical obstacle; and she did manage, though how she never knew, to reach the

Archie "came to" after a little; but nothing they could do had any effect in rousing Kirstie; so one of them went back to Auchensack, and from there was sent on for the doctor. Poor man, he was just sitting down to supper, at a cosy little party, which had assembled to see the "old year out and the new year in," when he was told that the shepherd at Dynefoot had had a bad fall in the glen, and his wife was "near deid" with carrying him home.

66

Carrying him home," said one of the company incredulously; "why, it is impossible: the woman must be an Amazon."

"So she is, both in body and soul," replied the doctor, who had known her for years; "and as it is on her account and her husband's, I don't mind the long ride over the snow one bit; so, good-night, and a happy new year to you all."

Kirstie was not "near deid," but she got a great shake, and for some time was graver and quieter than her wont; as if the wings of the Angel of Death had really passed closely by her. One lasting trace she had of her exertions that night

her pretty brown hair was ever after thickly streaked with gray.

Archie, after being ill for a long time, became eventually quite strong and