<< and the thing that we are born to, we cannot win bye. I have known them that tried to stop folks that were fey. You have heard of Helen Emberson of Camsey, how she stopped all the holes and windows about the house, that her gude-man might not see day-light, and rise to the haaf-fishing, because she feared foul weather; and how the boat he should have sailed in was lost in the Roost; and how she came back, rejoicing in her gude-man's safety -but ne'er may care, for there she found him drowned in the masking-fat, within the wa's of his ain biggin; and moreover——»

But here Swertha reminded the Ranzelman that he must go down to the haven to get off the fishing-boats; «for both that my heart is sair for the bonny lad, and that I am fear'd he cast up of his ain accord before you are at sea; and, as I have often told ye, my master may lead, but he winna drive; and if ye do not his bidding, and get out to sea, the never a bodle of boat-hire will ye see."

«Weel, weel, good dame," said the Ranzelman, « we will launch as fast as we can; and, by good luck, neither Clawson's boat, nor Peter Grot's, are out to the haaf this morning, for a rabbit ran across them as they were going on board, and they came back like wise men, kenning they wad be called to other wark this day.

supposed by the Scottish common people to rush upon their doom, as if carried forward by some irresistible impulse.

And a marvel it is to think, Swertha, how few real judicious men are left in this land. There is our great Udaller is weel eneugh when he is fresh, but he makes ower mony voyages in his ship and his yawl to be lang sae; and now they say his daughter, Mistress Minna, is sair out of sorts. Then there is Norna kens muckle mair than other folks, but wise woman ye cannot call her. Our tacksman here, Master Mertoun, his wit is sprung in the bowsprit I doubt—his son is a daft gowk; and I ken few of consequence hereabouts-excepting always myself, and may be you, Swertha-but what may, in some sense or other, be called a fule.»

« That may be, Niel Ronaldson,” said the dame; «but if you do not hasten the faster to the shore, you will lose tide; and, as I said to my master some short time syne, wha will be the fule then?>>

CHAPTER XII.

I do love these ancient ruins

We never tread upon them but we set
Our foot upon some reverend history,
And questionless, here in this open court
(Which now lies naked to the injuries
Of stormy weather), some men lie interr'd,
Loved the Church so well, and gave so largely to it,
They thought it should have canopied their bones
Till doomsday;-but all things have their end-
Churches and cities, which have diseases like to men,
Must have like death which we have.

Duchess of Malfy.

THE ruinous church of Saint Ninian's had, in its time, enjoyed great celebrity; for that mighty system of superstition, which spread its roots over all Europe, had not failed to extend them even to this remote archipelago, and Zetland had, in the Catholic times, her saints, her shrines, and her reliques, which, though little known elsewhere, attracted the homage and commanded the observance of the simple inhabitants of Thule. Their devotion to this church of Saint Ninian, or, as he was provincially termed, Saint Ringan, situated, as

the edifice was, close to the sea-beach, and serving, in many points, as a landmark to their boats, was particularly obstinate, and was connected with so much superstitious ceremonial and credulity, that the reformed clergy thought it best, by an order of the Church Courts, to prohibit all spiritual service within its walls, as tending to foster the rooted faith of the simple and rude people around in saint-worship, and other erroneous doctrines of the Romish Church.

After the church of Saint Ninian's had been ́ thus denounced as a seat of idolatry, and desecrated of course, the public worship was transferred to another church; and the roof, with its lead and its rafters, having been stripped from the little rude old Gothic building, it was left in the wilderness to the mercy of the elements. The fury of the uncontrouled winds, which howled along an exposed space of shifting sands (for the soil resembled that which we have described at Jarlshof), very soon choked 'up nave and aisle; and on the north-west side, which was chiefly exposed to the wind, hid the outside walls more than half way upwards with mounds of drifted sand, over which the gableends of the building, with the little belfrey, which was built above its nave, arose in ragged and shattered nakedness of ruin.

Yet, deserted as it was, the Kirk of Saint Ringan's still retained some semblance of the

ancient homage formerly rendered there. The rude and ignorant fishermen of Dunrossness observed a practice, of which they themselves had well nigh forgot the origin, and from which the Protestant Clergy in vain endeavoured to deter them. When their boats were in extreme peril, it was common amongst them to propose to vow an awmous, as they termed it, that is, an alms, to Saint Ringan; and when the danger was over, they never failed to absolve themselves of their vow, by coming singly and secretly to the old church, and putting off their shoes and stockings at the entrance of the church-yard, walking thrice around the ruins, observing that they did so in the course of the sun. When the circuit was accomplished for the third time, the votary dropped his offering, usually a small silver coin, through the mullions of a lanceolated window, which opened into a side aisle, and then retired, avoiding carefully to look behind him till he was beyond the precincts which had once been hallowed ground; for it was believed that the skeleton of the saint received the offering in his bony hand, and showed his ghastly death's-head at the window into which it was thrown.

Indeed, the scene was rendered more appalling to weak and ignorant minds, because the same stormy and eddying winds which, on the one side of the church, threatened to bury the