vaulted chamber, and drew the bolt, which was not to be undone again for centuries.

Day after day passed, and still no Ralph came. How they were passed we may easily imagine for ourselves, although as none witnessed the scene in that vault, there were none that could tell of it -none that could relate to the breathless hearer how the victim hungered and thirsted, till, like Ugolino, in the fierceness of famine he gnawed his own flesh and drank his own blood-how he raved and gibbered wildly, as the maniac in his moonlit cell, till a sick sleep came upon him— how, when he again woke, it was to behold a waking vision of green fields, and to hear the murmurings of pleasant waters-and then, to die.

And Ralph? Was he a traitor to his confiding master, or had he perished by some sudden accident before he could communicate the secret to any one?

Upon that, also, tradition is silent.

In confirmation of our tale, it has been said by the antiquary, Gough, in his additions to Camden, that "the house of Minster Lovel, in Oxfordshire, being not many years ago pulled down, in a vault was found the body of a man in very rich clothing, seated in a chair, with a table and massbook before him. The body was entire when the

workmen entered, but upon admission of the air soon fell to dust."

Gough's account has been pronounced a fiction, but the story which it is meant to confirm may be true notwithstanding. And this we really believe to have been the case, for he omits any mention of the dog, which, however, is never forgotten in the popular version of the legend.

THE M'ALISTER TRADITION.

THERE is an extraordinary superstition connected with the M'Alister family. Ages ago,-for we have never yet got an exact date from a Highlander as to the transactions of long past times,— but many generations back, in the days of a chief of great renown called M'Alister More, either from his deeds or his stature, there was a skirmish with a neighbouring clan that ended fatally for the M'Alisters, though at the time they were victorious.

A party of their young men set out upon a foray. They marched over the hills for several hours, and at last descended into a little glen,

which was rented as a black cattle farm by a widow woman and her two sons. The sons were absent from home on some excursion, and had carried most of their servants with them, so that the M'Alisters met with no resistance in their attempts to raise the cattle. They hunted every corner of the glen, secured every beast, and, in spite of the tears of the widow, they drove her herd away. When the sons returned, and heard the story of the raid, they collected a strong party of their friends, and crossing the hill secretly by night, surprised the few M'Alisters who were left in charge of the spoil, vanquished them easily, and recovered their cattle. Such a slight to the power of M'Alister More could not go unpunished. The chief himself headed the band which set out to vindicate the honour of the clan. He marched steadily over the rugged mountains, and arrived towards sunset in the little glen. To oppose the force he brought with him would have been fruitless; the sons and their few adherents were speedily overpowered, and led bound before him; they were small in number, but they were gallant and brave, and yielded only to superior strength. M'Alister More was always attended by four and twenty bowmen, who acted as his body-guard, his jury, his judges, and his executioners. They erected on the instant a gibbet be

fore the door of the wretched mother, and there her sons were hung.

66

Her cottage was built at the foot of a craggy, naked rock, on a strip of green pasture land, and beside a mountain torrent; the gibbet was a few paces from it, on the edge of the shelf; and the setting rays of a bright summer sun fell on the bodies of the widow's sons. They were still warm, when she came and stood beside them. She raised her eyes on the stern chief, and his many followers, and slowly and steadily she pronounced her curse :Shame, shame on you, M'Alister! You have slain them that took but their own; you have slain them you had injured! You have murdered the fatherless, and spoiled the widow? But He that is righteous shall judge between us, and the curse of God shall cling to you for this for ever. The sun rose on me the proud mother of two handsome boys; he sets on their stiffening bodies!" and she raised her arm as she spoke towards the gibbet. Her eye kindled, and her form dilated, as she turned again to her vindictive foe. "I suffer now," said she, "but you shall suffer always. You have made me childless, but you and yours shall be heirless for ever.

last, and wide may their

while the name and the

Long may
Long may their name

lands be; but never,
lands continue, shall

there be a son to the house of M'Alister!"

The curse of the bereaved widow clung steadily to the race of her oppressor. The lands passed

from heir to heir, but no laird had ever been succeeded by a son. Often had the hopes of the clan been raised; often had they thought for years that the punishment of their ancestor's cruelty was to be continued to them no longer

that the spirits of the widow's sons were at length appeased; but M'Alister More was to suffer for ever; the hopes of his house might blossom, but they always faded. It was in the reign of the good Queen Anne that they flourished for the last time; they were blighted then, and for ever.

The laird and the lady had had several daughters born to them in succession, and at last a son: he grew up to manhood in safety-the pride of his people, and the darling of his parents; giving promise of every virtue that could adorn his rank. He had been early contracted in marriage to the daughter of another powerful chieftain in the North, and the alliance, which had been equally courted by both families, was concluded immediately on the return of the young laird from bis travels. There was a great intercourse in those days with France-most of the young highland chiefs spent a year or two in that country, many of them were entirely educated there, but that