good lady need na to be afeared to tack it, for that he aye mixed his medicines afoor dinner. And then, he pleased his sell', honest man, wi' laughing a bit at his ane joke. And then he geed the lady the glass; bit yeer mistress, wha had come in soon after the doctor did, and wha was standing at the bedside, just eased the lily-white hand o' the weight, for a moment or twa, while she observed, that as her daughter had had some refreshing sleep, it might no be necessary to gie her a composing draught. Weel, the doctor, he alood his sell', that there was naething like natural rest; bit tho' he was amang the best o' them, he was like them aw, in that particular, he wad hae his ane ill-savoured trash swallowed, right or wrong--and wrong enough it proved. However, the doctor said, that they might depend upon it, it was a maste benign and salubrious mixture; and that having slept se much a'ready, the lady might the mere likely be wakefu' in the night-time, if she did na tack her sleeping-draught. And se, her peur mither, she was over-ruled, and geed her back the glass. And she swallowed the draught sure enough, and slept sure enough, and lang enough, for she never waked more!" Mrs. Smyth made no reply, for she was rocking herself from side to side, with the tears rolling down her face. "The doctor, peur old man, he is dead and gane," resumed the nurse, "or I wad na say what I am going to say, even to yoursell', Mrs. Smyth; but I have often thought syne," and here she lowered her voice, "that yon sleeping-draught was stronger nor the hold o' life in her that drank it." Mrs. Smyth only shook her head. "My dream," added the old nurse, after a short silence, "certainly cam' oot, about the bottle; and that's what I blame mysell' for: I should ha' spoken up, and talt the vision; for never did I, nor ony belanging to me, dream o' seeing ony thing, so distinct as I saw yon bottle, that some harm did na come o' 't. And the doctor, too, he was na long for this warld, after I dreamed o' seeing his face changed. It's never good to dream o' seeing ony body wi' another body's face." "Bonfires, indeed!" murmured Mrs. Smyth to herself, as if thinking aloud. "Aye," she added, in a spiritless tone, when aroused to attention by the ceasing of nurse's voice, "it was a particular dream, to be sure. And some of the folk was saying, too, that there was ane seen oot by that night, that keeped be his sell', like the angel o' death. He went near nowther bonfires nor drink, and was seen ne more, when aw was over wi' them within." CHAPTER XVII. "He lies beside the dead; at frantic starts, Kisses the cold lips of Julius." "At such a moment, piety becomes The only passion of the soul!"