*THE BANDITTI.* "’Tis na’ for nought, bauld Duncan cried, Sic shoutings on the wind: Then up he started frae his seat, A thrang of spears behind. Haste, haste, my valiant hearts, he said, Anes mair to follow me: "We’ll meet these shouters by the burn,— I guess wha they may be." _Duncan: a Fragment._ Treading softly and warily, they came to an opening in the wood, and found themselves close upon the ruins of the ancient structure. It occupied the summit of a grassy mound, which sloped down on all sides, and where the mouldered remains of some ancient crosses and tomb-stones lay half sunk and buried among the long rank grass. The chapel had almost disappeared; little remained save the crypt; and at intervals, amid a heap of shattered stones, arose tall ornamented buttresses (surviving the intermediate walls), their summits glimmering in the moonlight, which streamed through loop-holes and yawning rents in the massive masonry, showing the weeds and grass which waved in every nook and corner, flourishing around the prostrate effigies of departed warriors, whose monumental busts lay stretched like rigid corses under their ruined canopies. "The auld kirk o’ Inchisla just ower again!" exclaimed Evan, as he surveyed the heaps of prostrate pillars and crumbled arches with feelings of awe and veneration. "Santos! will you be silent?" asked Pedro, in a fierce whisper in Spanish. "I dinna ken what ye say, mon; ye are waur than an Aberdonian." "Keep silence, Evan!" said Ronald; "we are close upon their lair now."