passed away since the events I have related in this"ower-true" tale. Matty is a tall girl now, and her uncle's constantcompanion. Reginald and Annie are lovers still--"happy, thoughmarried." The heather still blooms bonnie on the hills; dark wave thepine trees in the forests around; the purring of the dove is heardmournfully sounding from the thickets of spruce, and the wildflowersgrow on every bank and brae; but--the auld Laird has worn away. Hishome is under the long green grass and the daisies; yet even when thesnow-clads that grave in a white cocoon, Annie never forgets to visitit, and rich and rare are the flowers that lie at its head.
And so my story ends, so drops the curtain down.
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The End.
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