tive ear." Dame Gourlay's tales were at first of a mild and interesting character—
Of fays that nightly dance upon the wold,
And lovers doomed to wander and to weep,
And castles high, where wicked wizzards keep
Their captive thralls.
Gradually, however, they assumed a darker and more mysterious character, and became such as, told by the midnight lamp, and enforced by the tremulous tone, the quivering and livid lip, the uplifted skinny fore-finger, and the shaking head of the ugly blue-eyed hag, might have appalled a less credulous imagination, in an age more hard of belief. The old Sycorax saw her advantage, and gradually narrowed her magic circle around the devoted victim on whose spirit she practised. Her legends began to relate to the fortunes of the Ravenswood family, whose ancient grandeur and portentous authority, credulity had graced with so many superstitious attri-
