He took up his violin, and
with great expression gave the air of Ericson's ballad two or three
times over, and then laid down the instrument. He saw indeed that
it was too much for Mysie, affecting her more, thus presented after
the story, than the singing of the ballad itself. Thereupon
Ericson, whose spirits had risen greatly at finding that he could
himself secure Mysie's attention, and produce the play of soul in
feature which he so much delighted to watch, offered another story;
and the distant rush of the sea, borne occasionally into the
'grateful gloom' upon the cold sweep of a February wind, mingled
with one tale after another, with which he entranced two of his
audience, while the third listened mildly content.
The last of the tales Ericson told was as follows:--
'One evening-twilight in spring, a young English student, who had
wandered northwards as far as the outlying fragments of Scotland
called the Orkney and Shetland islands, found himself on a small
island of the latter group, caught in a storm of wind and hail,
which had come on suddenly. It was in vain to look about for any
shelter; for not only did the storm entirely obscure the landscape,
but there was nothing around him save a desert moss.
'At length, however, as he walked on for mere walking's sake, he
found himself on the verge of a cliff, and saw, over the brow of it,
a few feet below him, a ledge of rock, where he might find some
shelter from the blast, which blew from behind.
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