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TALES OF MY LANDLORD.
CHAPTER VIII.
Aye, and when huntsmen wind the merry horn,
And from its covert starts the fearful prey,
Who, warm'd with youth's blood in his swelling veins,
Would like a lifeless clod outstretched lie,
Shut out from all the fair creation offers?
Ethwald, Act I. Scene I.
Light meals procure light slumbers; and therefore it is not surprising, that, considering the fare which Caleb's conscience, or his necessity, assuming, as will sometimes happen, that disguise, had assigned to the guests of Wolf's Crag, their slumbers should have been short.
In the morning Bucklaw rushed into his host's apartment with a loud halloo, which might have awaked the dead.
"Up! up! in the name of Heaven—
