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where two ways met, a little south of Grange Toll. Here he sat down, and his frenzied passion subsided into a soft melancholy; —he cried no more, but sobbed excessively; fixed his eyes on the ground, and made some strokes in the dust with his finger.
A sight just then appeared, which somewhat cheered, or at least interested, his heavy and forlorn heart—; was a large drove of Highland cattle. They were the only creatures like acquaintances that Duncan had seen for a twelvemonth, and a tender feeling of joy, mixed with regret, thrilled his heart at the sight of their white horns and broad dew-laps. As the van passed him, he thought their looks were particularly gruff and sullen; he soon perceived the cause, they were all in the hands of Englishmen;—poor exiles like himself;-going far away to be killed and eaten, and would never see the Highland hills again!
When they were all gone by, Duncan looked after them and wept anew; but his attention was suddenly called away to something that softly touched his feet;— he looked hastily about it was a poor hungry lame dog, squatted on the ground, licking his feet, and manifesting the most extravagant joy. Gracious Heaven! it was his own beloved and faithful Oscar! starved, emaciated, and so crippled, that he was scarcely able to walk! He was now doomed to be the slave of a Yorkshire peasant, (who, it seems, had either bought or stolen him at Falkirk,) the generosity and benevolence of whose feelings were as inferior to those of Oscar, as Oscar was inferior to him in strength and power. It is impossible to conceive a more tender meeting than this was; but Duncan soon observed that hunger and misery were painted in his friend's looks, which again pierced his heart with feelings unfelt before. I have not a crumb to give you, my poor Oscar!" said he—"I have not a crumb to eat myself, but I am not so ill as you are. The peasant
