for the goodness and the beauty of the mortals, eh?"

"Nay, they are not all bad, Sir," continued the young girl, gravely;
"the Spriggans, who guard the buried treasures of the giants, have often
helped a poor man out of their store; or, at least, 'tis said so."

"And the giants--are they all dead?"

"Yes, indeed, Sir, long ago," answered the damsel; "though that they
lived here once is true enough. There's Bonza's Chair, you must have
passed before the fog came on, and could not but have noticed; and the
hurling-stones he used to throw for pastime with his brother, they are
to be seen still; but all that about his having such long arms that he
could snatch the sailors from the decks of ships as they went by, is, in
my judgment, but an old wife's tale, and I don't credit it. There, see,
Sir; the fog is thinning; that is the castle yonder. When you see it
thus in air it is a sign of storm."

The mist, instead of lifting, was growing less dense above, as it melted
before the rays of the sun, and the ruin which Richard had seen from the
hill-range was now once more visible, without the pedestal of rock on
which it was placed. It was a glorious sight, though weird and spectral,
and the young painter halted in mute admiration. The scene seemed
scarcely of the earth at all.

"Most folks are pleased with that when they first see it," remarked his
companion, with the flattered air of one who exhibits some wonder of his
own to a well-pleased stranger. "You are very lucky, Sir; it is not
often one gets so good a view."