Then the old woman， with an air of mystery which drewthe circle closer round the fire， informed them that shehad provided her grave-clothes some years before—a nicelinen shroud， a cap with a muslin ruff， and everything ofa finer sort than she had worn since her wedding-day. Butthis evening an old superstition had strangely recurredto her. It used to be said in her younger days that ifanything were amiss with a corpse—if only the ruff werenot smooth or the cap did not set right—the corpse， inthe coffin and beneath the clods， would strive to put upits cold hands and arrange it. The bare thought made hernervous.
“Don’t talk so， grandmother，” said the girl， shuddering.
“Now，” continued the old woman， with singularearnestness， yet smiling strangely at her own folly， “I wantone of you， my children， when your mother is dressed andin the coffin， I want one of you to hold a looking-glassover my face. Who knows but I may take a glimpse atmyself and see whether all’s right？”
“Old and young， we dream of graves and monuments，”
murmured the stranger-youth. “I wonder how marinersfeel when the ship is sinking and they， unknown andundistinguished， are to be buried together in the ocean，that wide and nameless sepulchre？”
For a moment the old woman’s ghastly conception soengrossed the minds of her hearers that a sound abroad inthe night， rising like the roar of a blast， had grown broad，deep and terrible before the fated group were conscious ofit. The house and all within it trembled； the foundationsof the earth seemed to be shaken， as if this awful soundwere the peal of the last trump. Young and old exchangedone wild glance and remained an instant pale， affrighted，without utterance or power to move. Then the sameshriek burst simultaneously from all their lips：
“The slide！ The slide！”
The simplest words must intimate， but not portray，the unutterable horror of the catastrophe. The victimsrushed from their cottage and sought refuge in what theydeemed a safer spot， where， in contemplation of suchan emergency， a sort of barrier had been reared. Alas！
they had quitted their security and fled right into thepathway of destruction. Down came the whole side ofthe mountain in a cataract of ruin. Just before it reachedthe house the stream broke into two branches， shiverednot a window there， but overwhelmed the whole vicinity，blocked up the road and annihilated everything in itsdreadful course. Long ere the thunder of that great slidehad ceased to roar among the mountains the mortal agonyhad been endured and the victims were at peace. Theirbodies were never found.
The next morning the light smoke was seen stealingfrom the cottage chimney up the mountain-side. Within，the fire was yet smouldering on the hearth， and the chairsin a circle round it， as if the inhabitants had but gone forthto view the devastation of the slide and would shortlyreturn to thank Heaven for their miraculous escape. Allhad left separate tokens by which those who had knownthe family were made to shed a tear for each. Who has notheard their name？ The story has been told far and wide，and will for ever be a legend of these mountains. Poetshave sung their fate.
There were circumstances which led some to supposethat a stranger had been received into the cottage onthis awful night， and had shared the catastrophe of all itsinmates； others denied that there were sufficient groundsfor such a conjecture. Woe for the high-souled youth withhis dream of earthly immortality！ His name and personutterly unknown， his history， his way of life， his plans， amystery never to be solved， his death and his existenceequally a doubt， whose was the agony of that deathmoment？
