John Wilson ( b. 1785, d. 1854 ), better known as "Christopher North," was a celebrated author, poet, and critic, born at Paisley, Scotland, and educated at the University of Glasgow and at Oxford. In 1808 he moved to Westmoreland, England, where he formed one of the "Lake School" of poets. While at Oxford he gained a prize for a poem on "Painting, Poetry, and Architecture." In 1820 he became Professor of Moral Philosophy in the University of Edinburgh, which position he retained until 1851. He gained his greatest reputation as the chief author of "Noctes Ambrosianae,"essays contributed to Blackwood's Magazine between 1822 and 1825. Among his poems may be mentioned "The Isle of Palms" and the "City of the Plague," This selection is adapted from "The Foresters," a tale of Scottish life.

Lucy was only six years old, but bold as a fairy; she had gone by herself a thousand times about the braes, and often upon errands to houses two or three miles distant. What had her parents to fear? The footpaths were all firm, and led to no places of danger, nor are infants themselves incautious when alone in then pastimes. Lucy went singing into the low woods, and singing she reappeared on the open hillside. With her small white hand on the rail, she glided along the wooden bridge, or tripped from stone to stone across the shallow streamlet.

The creature would be away for hours, and no fear be felt on her account by anyone at home; whether she had gone, with her basket on her arm, to borrow some articles of household use from a neighbor, or, merely for her own solitary delight, had wandered off to the braes to play among the flowers, coming back laden with wreaths and garlands.

The happy child had been invited to pass a whole day, from morning to night, at Ladyside (a farmhouse about two miles off) with her playmates the Maynes; and she left home about an hour after sunrise.

During her absence, the house was silent but happy, and, the evening being now far advanced, Lucy was expected home every minute, and Michael, Agnes, and Isabel, her father, mother, and aunt, went to meet her on the way. They walked on and on, wondering a little, but in no degree alarmed till they reached Ladyside, and heard the cheerful din of the children within, still rioting at the close of the holiday. Jacob Mayne came to the door, but, on their kindly asking why Lucy had not been sent home before daylight was over, he looked painfully surprised, and said that she had not been at Ladyside.

Within two hours, a hundred persons were traversing the hills in all directions, even at a distance which it seemed most unlikely that poor Lucy could have reached. The shepherds and their dogs, all the night through, searched every nook, every stony and rocky place, every piece of taller heather, every crevice that could conceal anything alive or dead: but no Lucy was there.

Her mother, who for a while seemed inspired with supernatural strength, had joined in the search, and with a quaking heart looked into every brake, or stopped and listened to every shout and halloo reverberating among the hills, intent to seize upon some tone of recognition or discovery. But the moon sank; and then the stars, whose increased brightness had for a short time supplied her place, all faded away;and then came the gray dawn of the morning, and then the clear brightness of the day,—and still Michael and Agnes were childless.

"She has sunk into some mossy or miry place," said Michael, to a man near him, into whose face he could not look, "a cruel, cruel death to one like her! The earth on which my child walked has closed over her, and we shall never see her more!"

At last, a man who had left the search, and gone in a direction toward the highroad, came running with something in his arms toward the place where Michael and others were standing beside Agnes, who lay, apparently exhausted almost to dying, on the sward. He approached hesitatingly; and Michael saw that he carried Lucy's bonnet, clothes, and plaid.

It was impossible not to see some spots of blood upon the frill that the child had worn around her neck. "Murdered! murdered!" was the one word whispered or ejaculated all around; but Agnes heard it not; for, worn out by that long night of hope and despair, she had fallen asleep, and was, perhaps, seeking her lost Lucy in her dreams.

Isabel took the clothes, and, narrowly inspecting them with eye and hand, said, with a fervent voice that was heard even in Michael's despair, "No, Lucy is yet among the living. There are no marks of violence on the garments of the innocent;no murderer's hand has been here. These blood spots have been put here to deceive. Besides, would not the murderer have carried off these things? For what else would he have murdered her? But, oh! foolish despair! What speak I of? For, wicked as the world is—ay! desperately wicked—there is not, on all the surface of the wide earth, a hand that would murder our child! Is it not plain as the sun in the heaven, that Lucy has been stolen by some wretched gypsy beggar?"

The crowd quietly dispersed, and horse and foot began to scour the country. Some took the highroads, others all the bypaths, and many the trackless hills. Now that they were in some measure relieved from the horrible belief that the child was dead, the worst other calamity seemed nothing, for hope brought her back to their arms.

Agnes had been able to walk home to Bracken-Braes, and Michael and Isabel sat by her bedside. All her strength was gone, and she lay at the mercy of the rustle of a leaf, or a shadow across the window. Thus hour after hour passed, till it was again twilight. "I hear footsteps coming up the brae," said Agnes, who had for some time appeared to be slumbering; and in a few moments the voice of Jacob Mayne was heard at the outer door.

Jacob wore a solemn expression of countenance, and he seemed, from his looks, to bring no comfort. Michael stood up between him and his wife, and looked into his heart. Something there seemed to be in his face that was not miserable. "If he has heard nothing of my child," thought Michael, "this man must care little for his own fireside." "Oh, speak, speak," said Agnes; "yet why need you speak? All this has been but a vain belief, and Lucy is in heaven."

"Something like a trace of her has been discovered; a woman, with a child that did not look like a child of hers, was last night at Clovenford, and left it at the dawning." "Do you hear that, my beloved Agnes?" said Isabel; "she will have tramped away with Lucy up into Ettrick or Yarrow; but hundreds of eyes will have been upon her; for these are quiet but not solitary glens; and the hunt will be over long before she has crossed down upon Hawick. I knew that country in my young days, What say you, Mr. Mayne? There is the light of hope in your face." "There is no reason to doubt, ma'am, that it was Lucy. Everybody is sure of it. If it was my own Rachel, I should have no fear as to seeing her this blessed night."

Jacob Mayne now took a chair, and sat down, with even a smile upon his countenance. "I may tell you now, that Watty Oliver knows it was your child, for he saw her limping along after the gypsy at Galla-Brigg; but, having no suspicion, he did not take a second look at her,—but one look is sufficient, and he swears it was bonny Lucy Forester."

Aunt Isabel, by this time, had bread and cheese and a bottle of her own elder-flower wine on the table. "You have been a long and hard journey, wherever you have been, Mr. Mayne; take some refreshment;" and Michael asked a blessing.

Jacob saw that he might now venture to reveal the whole truth. "No, no, Mrs. Irving, I am over happy to eat or to drink. You are all prepared for the blessing that awaits you. Your child is not far off; and I myself, for it is I myself that found her, will bring her by the hand, and restore her to her parents."

Agnes had raised herself up in her bed at these words, but she sank gently back on her pillow; aunt Isabel was rooted to her chair; and Michael, as he rose up, felt as if the ground were sinking under his feet. There was a dead silence all around the house for a short space, and then the sound of many voices, which again by degrees subsided. The eyes of all then looked, and yet feared to look, toward the door.

Jacob Mayne was not so good as his word, for he did not bring Lucy by the hand to restore her to her parents; but dressed again in her own bonnet and gown, and her own plaid, in rushed their own child, by herself, with tears and sobs of joy, and her father laid her within her mother's bosom.

約翰·威爾森（1785～1854年），被稱作“北方的克里斯托夫”，他出生于蘇格蘭的派斯利，在格拉斯哥大學(xué)和牛津大學(xué)接受過教育，他是一位著名的作家、詩人和批判家。1808年，他移居英格蘭的維斯摩爾蘭德，在那里他組織了一個(gè)詩人的“湖畔學(xué)校”。在牛津時(shí)，他的一首關(guān)于“繪畫、詩歌和建筑”的詩歌獲了獎(jiǎng)。1820年，他成為愛丁堡大學(xué)道德哲學(xué)教授，該職位他一直擔(dān)任到1851年。1822～1825年，作為在《黑森林》雜志上發(fā)表的《諾克塔斯·安伯羅斯安納》一文的首席作者，他獲得了一生中最高的榮譽(yù)。他的詩歌中《棕櫚樹島》和《瘟疫之城》都很有名，本文選自描寫蘇格蘭生活的寓言《弗洛斯特家的人》。

露西只有六歲，但是她就像一個(gè)仙女一樣天不怕地不怕，她經(jīng)常獨(dú)自一人去山坡，到離家兩三公里遠(yuǎn)的地方買東西。她的父母有什么可擔(dān)心的？小路很堅(jiān)固，沒有危險(xiǎn)的地方，孩子們自己玩的時(shí)候也不用特別小心。露西唱著歌跑進(jìn)矮樹林，又哼著小曲從山那邊出來。她的小手扶著圍欄，在木橋上滑行，或在小溪中的石頭間蹦來蹦去。

即使這個(gè)小家伙離家?guī)讉€(gè)小時(shí)，家人也不會(huì)擔(dān)心她。她挎著小籃子，有時(shí)是去跟鄰居借日用品，有時(shí)獨(dú)自一個(gè)人高高興興出去玩，跑到山坡上或是花叢間，回來時(shí)身上掛滿了花環(huán)。

一天，梅恩斯邀請(qǐng)快樂的露西到雷蒂賽德（一個(gè)離家兩英里遠(yuǎn)的農(nóng)場(chǎng)）玩一整天，她從太陽升起一個(gè)小時(shí)之后就離家了。

她不在家時(shí)，家里很安靜但也很快樂，天還沒黑，露西隨時(shí)都會(huì)回家。邁克、艾格尼絲、伊莎貝爾，她的爸爸、媽媽、姨媽都去路上迎接她。他們走呀走，一路上沒有碰到露西，他們感到很奇怪，但是一點(diǎn)都不擔(dān)心，到達(dá)雷蒂賽德時(shí)，他們聽到孩子歡快的笑聲，聚會(huì)要結(jié)束了，可他們還在鬧！雅各布·梅恩斯來開門，他們親切地詢問梅恩斯，為什么沒讓露西在太陽落山前回家。梅恩斯看起來非常驚訝，他說露西沒有來雷蒂賽德。

接下來的兩個(gè)小時(shí)內(nèi)，100多人在各個(gè)山頭尋找露西，他們甚至去可憐的露西不可能到的地方找。一整夜，牧羊人帶著牧羊犬尋遍了每個(gè)角落，崎嶇多石的地方，石楠花叢間，甚至查看了可以藏匿活人或尸體的石縫，但都沒有露西的蹤影。她的媽媽也在人群中，有一段時(shí)間，她似乎受到一種超自然力量的鼓舞，她的心怦怦跳動(dòng)，察看每塊巖石的背后，有時(shí)停下來傾聽山間回蕩的回聲，她想辨認(rèn)女兒的聲音，或是發(fā)現(xiàn)些什么。

月亮下去了，然后星星也下去了，本來它們還可以照亮道路，現(xiàn)在全都消失了。然后灰色的黎明到來了，接著天慢慢變亮，然而邁克和艾格尼絲還是沒有找到孩子。

“她肯定是掉進(jìn)沼澤地了，”邁克對(duì)旁邊的一個(gè)人說，沒有看他的臉，“這對(duì)她是多么殘忍呀，泥土從她的頭上沒過，我們?cè)僖惨姴坏剿恕！?

最后，一個(gè)放下尋找的人，沿著大路走過來，胳膊里夾著一些東西跑到邁克和其他人站的地方，艾格尼絲躺在旁邊的草地上，她耗盡了所有力氣，躺在地上一動(dòng)不動(dòng)。那個(gè)人猶猶豫豫地走近邁克，邁克看見他抱著露西的帽子、衣服還有格子披肩。

靠近露西脖子的衣服邊緣上可以看到血跡斑斑。“謀殺，是謀殺！”周圍的人有的竊竊私語，有的失聲喊了出來。但是艾格尼絲什么都沒聽見，因?yàn)榻?jīng)過一整夜希望與絕望的折磨之后，她已精疲力盡，這會(huì)兒已經(jīng)昏昏沉沉地睡著了，也許，她這會(huì)兒正在夢(mèng)中尋找她的露西呢！

伊莎貝爾接過衣服，她仔細(xì)檢查、撫摸著衣服，突然她激動(dòng)地喊了起來。就連已經(jīng)絕望的邁克都聽到了她的叫喊聲：“不，露西還活著，你們看衣服上并沒有掙扎過的痕跡，兇手也沒有在衣服上留下痕跡。這些血跡是為了掩人耳目，故意留在上面的。除此之外，兇手為什么不把這些東西帶走呢？他為什么要謀殺露西？但是，哦，我們的絕望真是太愚蠢了！我在說什么？雖然這個(gè)世界很邪惡——哎，非常邪惡，可怎么會(huì)有人要謀殺我們的孩子呢？顯而易見，露西是被可惡的吉卜賽乞丐偷走了。”

人群靜靜地散開了，人們騎著馬四處尋找可憐的露西。有些人在公路上搜尋，有些人在崎嶇的小道上搜尋，還有一些人去荒無人煙的山上尋找。現(xiàn)在他們總算松了口氣，既然孩子沒有死，那么其他的不幸都算不了什么，他們心中充滿希望，相信孩子會(huì)回到他們的懷抱的。

艾格尼絲從布拉肯山勉強(qiáng)支撐著走回了家，邁克和伊莎貝爾始終陪在她身邊。她已經(jīng)精疲力盡，聽著沙沙作響的樹葉，看著窗外的樹影。時(shí)間慢慢過去，黃昏來臨了。“我聽見山坡上有腳步聲。”本來在睡覺的艾格尼絲突然冒出這么一句話，她話音剛落，門外傳來了雅各布·梅恩的聲音。

雅各布臉色難看，看樣子，他不會(huì)帶來什么好消息。邁克站在雅各布和妻子之間，直視著雅各布，從他的臉上并看不到悲傷的表情。邁克想：“如果他沒有聽說露西的事情，他也不會(huì)關(guān)心他的家人。”“哦，快說、快說吧，”艾格尼絲說，“不過你也不用說什么了，沒有希望了，露西已經(jīng)到天堂了。”

“有人發(fā)現(xiàn)了她的行蹤，昨天晚上有人在克拉文福特看見一個(gè)婦女，她帶著一個(gè)孩子，那孩子好像不是她自己的，她們今天早上離開了。”“聽見了嗎，親愛的艾格尼絲？”伊莎貝爾說，“她可能會(huì)帶露西到埃迪克或雅盧去。但是會(huì)有人看到她的，那里雖然是幽靜的山谷，但是人煙可不稀少。她還不到哈維克，就會(huì)被人們抓住的。我小的時(shí)候就知道那個(gè)地方，你說是不是，梅恩先生？看得出你也滿懷希望。”“毫無疑問，夫人，那就是露西。每個(gè)人都能確定，假如那是我的孩子瑞切爾，那么我希望今晚就能見到她。”

雅各布·梅恩斯拿過一把椅子坐了下來，他面帶笑容說：“現(xiàn)在我可以告訴您，瓦迪·奧利弗知道那是您的孩子，因?yàn)樗诩卫げ祭锔窨匆娝谝粋€(gè)吉卜賽人身后，一瘸一拐地走著。但當(dāng)時(shí)他沒有懷疑什么，所以就沒有特別關(guān)注她——不過他看的這一眼已經(jīng)足夠了，他保證那一定是露西·弗洛斯特。”

這時(shí)，伊莎貝爾阿姨將面包、奶酪還有自己釀的陳年桂花酒擺在了桌子上。“梅恩先生，雖然不知道您去哪兒了，但看得出，您一定走了不少路，請(qǐng)吃點(diǎn)甜點(diǎn)吧！”邁克做了禱告。

雅各布覺得是時(shí)候公布所有的真相了。“不，不，埃爾文斯太太，我太高興了，根本吃不下東西。你們準(zhǔn)備好了，我有個(gè)好消息要告訴你們，其實(shí)你們的孩子就在附近，是我找到她的，現(xiàn)在我要親自把她帶到父母身邊。”

艾格尼絲聽到這句話，突然從床上坐了起來，但很快又慢慢向后靠在枕頭上。伊莎貝爾跌坐在了椅子上，邁克站了起來，這時(shí)他感覺腳下的地面在下沉。那一刻，屋子里靜得出奇，然后響起很多聲音，一會(huì)兒又漸漸平息了。大家那急切而又期待的眼睛都向門口望去。

雅各布·梅恩并沒有像他說的，拉著露西的手，把她還給父母，只見露西穿著自己的裙子，帶著自己的帽子和格子披肩，她的臉上掛著喜悅的淚水，自己跑了進(jìn)來，父親把她抱到了母親的懷里。