might catch a sound thrashing' before we got home, an expectation in which we were happily disappointed.

Every out-of-the-way occurrence makes a wonder among country folk. Our squabble with Bauldy brought us some notoriety, and the taking his sweetheart from him, too, was held to be a complete triumph, and, in strict accordance with poetical justice, for None but the brave deserve the fair.' But, conscious of no great merit, either in the one case or the other, we quietly pocketed the compliments and congratulations that were offered us, and gave ourselves very little concern about the matter, having got something else to think of-so we tried to persuade ourselves. The truth is, that although we were certain that as yet we had not got our death 'frae twa blue cen,' yet we strongly suspected that we had at least caught a wound from twa lovely een o' bonnie blue.' This we should willingly have concealed from even ourselves, for we pretended to look upon it as a weakness to allow any impression whatever to take such a firm hold of our mind, that an ordinary effort could not shake it off. But it would not do. The more we struggled, the more did this same tender feeling cling to us. We felt abstracted in company, fond of musing, of solitary wandering, and continual pondering on the same subject. In a word, any one with a particle of discernment might have seen that 'the sweet youth was in love.' We tried to reason, to ridicule ourselves out of this mumping, moping frame of mind, but all to no purpose. Then came the sage conclusion, Well, if we have got a scratch, it is not the first time (we were wrong though, we only thought so). This bonny muirhen of ours has not escaped altogether skaith free; shy as she is, she will yet give us another chance, and then, spite of her witching glance and winning smile, we'll find her neither better nor worse than an ordinary woman; so 'swith away' all this silly, whining feeling; we're too old a sparrow to be caught with chaff." Bravo, Aelic!

Some two or three weeks passed away in this half misty, half-sunshiny state of mind, during which we kept as much out of company as possible; not that we shut ourselves up-far from it; on the contrary, every hour we could spare was spent in taking daunderings' into the country, especially-must we confess it?-in the direction of Pirly-hill, for somehow or other we thought a sight of the house did us good. Seeing that nine days-the allotted time for a wonder to last-were past, we thought we might safely venture to the kirk. During the time of the sermon, as we were taking a casual peep about us, who should we see but our Mary sitting at some distance from us. A look of kindly recognition was instantly exchanged; but, thinking the eyes of the whole congregation were fixed upon us, our faces were instantly buried in our hands. We cannot very well say how it was, but after this it so happened, that at certain times, such as the rising up or sitting down of the congregation, our eyes met exactly at the same moment, but in such a way that even a close observer would have pronounced it to have been by chance. But, chance or not, we felt every one of those speaking glances, in the words of the old song, gae to our heart wi' a twang.' Henceforward, so long as we remained in the place, the minister himself did not attend church more regularly than we did. Practice, it has been said, leads to perfection, and we firmly believe it does, for it was wonderful how soon we learned to convey a world of meaning in the silent language of a rapid, hurrying glance-silent did we say? no words are half so expressive, half so eloquent, in matters of love! Robert Burns, with more than even his usual felicity, admits the force, in many of his best lyrics, of this kind of language; and every one conversant with it knows well that words may deceive, but looks never; in short, that it is the language of nature for expressing every tender and endearing emotion.

6

We have said that we made great progress in understanding each other in our own way. Then it came about that we met in the entry (porch) leading to the churchdoor at the dismissal of the congregation, and were half jostled and squeezed together-all by chance again, of course. Then, by and by, in those same very agreeable

crushes, we found her hand locked in ours, by chance, too; and in this way, with faces averted, and seemingly unconcerned, looking at this or at the other thing, we were carried to the door with the crowd, a gentle squeeze of the fingers, and the slightest possible pressure in return, as much as to say, all right, made us (i. e., me) the happiest being in existence for days afterwards.

However, pleasant and encouraging as all this was, still it was silent. Accordingly we resolved to speak, at all hazards; but how to do so was the question. We tried once or twice to make up to Mary as we left the churchdoor, but she guessed our intention, and went off like an arrow to join some member of her family, or some acquaintance. We tried to slip a few lines into her hand, requesting an interview, but this was rejected, and pressed back into our own, which almost drove us mad, and set us to ponder on what appeared so much inconsistency. After making due allowance for maidenly modesty and that natural reserve which is the greatest charm a young woman possesses, at times we almost convinced ourselves that we had fallen in with a consummate flirt, who was practising her arts at the expense of our simplicity If this is her object,' we thought, she shall find herself sadly mistaken: neither she nor any woman born shall keep us dangling at her tails, to use us as she likes and when she likes. Affection we can requite with affection, be it ever so strong, but we have none to bestow where there is not something of the same kind in return. It becomes us to make the first advance, and to follow it up for a time; but if our addresses are met coldly, or if our object is to be gained by sheer importunity-kneeling, protesting, swearing, ranting about flames,' and 'darts,' 'icy bosoms,' and all that -no woman shall have to complain for any great length of time of our intrusion. No, no, the flame must be mutual, not all on one side, or it shall not burn at all with us; ay, and if any woman attempts to impose upon us, she may perhaps find that two can play at the same game.'

The bare suspicion that we were made a dupe of would have gone far to cure us, if we could have staid away from church; but to the church we must go, to show (was this all, fair ladies?) that we were not afraid of being trifled with, forsooth. But a look put all suspicion out of sight; every little action on her part seemed so natural, so artless, so genuine, that our chains became more firmly rivetted than they were before. There was one way we knew well should have procured us a private interview, namely, by going directly to Pirly-hill any evening, and stopping an hour or two with the family; but this, for many reasons, we could not venture upon. In the first place, it would have been the whole talk of the parish for a month, a thing we abhorred, for in love—that is, where the affections are engaged-the secrecy of it is half its beauty, at least so it appeared to us. In the next place, we knew that we should be subjected to hints and questions from the old folks, which, in present circumstances, we should have been not altogether willing to answer. Then, again, we looked on love as a very commonplace affair, unless it was so contrived as in some way to throw a little romance into it. Then, to be be-praised, put forward, wheedled,' if we chanced to be a favourite with faither an' mither, sisters an' brithers;' and to be 'glunched' at, 'snashed' at, sneered at, if we were not. Oh, patience, patience! thou universal remedy for every ailment, fret and fume as we may, to thee we must have recourse at last. Our stock of this virtue was never very great at any time, and in this instance was exhausted to the very dregs; still we doated on, loved on, hoped on.

6

At length the mist began to clear away, and our pros pects accordingly brightened up. It came about in this way. A sewing-school was kept within a few doors of our lodgings in the village, which was attended by several girls from the country. As they could not go home to their meals,' each of them brought a bit o' bread and cheese, or something of that sort, with her, and four or five of them left these with our landlady until the interval.' These bread-and-butter misses,' as a late noble

poet would have called them, and ourselves, very soon got on easy terms. In good time for us, a younger member of the family at Pirly-hill was sent to this sewingschool, a nice girl of twelve or thirteen. She was very shy and modest at first, but before she had been many days at school, she became as mad a romp as the best of them, and, of course, a favourite with us. We had a volume of songs, which she took a particular fancy for, and asked the loan of it. After some haggling,' we told her that we should make her a present of it, and take it to Pirly-hill ourselves, provided she would promise to come out some night, and bring her sister along with her to receive it. She said little at the time, but the next day the shy thing took an opportunity of telling us in private that she would do as we had asked, naming an early evening, and hour and place of meeting. There is perseverance rewarded at last! we thought; but what a world of time will the intervening hours occupy. However, although they did not hurry themselves in the least for us, they did slip past, as they usually do, and long before the time appointed on the night in question we were at our post. At length two figures appeared, which made us feel put about, and yet, after all, it was only that agitation which makes the swelling heart play 'pitie-patie.' There was a good deal of embarrassment on both sides; but the presence of little Maggie kept all right so long as she stopped with us, which, however, was not long, for the little gipsy knew well enough what was what, and, pretending to see that all was quiet aboot the house,' left us. We could do no less than see what had become of her. In passing, we noticed the door of an outhouse standing invitingly open, and proposed to step in for a quiet crack; but no! A little force is sometimes needful with refractory people, and a little force was used. In accordingly we both went, and sat down on a bottle' of straw, also with a little persuasive force. Well, what next? Never felt so embarrassed in our life-never. Should have given the world for the use of our tongue;' but it seemed to be tied up. We sat for a minute or two in silence, until the very awkwardness of our situation made us both burst into a fit of laughter. This broke the spell; and, long before morning, she would have passed her word for us that we were not 'tongue-tackit.' We had much coyness and modesty to contend with, for, until then, we believe that she never had kept company' with a 'laud' (lad, lover) in such a place in her life before; but, in spite of these obstacles, we never passed a few hours so agreeably with any human being; and, long before we parted,

'I ken'd her heart was a' my ain,
I loved her maist sincerely,

An' kiss'd her owre an' owre again,
Anang the rigs o' barley,'

or rather in a place fully as comfortable in a cold night as the rigs o' barley.' The parting hour came on a good deal faster than it was wished, and we separated with, happy to meet, sorry to part, but happy, happy, to meet again.'

From this time forth, the road to Pirly-hill became as well known to us and perhaps more frequented than the road to the kirk.' In due time we found Mary possessed of all-far more than all-that ever we had expected to find in woman unobtrusive, modest, but kind, lively, and cheerful, well-informed, considering her years and opportunities, with a slight dash of romance about her. If anything, she had, perhaps, rather too nice notions of the dignity of woman; but this was held in check by her strong common sense-a natural, clear perception of what was proper or improper in itself, with a resolute determination to act up to her impulses (so to speak) in this respect, regardless of consequences. Such, and a great deal more, was Mary (for we draw from nature, from a real original, no mere fiction); every night we were in her company, and on every occasion she improved in our view; every night discovered some amiable or noble trait of character which we had not observed before, and, need we add, every night she 'wormed' herself deeper and deeper

into our affections, until she fairly engrossed them all, ardent though they were. Greatness and wealth command many pleasures, no doubt, but they have not a monopoly of all the happiness in the world; even the poorest of the poor have occasional snatches. The pearly dew,' the flowery field,' the 'hoary hawthorn,' the scented birch,' the fragrant meadow,' the wimplin' burn,' are no mere creations of the poet's fancy; they are actually and truly to be found in their season, abounding everywhere, and alike common to all. We are told, and told truly, that the sun shines as brightly and as warmly upon the poor as upon the rich;' but at times night brings joys to the poor as well as day; joys, too, that ill suit with the glaring eye of light. To take the instance in this, our fifth "Sketch of Scotland in Auld Langsyne:'-A country lad has an appointment with his sweetheart some fine summer evening. She resides at the distance of some three or four miles, perhaps; so away he saunters, as if he were taking an ordinary walk, but, fearful of being watched, sets out in an opposite direction until out of sight. He then strikes off to the right or left, as the case may be, and avoiding every road, public and private, makes a circuit through the fields, sometimes skirting hedges, sometimes pursuing his course through a hollow, threading now his way through a plantation, or following the windings of a burn, until he comes within a certain distance of his destination. Every tree, every shrub, every flower, every blade of grass is in its glory, and everything forces itself on his attention; and if he has but a spark of poetry in his constitution at all-nor is this uncommon-he associates all with the object of his affections. Being now as near the house as he wishes to be as yet, he sets himself down in some snug place to think of the approaching meeting, or, per haps, to gaze at the fiery-red setting sun, as it suddenly dips down behind the distant blue hills, leaving as it were a blank in creation. Up he starts, again, and gradually and cautiously approaches the house, keeping a sharp look-out all the while that everything is quiet about the toon,' and that no interloper is hovering about; even that sharp-eared, long-tongue tell-tale, Whitefit,' the colleydog, must be guarded against. Having reached the trysting bush,' he takes his seat, and 'bides his time.' All is quiet and lonely, not a breath of wind, the air mild and balmy, the western horizon still streaked with red, the sky overhead clear and blue, with a few stars shining in sparkling silvery light; not a thing endued with animal life visible except the bat, as he flits about with a wavy, flickering motion; not a sound heard save the distant 'caroo, caroo,' of the cushat' (wood-pigeon), or the musical drone of the 'bum-clock' humming lazily by. With a fluttering heart, he at length perceives a female figure steal out from the house. She cautiously proceeds a few steps, then pauses and looks about her, for if any straggler is lurking about he is sure to make his appearance now. All is quiet; she throws her apron partly over her face, as if to hide her blushes; walks slowly forward; pauses and looks again; then playfully going to the wrong side of the bush, whispers, with timorous accents, 'Are ye there?' Then comes the rush, the stifled scream, the fond embrace, when throb responds to throb; again a pause, until exhausted nature recovers herself; and then, hand in hand, in a trip owre the flow'ry lea,' or, perhaps, seated side by side on the herd's hillock,' at the foot of the ash-tree, the simple tale that has been told fifty times before is told over again, and former pledges again renewed. What equivalent wealth offers to these things we know not.

Our meetings in time became so frequent, that sleep seemed to be a thing almost unnecessary, and sometimes for a night was dispensed with altogether; yet all the while we made but comparatively few professions of love, and asked as few in return; inference with both of us seemed to have greater force than declaration, for both of us loved not wisely, but too well.' That this was the case is not greatly to be wondered at, for between us there was a community of years, sentiments, feelings, tastes, and even in our very failings there was something congenial. Any insult-that is, premeditated insult-or neglect on

our part, would have produced a lasting separation, and any coldness or indifference on hers, would probably have brought about the same result. Both of us felt too keenly on points like these; but probably this was the charm, in some measure, which bound us together, for either we must have been all-in-all to each other, or nothing. Perfect happiness for any length of time is not the lot of man or woman. Amid all our sweet communings, we had our little whiffs and bickerings. Jealousy, though no ingredient of love, is probably inseparable from it, and it must be a very cool, sober, matter-of-fact love, indeed, that is not tinged with it. Both of us had, or thought we had, which is the same thing, something to complain of in this way.

When we went first to our village, there was a young woman of the name of Betty, who was the pride of the place and its neighbourhood. In reality, we have seldom seen a more handsome, good-looking, young person; but this was the most that could be said of her, for she was vain, silly, changeful, and extravagantly fond of dress and admiration; with, moreover, no great depth of feeling. This giddy thing, such as she was, was then exactly to our taste; so we set ourselves to work to get introduced to her. This was an easy matter, for she had a great partiality for strangers. After a few nights' companykeeping with her, we were placed at the very top of the front ranks of her admirers-a post we kept far longer than any one had ever been known to keep before. This gaudy butterfly was a sad eyesore to poor Mary, who no more than other young women could brook any one who was thought more handsome than herself. We could easily have broken up the connection altogether without much pain either to her or ourselves; but it suited our (i. e., my) purpose to do otherwise. It was well known that we (i. ., I) were doing 'business' (as it is called sarcastically) somewhere, but with whom no one could tell, unless with Betty. We were often joked about this, and must confess that, if we did not admit this to be the case, we at least allowed them to believe that we did pass our time with her; and this we did for the purpose of putting them on a false scent, so that they might not discover where our treasure lay. All this was known to Mary, from whom we kept no secrets of this kind. She used to laugh at the device, but still insisted that we were doing wrong; and, if we were, fearful was the retribution that overtook

us.

To balance accounts, we sometimes thought that we had some little reason to complain of the attentions of a 'cousin' or some such friend of Mary's, who came to Pirly-hill much oftener than we relished. He was an elderly man, possessed of considerable property, and otherwise wealthy. Wealth, in the estimation of every one, has great odds in its favour when pitted against poverty; and in our poverty we had not yet even asked her to take a share. Had he been a young man, we should have felt less alarm, for caprice or ambition might have caused him to shift his ground; but your elderly gentleman,' we knew well, is no trifler in matters of this kind; and, backed by his money, we thought it not impossible but that we might find ourselves minus our idol-for such she wassome fine morning. We hinted our fears, and she told us, frankly and artlessly, that he came to take her father's advice about some of his affairs; and that certainly he had said some civil things to her (we could have seen him and his civil things' ten feet below the surface of the earth), but she believed him to be merely joking, and, if otherwise, he might save himself the trouble; at the same time laying hold of our hand, and drawing it into hers, for she knew our blood was boiling. This little act of kindness set all to rights, and made us think more of her than ever we had done, if that were possible.

Cares of another kind had been for some time accumulating around us. Our conscience had long been grumbling and growling, and at last demanded in surly tones what all this sighing, and billing, and cooing,' was to end in? To think of separating ourselves from her, was like thinking of parting with life itself. As yet we had no great liking

for the marriage tether; but, if we had been master of the sum of twenty pounds or so, to begin the world with, we should in all probability have been very soon a married man. No doubt we had friends that were both willing and able to have advanced this sum; but, somehow or other, our pride has everly been a match for our poverty; and before we would have come under obligations of this kind to any one-that is to say, so long as we were able, and had the opportunity of providing for our own wants—we believe we should rather have starved. As for your allfor-love-marriage,' we looked on such as the ready road to ruin; and had no faith in the popular maxim of 'marry for love, and work for siller;' nor could we at all bring our mind to make our marriage-bed on 'clean pea strae.' For our own (i. e., my own) privations we cared little; but to have seen an amiable being, whom we loved to distraction, brought to want and 'pinching,' or even hardship, on our account, would have driven us mad. From our very childhood, we had resolved that, if ever we entered into the 'holy bonds,' &c., it should not be until we saw a way of keeping a wife, in at least all the necessaries of life in an ordinary way, and, if possible, some few of its luxuries; for without these, whatever people may pretend, there can be neither peace nor happiness in the married state for any length of time. We had enough of romance about us; but not quite so much as to make us end our adventure in the most approved way, that is, by making a runaway marriage of it; and then, starving ourselves for a few days, coming back to our parents, cringing and kneeling, and begging forgiveness; and then-having laid the benevolence of every one, to the twentieth degree of kin, under contribution-and after having been kicked from one to another-to nestle down into some obscure corner, and there add to the stock of beggars. Between extremes there is commonly a middle course; and what if we should adopt it? May we not go on as we have been doing, trusting that the chapter of accidents will do something for us? Even if the very worst should happen, all that could be said about it is, that it was a thoughtless frolic entered into by both of us, without any serious intention on either side-a thing practised daily by thousands; and if we had caught the lovers' fever, it was only what might have been foreseen; nor was there anything uncommon in it; neither uncommon that no pledges were given or asked by either of us. Indeed the subject of marriage had been rarely so much as alluded to.

To this reasoning there was something within us which cried aloud, Away with this selfish, cold-blooded specialpleading.' 'Call you it a frolic to trifle with the dearest feelings of an innocent, amiable, affectionate girl, who has been but too rash in placing her peace of mind in your possession? If you have made no promises, did you ever decidedly and distinctly tell her that marriage was not your object? on the contrary, has not your whole conduct from beginning to end led her to infer that your views were honourable? and what woman in the same circumstances could have come to any other conclusion? If you cannot marry her yourself, what right have you to stand in the way of her settlement in life with another? If you would escape the everlasting reproaches of your own mind, trifle no longer, but state your views and your difficulties honestly, frankly, and without reserve. She is a party as deeply interested in this affair as you are, and has an equal right to share all your deliberations on the subject. After you have done this, if she looks on all that has passed as a frolic, you stand acquitted; if not, you are bound by whatever is honourable in human nature to make her all the redress in your power.'

From this there was no appeal; so we took the first opportunity which presented itself to plunge into the subject, and to lay bare our very innermost thoughts and feelings connected therewith. Mary heard us with some emotion, and, in her usual frank way, confessed that, sooner or later, she had expected to hear some such declaration from us; that, almost from the beginning, she had guessed what were the circumstances in which we were in; and that, in point of money, we were nearly on a