OURSELVES AND OUR LETTER BOX.

Cuncti adsint, meritæque expectent præmia palmæ.

VIRGIL.

GENTLE and Courteous Reader! We have now had... the pleasure of holding, with thee, no less than sixtyone regular tete-à-tetes, and it is, perhaps, not unfair to suppose, that the recollection of these will induce thee to continue still to hold with us many more.

It has been our earnest desire, in all that we have said or sung, to please thee, and if, at any time, we have failed in doing so, the blame, it is to be hoped, must be attributed to the topics which we have unfortunately selected, rather than to the method of treating them. We have, in fact, most anxiously catered for thy amusement and instruction, and, provided we are still allowed to claim thy friendly ear, we will continue to do so as long as we can spin brain into typography! We have told thee of "The Council of Ten," who select and regulate thy morning's literary repast, and have thrown out hints regarding its late and early sittings for thy intellectual benefit. Some wiseacres and would-be critics have idly insinuated, that this decemvirate is nothing but a fiction, a mere ideal knot of phantoms like those which are said to be congregated round the far-famed board of that modern Athenian Ambrose. Of this false opinion, however the opinion of certain silly detractors whom we despise, and of several envious foes whom we have lashed-we shall now endeavour to disabuse thee; and, perhaps, there can be no better method of effectually accomplishing this desirable end than by introducing thee, as our best friend, into the circle of a monthly meeting of our Council, and thereby rendering thee at once a witness. of, and a participator in those literary orgies which thy patronage, to each and all of that Board, so well deserves. Listen, then, while we present thee with a key to OURSELVES and OUR LETTER BOX.

The monthly dinner of the " Council of Ten" took place on the last day of February-when the whole members were present. The EDITOR in the chairthe office of Croupier was ably filled, by our Poetical Critic. The first dozen of claret having vanished rather rapidly, the chairman deemed it necessary to call the attention of the members to the peculiar object of the meeting, which the gentlemen present, he reminded, was for the purpose of deciding the fate of the various contributions sent, during the two preceding months, by the correspondents of "The Day," and intended by them for insertion in that periodical. He recommended that THE SPECTACLES and THE ANTIQUARY should be appointed to act as grand inquisitors, and that the rest of the Council should perform the part of independent Jurymen (applause.)

A preconcerted signal having been made to the attendants, they immediately withdrew, and in a short time they returned bearing our Letter Box.

The inquisitors stood on each side, grimly smiling, the lid was slowly opened, and the following letter was immediately read :

To the Editor of The Day.—SIR,—I am one of a large number of friends to literature, who associate for the purpose of encouraging it, as well as getting information to ourselves. We regularly read a second-hand copy of The Day, price one half-penny, and it

would gratify the whole of us, were you kind enough to insert the inclosed Essay, "On the too Profuse Payment of Literary Productions, by a Member of the Save-all Club." I am also directed to say, our subscription as second-hand readers will be withdrawn, if this Essay be not inserted. Your obedient servant, ISAAC NEWTON.

Editor.-Corpo della Santa Maria Maggiore ! Another two-farthing Macænas. I thought our publisher's subscription list had been already thoroughly purged of such friends. What return, gentlemen, do you propose making to the writer for this mark of his distinguished patronage?

The Antiquary.-I beg leave to propose that we inflict on him the highest punishment of our ancient

law.

The next article was entitled "Dunder's Delusion," and was subscribed, "An Ancient Epicurean." It thus began :

"Dunder and his family were comfortably seated by a blazing fire, one night in November, when tap! tap! tap! was heard sharply and suddenly at the door-but, ere Dunder had laid aside his pipe, the door was rudely pushed open, and a stranger appeared. Silently he entered the room, sat down on Dunder's chair: placed his feet upon the grate, and began to puff away most violently, with the pipe which Dunder had abandoned. But what astonished Dunder most was, that all at once he felt that he had lost the use of his tongue, and when he looked to his better half, he observed, that neither her lip nor tongue was in motion, a circumstance, that had not occurred before, for twenty years. The stranger wore a cocked hat and tye, was highly powdered, and kept nodding his head to a most extraordinary tune, which Dunder thought he had once heard before, as he travelled through a dark wood by himself, on a depredatory excursion. As the stranger continued to puff, puff, puff, the room gradually filled with a thick smoke. stranger occasionally turned his head round quietly, gazed for a moment in our host's face, gave three loud laughs, and continued to puff, puff. But Dunder was provoked beyond measure, when he saw him seize a flask of wine that was to have accompanied, and washed down his own supper; and the stranger nodding to Mrs. Dunder, who returned the politeness, then looked to Dunder, and, laughing three times, emptied the bottle in a moment. In the name of the virgin!' cried Dunder, recovering his breath-when the stranger roared hideously, leaped up, sprung through the ceiling, and the aperture, through which he made his exit, is still shown as a curiosity, leaving the mark of a cloven foot, which retains a sulphurous and offensive odour.—

The

Eight of the Council.-Insert this story most assuredly.

The Doctor.-It shall not be inserted, as I shall certainly be considered as the author.

Eight of the Council.-What of that?

The Doctor-Nothing, gentlemen, provided you allow me to insert in the newspapers, that the author of the "Confessions of a Burker" has not, and never had, any connection with the story from the German, entitled, "Dunder's Delusion,"

Editor.-Balderdash ! Was I not the author of the letters of Malachi Malagrowther, usually ascribed to Sir Walter Scott? and, Good heavens! did he endeavour to undeceive the public upon the subject? Spectacles.-The next in rotation, gentlemen, appears to be in verse, it is entitled,

THE UNINVITED GHAIST.

As the Diel an' his dame,

Ae nicht were frae hame,

A Ghaist frae this warld, did tick at their door.

A wee deil did answer

An' roar'd "what d'ye want Sir?"

"I want," quo the Ghaist "just tae rank in your core."

"The gudeman's frae hame, man,

The gudewife's the same, man:

Tae admit ye mysel' is against their commauns,

Sae slip your wa's back;

An' our Cork, when he's slack,

Will gie ye a hint when he's takin on han's.

The Ghaist turn'd his heel
Without sayin' fareweel,

An' sneak'd awa back wi' his thumb in his jaw;
Thinking 'twas a hard case,

That in sic a warm place,

A puir Ghastie shou'd get sic a cauld coal tae blaw.

Now, let some folks reflect

Upon this disrespect,

An' look e'er they loup, whar their landing's tae be;

For it seems there is reason

Tae tak tent o' their wisen,

Since the Deils on the shy, and their frien's ca' them fee. Easel. That's real double-distilled nonscence; and I propose it be put on the fire wi' a wee hair o' flour o' brumstane about it, to mak a blue low.

Omnes.-Agreed.

Easel.-Feich! what a smell—I never see brumstane, gentlemen, without thinking o' Devils, Bumbees or Hielanmen.

Uncle Duncan.-What did you'll spoke about Highlandmen just now Mister Easdale? I can tell you, Mister Easdale, that I've known to my own knowledge a petter man than you, as proud as Lusifer, because he was a Highlandman's bastard. Now, Mister Easdale, pit tat in your pouch, and tak it for your morning.

Easel. They say they're scant o' news that tell's his father was hanged; and I think they wad be as scant o' a connection that wad claim a Hielan yen. Man, do I no ken them? hae I no seen the lazy deevils hurklin about the peat fires o' Aberfoil, huntin what-de-yeca'ts, the only thing they seem tae be gude for? Gore, lad, ye manna speak to me about Hielan folks. I ken them owre weel.

Uncle Duncan.-All true Highlandmen don't fear being kent, and weel kent too; but it appears to me that you are either too well kent, or not kent or known at all, when you was obliged to hurkle in with the dregs of our peoples. If it was to see "what did you'll ca'ts," that you wented to the Highlands, I think you made a fool's errand of it; for it appears, to my suspicious mind, that you would have seen a great many more if you had stayed at home. And for you, Mister Easdale, to abuse the ancientest people in all the terrestrial territory of this Globular world, shews me that you are either a very ignorant, or a very malicious

come into a ship, naebody can tell whan, and naebody can tell frae whar! And what gude hae they dune tae the kintra? What hae they invented? Naething but the tartan, and they pretend they took the idea frae the rainbow! high flight, by the Hoky! It's a pity but Colley had a gravat-rainbow! It's mair reasonable

to suppose they took the hint frae their ain maizled shanks; it's there the clans got the different sets o' their tartan. Man, dinna talk to me; I'm no to be done!

Uncle Duncan.-Od dam'ort a baest moiseach, Dam'ort a cach na diabhoil!

Easel-Ye may " cach and deol" awa' as lang's ye like, I'm no to be done.

Editor.-Gentlemen, I beg you will allow the busiof the evening to proceed.

Uncle Duncan.-Gentlemen, with all respect to the Editorial chair, I will just give a promulgation to the observation, that it's not myself that wishes to interrupt the business of the evening, but, when I see Mister Easdale turning up his nose to the roof, and screechen like a water kelpy against a people that's an honour and an approbation to the British nation, both by land and sea, I canna help my plood from coming to the boil; there's no body that hears me just now but what has a high respect for Highlanders, and I would just advise Mister Easdale to read what Sir Walter Scott says about them, before he makes any more of his foolish remarks.

Easel.-Ou, man, is that a' ye can say?-Sir Walter has wasted a great deal o' fine writing about them— but what's that? Man, what is't? It's just like throwing lavender water on a—

Uncle Duncan.—On a what Mr. Easdale? Od, Dam'ort, put a mouth upon that word if

you dare Easel. Daur! I'm no obliged tae daur ony thing about it-I tell ye frien, Duncan, I'm no to be done man, I'm no to be done.

Editor.-Silence, gentlemen, and let the business

proceed.

The next paper was entitled an original anecdote of a certain tall divine, not a thousand miles from Glasgow, who met one of his parishioners; and the fellow, not touching his hat, the divine told him he was the head of the church. "Indeed, Sir, I really took you for the steeple," said the rustic; but, as this was condemned by the Council as a regular Joe Miller, it was placed upon the live coal without delay. Four epigrams, as pointless as a broken file, now followed, and found the same resting place. An essay "On Virtue," which, as well as the next paper, was intended for the Saturday's number, was condemned for commencing with the expression, "Happiness is the object which all men pursue," and burned very cheerily beside what the writer characterized as a serious trifle in verse of his own composition, entitled the "Good Man's Rest," and which thus began

Night is the time for rest;

How sweet when labours close,
To gather round an aching breast
The curtain of repose.

But the Council agreed that, if the above were, really, original, Montgomery must have stolen it from our correspondent, and that "The Day" could not, and would not, interfere, until the question of property were settled.

The next paper that was opened ran as follows:— Mr. Editor, I am a constant reader of The Day, and will be obliged by your throwing a little Day-light upon my history of the Theatre, which is at present in the press, your insertion of the annexed, will oblige,-A Subscriber.

"Mr. P. Q. R.'s history of the Theatre is likely to cause a great sensation in the literary world. We have had a peep at the work, and can safely say, it will add not a little to the fame of its talented author. As a limited number of copies are to be published, an early application to the respective booksellers is earnestly recommended."

Council of Ten.-This is the "puff direct :" try it by the fiery ordeal.

The conversation was here interrupted by the en

Poetical Critic.-Stop, that is not from Christopher North.

The poetical critic was then called on to give in his report, which was as follows:

"During the last month, the poetry put into my hands has been of a superior order, and more correct in its measures and quantities, than any I have formerly inspected. It has also assumed a serious cast, and is principally intended for your Saturday's number. Some exceptions, however, as may be supposed, have occurred, and love has not yet lost his dominion over several of your correspondents of either sex. The first piece I recommend to your notice, is stated to be a translation from the Italian, although its British origin is evident enough."

Wee Cupid one day on frolicing bent;

Slung on his bow and his gilded quiver;
Through his wide domains a laughing he went,
A sportsman keen on the game as ever.

He pointed a bachelor, three score and twain,
Shot him in the back with a long strong arrow,
Which punctured his heart with a pleasing pain,

Dividing asunder the joints and the marrow.

Easel. It's dounricht havers. The body has nae notion whatever of Heathen Mythology, or the harmony of composition. What sense is there in sic a bluter o' words about naething? Cock-a-leerie-law, surely it maun be written by some flesher's apprentice. Into the fire with it-into the fire with it. Sic stuff is eneuch to gar any man of taste tak' a skunner, or the cholera.

Verdict." Divided by the joints, and fried in its own marrow."

Poetical Critic.-Gentlemen, since you judge thus, I feel confident you will be kinder to the following, which, if I mistake not, some of the gentlemen present have seen before:

"TO MY LADYE LOVE.

What is my ladye love?

Pure as the morninge,

When the younge sunne aboove

Greene hilles adornyng.

Pure as the fountaine

That flowes to the river.

Ladye love, ladye love,

Love thee for ever.

Where goes my ladye love?

Throwe sweete boweres straying, Where, in the sun-beams,

The younge sylphes are playing. Breathe of her gentle breath,

Happy deceiver,
Ladye love, ladye love,
Love thee for ever!

Calme as a summer cloude,
Art thou in bearinge!
Grand as an autumne floode,
Forest trees tearing!
Smile on mee, ladye love,

Leave thee! ob, never!
Ladye love, ladye love,
Love thee for ever.

Council.-Recommended that its author should amend and return it.

Spectacles. The next, gentlemen, is " an Epigram:" here it is

ON AN UGLY OLD MISER.

When S cross'd in Charon's boat,
No fare was given, no fare was sought-
Charon would not have been so civil,

But he mistook him for the devil.

Easel.-Aye, aye; tary breeks pay nae fraught. Weel, gentlemen, ye may keep that to yoursels, for I'll no claim it for ony o' my frien's.

Editor. (Shutting his eyes and shaking his head.) -Gentlemen, I do most decidedly and deliberately object to this piece, as being too personal.

Easel-Hou-Mr. Editor, nane o' yer whigmaleeries; there's neither name, trade nor profession hinted at; od, if the cap does na fit ye needna pit it on, and, if you're no gaw'd, ye needna fling. Gore man, ye'r like the wife wi' the muckle nose, ye tak' every thing tae yoursel.

Editor. (Colouring up.)—Mr. Easel, I hope you don't mean to say, that the Epigram applies to me more than to any of the company.

Easel.-Company, Sir! I didna think it applied to ony o' the company, but since ye speak o' the company, od, I think we're a' Jock Tamson's bairns, a' much about much, as the auld yin said to the witch; and, though the deil were gettin his han'-wale o' us at nicht, I dinna think he wad be muckle ta'en up wi his luck in the morning.

Spectacles. This is, really, a foolish discussion, gentlemen; and, to bring it to a conclusion, I propose that the Epigram that occasioned it, be committed as a peace-offering to the flames.

Omnes.-Agreed.

Spectacles. More verses gentleman. Here's what suppose, we are to consider, if you'll excuse the bull, a Lowland-Highland song.-(Reads.)

I

MO LAOGH GEAL!

Will't thou go, mo laogh geal,
Mo laogh geal, mo laogh geal,
Will't thou go, mo laogh geal,
And roam the Hielan mountains.
I'll be kind, as kind can be,
I will daut thee tenderlie,

In my plaid or on my knee,
Among the Hieland mountains.

O, will't thou go mo laogh geal, &c.
Heather beds are saft and sweet,
Mo laogh geal, mo laogh geal,
Love and ling will be our meat,
Amang the Hielan mountains.
And when the sun goes out o' view
O kisses there will be nae few,
Wi usquabae and bonach dhu,
Amang the Highland mountains.
O will't thou go, &c.
Neither house nor ba hae I,
Mo laogh geal! mo laogh geal,
But heather bed and starry sky,
Amang the Hieland mountains.
Yet in my lee you'll lye fu snug,
While there is neither flae nor bug,
Shall dare to nip your bonny lug,
Amang the Hielan mountains.
O will't thou go, &c.

Berries, now by burn and brae,
Mo laogh geal, mo laogh geal,
Are sweet'ning in the simmer ray,
Among the Hieland mountains.
For thee the blackest I will pu,
And if they stain your bonny mou,
I'll bring it to its rosy hue,

Wi kisses' mang the mountains.

O will't thou go, mo laogh geal, &c.
Your mither's dosin' at her wheel,
Mo laogh geal, mo laogh geal,
The boatie waits, then let us steal,
Awa tae the Hielan mountains.
Look cross the sea to Brodick bay,
The moon with silver paves the way,
Let's keep her path, wi' canna stray,
'Twill lead us to the mountains.

Will't thou go mo loagh geal, &c.

Easel. Now, frien' Duncan, that sang just proves what I was saying; wha but a wild Hielandman would ever think of wheedlin' a young woman into the marriage state, by assuring her of the safety o' her lugs? Man, you're an awfu pack you Hielanders after a': nae wonder

Editor.-Mr. Easel, I must call you to order, I cannot allow you to indulge in these remarks.

in

Easel.-Weel, weel, Mr. Editor, I'll tak my mouth my hand for a wee-but if that sang's puttin i' the fire, I maun hae a copy o't; "gude evening oats is gude mornin's fother;"" it may come of use as the cat said to the dead mouse." I hope to sing it at Uncle Duncan's waddin yet.

Uncle Duncan.-I'm, certainly, obliged to you Mr. Easdale; but I intend to invite none but gentlemen to my wedding; and your pretensions to that character, from what has come under my observations to-night, are very small; now, Mr. Easdale, I'm just telling that upon your face.

Easel.-Come, come, frien' Duncan, ye manna rin awa wi the harrows that way'; I'm just as good a man as you, and, may be better, if the truth were kent.

Uncle Duncan.-Petter's a pauld man's word; but, I can tell you, my father was just as worthy a gentleman as ever put foot upon heather, and, my mother was a lady, that no one could say to her, "black is the nose on your face."

Easel. You'll be meaning black was the e'e in her head, I suppose. Man, Duncan, but you're an auld sneckdrawer.

Harley. Really, gentlemen, this is not the conversation I expected to hear, at the opening of our letter box; and I have to regret the absence of that respectful and dignified complacency of manner, which ought to grace the meetings of those, whose literary characters, the public seem inclined to hold in some estimation.

Uncle Duncan.-Ah, Mr. Harley, it's yourself that can make a gentleman's observation.

Editor.-Let the business of the evening proceed. Spectacles. The piece which I have now in my hand, is entitled, " An enquiry into the origin and antiquity of the Highland clans, particularly, the M'Arthurs, the Grants, and the Munroe's."

Uncle Duncan.-Now, gentlemen, this is a subject worth all true gentlemen's considerations, because it embraces, as it were, the very origin of gentlemen. My mother was a Munroe, and I'll tell you what she told me about their genealogy, before you read the paper; and, I'm sure, if the author is a man of good sense, and proper understanding of the matter, he'll no put a contradiction upon my mother.

Easel. That's tae say, he'll no ca' her nose black. Editor.-Silence.

Uncle Duncan.-Many thanks upon you, Mr. Editor. Well, you must know, that the word, Monroe, in our gaelic phraseology, means to put water on a wheel; and the Munroe's were a respectable family in the Highlands, long before the Roman Invasions, but they were not called Munroes then, because they had not put the water on the wheel then; well, how they

came to put water on the wheel, as my mother, decent woman, told me, was just this-at that great battle when the Scots King Caractacus was taken prisoner, a gentleman of the name of Monroe was one of his generals, but he was not called Monroe then, because he had not put the water on the wheel then. Well, when Caractacus was flying away in his chariot from the Romans, General Munroe was running along side of his chariot, but he was not called General Monroe then, because he had not put water on the wheel then. Well, from the great velocity of speed at which the chariot was flying, one of the wheels took fire, and nearly set Monroe's kilt in a great inflammation, but, as I said before, he was not called Monroe then, because he had not put water on the wheel then. But, my faith, he was not long about it; for he was a general of great presence of mind, and, in a moment of time he put the water on the wheel, and out went the bleeze, and the chariot continued driving away. But what would you have of it, General Monroe, for he was general Monroe now, had not observed that the other wheel of the chariot was in flames too, and down the chariot came, and a Roman soldier came up and catched Caractacus by the cuff of the neck, and the honest man, the decent worthy King that he was, turned round to the general. "General, general," says he, "if you had put water on both wheels this would not have happen." Editor.-Gentlemen, I propose that this communicaion, be put into the hands of the Antiquary. Omnes.-Agreed.

Enter Waiter.-Gentlemen, there's a servant with a lanthorn waiting for Mr. Duncan

Uncle Duncan.-Well, gentlemen, that's our Floree come for me-od, I did not think it was so late; here, waiter, help me on with my great coat, like a decent lad, and, gentlemen, I'll just take a glass o' prandy to keep away the Choler a Morpheus. Your good health, and good night, gentlemen, all of you that pe gentlemen, I'm na inclined to make many exceptions (nodding to Easel.)

Easel. We'll a' be gentlemen here, frien' Duncan, as soon as you've drawn the door after you, so tak' that on the top of your brandy.

Uncle D.-A d- you, your no worth a gentleman's foot-notice. (Exit Uncle Duncan, with an indignant snort.)

Easel.-Weel, that's a clavering auld idiot. By the hokey, I think his back's the best o' him, and that's a cordial.

Harley. Mr. Easel, I cannot but help feeling much dissatisfied with your reiterated attacks upon the worthy old man who has left us, he has his peculiarities, it is true; but you should remember that he has served his King and country in an honourable and becoming manner. He is, also, to be met with in the first circles of society.

Easel. Ou that's a' very fine, Mr. Harley. I'm tae be met in the first circles sometimes myself, and wad be there aftener if I would condescend to the fitlicking tricks o' our frien.'

Harley. Not at all, Mr. Easel, as to "fit-licking," as you call it, it is in perfect keeping with that natural politeness, peculiar to the Highland character, which induces them to speak with a tender and delicate consideration of the infirmities of their fellow-creatures.

Easel. Ou aye, Mr. Harley, great stots in Ireland. But od, man, just look at the pride o' the creature to have his servant coming to a tavern for him with a lanthorn-'od I'm just as gude a man as him, but deevil a lanthorn would come for me if I were to sit here for a blue moon, unless it were a police yen, and these are attentions, Mr. Harley, that I am nae way kidgy about.

Enter Waiter.-Supper waits in No. 5. (Exeunt Omnes.)

PRINTED BY JOHN GRAHAM, MELVILLE PLACE.

NEIL GRAY A TALE.

A SUNNY forenoon, towards the close of the summer of 1826, found me on board a steam-boat at the Broomielaw, bound for Dunoon. I had been pretty tolerably fagged for sometime previous, and was now as happy at my release, and as full of animal spirits, as a school boy, when he finds himself freed from his irksome task, and the ever-threatening rod of the pedagogue.

We soon left Gourock; and Dunoon, with its rocky shores and its prettily situated church, is rapidly drawing near. The small boat comes out for us; it is rather crowded; yet, after a great deal of noise, and a little alarm, we are safely landed. There are warm shakings of hands on the shore, and earnest enquiries after health; but I am off from them all as quickly as possible, and away to the bay, east of the village, where bright eyes, and a kind heart, await my coming.

Reader! wert thou ever in love? Most likely thou hast been, and probably thou couldst live upon it, as some are said to have done. But so could not I. Though I have felt the enthralling influence of wo man's gentle sway, as much as any, and, in my time, have been scorched by the bright rays from a soft blue eye; yet, have I never allowed it to interfere with my appetite; nor, on the present occasion, believe me, did it do so. However, dinner is over, one tumbler is discussed, with the old gentleman, her father, and Mary, the gentle Mary, is preparing for a walk. But, pray, I hear you ask, who is Mary? Aye! who is Mary? Indeed, thou shalt never know. She never can be any thing to thee, and, as for myself, I may never see her more.

I might tell you, no doubt, how devotedly I loved her how often I have sat silently gazing on her blue, speaking, eyes-how, when I discoursed of love and happiness, I have felt the gentle pressure of her soft handhow, once, she told me, the time she first became aware that I preferred her to all others: but why detail to you the particulars of all this? since it would only make me melancholy, and cause you to laugh. Besides, it would be entirely aside from my story, which was not intended to be about Mary, or about myself, but about old Neil Gray.

A boat and an hour or two's fishing were now proposed, instead of the walk Mary and I had at first intended to take. With her leaning on my arm, we set off for the beach, beneath the village. When there, the fishermen were absent, and a boat was not to be had. My eye, however, caught an old weather-beaten tar, who, I thought, might, possibly, be able to supply our wants. He was leaning against the corner of the inn, which stands a short way above the shore. A little man he was, as all good sailors usually are, and his countenance proclaimed that he had faced both storms and dangers. Apparently, in a musing mode, he gazed across the wide expanse of water which rolled away towards the west, and his small grey eye peered out, anxiously, from beneath the penthouse of a sorely battered wax-cloth hat, which covered his iron-coloured hair.

We went up to him and enquired if he could pro. vide us with boat. He, slowly, turned round to see who addressed him, again cast his eyes across the sea,

towards the distant horizon, and then told us we could get a boat, but he would advise us not to go out that afternoon. "It is about to blow a gale," said he" and if you would take my advice," and, here, he looked at Mary, "the lady will not go upon the water to-night." "Not that ould Neil Gray is a bit affeared; no, he has seen too much for that; but, the lady, your honour, isn't much accustomed, I take it, to the sea, and she will be better on shore." He look ed kindly at Mary as he spoke, and I felt an interest in the old man, who seemed to think so differently from the herd of greedy Donalds, whose boats we had generally hired.

"You'll no catch no fush the day," said a Highlander, who had come up while we were talking to Neil. "Why do you think so?" said I. "Shust 'cause you'l met auld Shanet, as you'l come to the shore, and whan you'l do that, you'l never catch no fush," and away walked the Highland boatman. Mary, at first, seemed inclined to brave Neil's threatened dangers, but, she ultimately yielded to our persuasions, and we agreed to defer our fishing till the morning. The reason of the Highlander, too, was irresistible, and, no doubt, had its due weight in fixing our arrangement.

Having got into conversation with Neil, we asked him down to the house, at the bay, to get a glass of grog, and the garrulous old man, warmed by the liquor, began to chat away about his early days. "Aye, aye,' said, he "it's more than forty years since I first left the shore, there, to go to sea. I mind it as well as if it were but yesterday, and a sorry day it was, for my poor old father. Neil,' said he, will you leave your old father at home, alone, when you know there's none to put his head in the grave, when you are gone?' Ah, your honour, it was no wonder he was sorry; for, seven sons had gone to sea before me, and, at that time, four of them were dead, or drowned, in foreign parts; and, of the others, he had heard nothing, for many a day. They are all dead now, your honour, and old Neil Gray basn't a relation in the wide world -none to care for him, but the old woman, his wife. Well, my father pled sore that I would stay at home, but, though I was sorry, I was wilful, and wouldn't yield. Father,' says I, it's of no use talking, the thing has been done, and it can't be undone; for I won't break my engagement; but, I'll come back, father, and when it pleases God to take you away, I'll lay your head in the grave, so there's no use in taking on.' The old man wept sore at parting, and, so did I, but, the vessel I was engaged in was coming down the river, so I was obliged to leave him; and a boat, that was waiting, soon carried me on board of her. It was a main heartless thing to me, sir, you may be sure, when, as the ship flew through the water, the Gantocks there, and the Castlehill, began to disappear, and, when we lost sight of them, I thought my very heart would have burst with sorrow."

"But a young fellow can't take on long, and the strange sights I saw in the West Ingies soon brought me up, and I forgot for a time the grief at parting with my poor old father. A ship of war arrived in the harbour, where we lay, she wanted hands, and they made a small matter of taking a number of ours, and among the rest myself; for you see I was not a