agreeable feelings. He was the king of the roost-that was evident; the very centre of attraction; the delight, the glory, the leading star in the galaxy of beauty of which he formed a part.

The party having cleared the gate, took the road with a circular sweep round, and a burst of merriment that sufficiently betokened the lightness of heart and of heel of those of whom it was composed.

"Deek yon, Davy," exclaimed Howison, at this interesting moment, and now addressing the worthy just named, who had by this time come up alongside of him, and was also indulging himself in a bird's-eye view of the party round the corner of the close. "Deek yon, Davy. He's aff like a paitrik; but we'll bring him up wi' a short turn, I'm thinkin. We'll pit a slug through his wing. Little does he ken wha's watchin him."

"Wull we gie chase?" said the concurrent, who stood at this instant like a dog in the slip, with his neck on the stretch, and every nerve braced for the run.

"No, no; gie him the start a bit till he gathers confidence, and then we'll pounce on him. Wary, Davy, wary! keep in a bit. Dinna shute oot your head so far. If he gets a glisk o' ye, he'll tak to his trotters in a minnit, and gie us an infernal rin for't. See what lang legs the sinner has.'

"I think I could rin him ony day," replied Howison's concurrent, "and gie him a start o' a hunner yards to the bargain."

"I'm no sure o' that," rejoined Howison, shaking his head doubtingly; "ye dinna ken hoo a man can rin wi' a caption at his heels. It maks them go at a deevil o' a rate. I've seen great, fat, auld chaps, that ye wadna hae thocht could rin a yard an't were to save their lives, flee like the win before a 'Whereas.""

"Noo, noo, Davy," continued Howison, and now recalling his neighbour's attention to business, "let us be jog

gin. He's takin the richt road, so we'll just pin him at our leisure."

Saying this, the pair started, and in a short time were hovering on the skirts of the heedless party, and their heedless and unwary leader, the devoted Jacob Merrilees.

Wholly unconscious, as the reader will readily believe, of the plot that was thickening over his head, or, rather, at his heels, Jacob was continuing the career of banter, and lively small talk, and smart repartee, which distinguished his first appearance at the garden gate, when he suddenly felt himself gently touched from behind on the left shoulder. He turned round, but without quitting the arms of the fair ladies who hung upon him, and looked frowningly on Howison.

"What do you mean, sir?" inquired Jacob, indignantly, and now glancing also at Howison's companion, who stood close by, with his stick tucked under his arm.

To this query the only reply was a knowing wink, and a significant wag of the forefinger, which, when translated, meant-"Come here, friend, and I'll tell you."

"Get along with you, sir!" said Jacob, contemptuously. "Thank you, but I won't," replied Howison, saucily. "No! Then what the devil do you want?"

"You," said the former, emphatically. "But you had better conduct yourself quietly, for your own sake.”

"Now, my good fellow," replied Jacob, in a satirically calm tone, “do tell me what you mean?”.

"Do ye ken such a man as Fairly the tailor?" inquired Howison, who always affected a degree of playfulness in the execution of this department of his duties. "Do ye ken Fairly the tailor?" he said, with an intelligent smile.

"I know no such man, sir; never heard his name before," replied Jacob, angrily, and now urging his fair protegées onwards-the whole party having been stopped by the incident just detailed.

"Not so fast, friend," exclaimed Howison, making after his prey, and again slapping him on the shoulder, but now less ceremoniously. "You are my prisoner, and here's my authority," he added, pulling out a crumpled piece of paper. It was the decreet against Simmins. Although you don't know Fairly, I happen to know Fairly's surtout. The short and the long of the matter is, sir," continued Howison, "that I arrest you at the instance of John Fairly, tailor and clothier, for a debt of £4:15s., with interest and expenses, said debt being the price of the identical surtout which you have just now on your back. So come along quietly, or it may be worse for you."

We do not suppose it is necessary that we should describe the amazement of the unhappy wearer of the surtout in question, on so very extraordinary and incomprehensible a statement being made to him, nor that of his party, from the same cause. The reader will at once conceive what it was, without any such proceeding on our part.

.

Confounded, however, and amazed as he was, Jacob's presence of mind instantly showed him that he was in a dilemma, a regular scrape. That he must either acknowledge and, in the presence of all his fair friends, there was death in the idea that the surtout he wore, and which had procured for him so much admiration, was a borrowed one, or quietly submit to be dragged to jail as the true debtor. Jacob further saw exactly how the case stood. He saw that his friend Simmins had never paid for the very flashy article in which he was now arrayed (a discovery this, however, which did not in the least surprise him), and that he was the person for whom the honours of Howison were intended.

. Having, however, no fancy for incarceration, Jacob finally determined on avowing the distressing fact, that his surtout was a borrowed one, and that, not being its true owner, he was, of course, free of the attentions of Mr

Howison. With a face, then, red as scarlet, and a voice expressive of great tribulation, Jacob made a public acknowledgment of this humiliating truth, and was about to avail himself of the advantage which he calculated on deriving from it—namely, that of proceeding on his way— when, to his great horror and further confusion, he found that Howison determined on still sticking to him. In great agitation, Jacob again repeated that he was not Simmins, and that he had merely borrowed the surtout from that gentleman. To these earnest asseverations, Howison at first merely replied by an incredulous smile, then added— "It may be sae, sir; but that's a matter that maun be cleared up afterwards. In the meantime ye'll go wi' me, if you please; and, if no o' your ain accord, as I wad advise ye, by force, as I'll compel ye." Saying this, he plunged his hand into one of his pockets, and produced a pair of handcuffs, like a rat-trap. The exhibition of these ornaments, and the dread of getting up a scene on the public street, at once decided the unfortunate surtout-borrower to submit to his fate, and to walk quietly off with his new friends, Mr Howison and concurrent.

In ten minutes after, Jacob found himself snugly quartered in an airy chamber, with grated windows, commanding a pleasant view of a tread-mill in full operation; and here he remained, until the following morning brought such evidence of his indentity as procured his liberation. On once more snuffing the fresh air, Jacob swore he would take care again whose coat he borrowed, when he should have occasion to ask such a favour from a friend; and we would advise the reader to exercise the like caution, should he ever find himself in similar circumstances.

THE SURGEON'S TALES.

THE SUICIDE.

Ir is a vain question, that which has been often stirred among men of our profession and metaphysicians, whether insanity-including under that word all the modes of derangement of the mental powers-is strictly a disease, the definition of which, according to the best authorities, is "an alternation from a perfect state of bodily health." Both parties may, to a certain extent, be right; for the one, including chiefly the metaphysicians, can successfully exhibit a gradation in the scale of derangement: beginning at the slightest peculiarity; passing on to an eccentricity; from that to idiosyncrasy; from that to a decay or an extraordinary increase of strength in a particular faculty-say memory; from that to a decay or an increase in the intensity of a feeling, an emotion, or a passion; from that to false perception-such as monomania, progressing to derangement as to one point or subject, often called madness, quoad hoc; and so on, through many other changes, almost imperceptible in their differences, to perfect madness-all without the slightest indication of a pathological nature being to be discovered or detected by the finest dissectingknife. On the other hand, again, it is indisputable-for we medical men have demonstrated the fact that a certain degree of madness is almost always accompanied with derangement in the cerebral organs-the most ordinary appearance being the existence of a fluid of a certain kind in the chambers of the brain.

The best and the cleverest of us must let these questions alone; for, so long as we remain-and that may be, as it