"Shepherd. Ye may mony and mony times think yeself surrounded wi' happiness, when misery, bitin' misery, is gnashin' at your hough."

"QUEER Weather, this," said I to my landlady, as, turning from the window where the snow was driving at a brisk pace, I attempted to pull on my warm boot, which had been keeping sentry at the fireside for an hour; "queer weather this; and to prepare himself for all the changes of our fickle climate, one must e'én wear a weather-watch under his nose. Yesterday I was abroad without a cloak; last evening the moon was clear, though cold; and to-day, i'faith, it is snowing as briskly as if winter had just made its entrée. Tempora mutan tur." My quaker landlady interrupted my Latin (for she does not like gibberish), saying,

"Thee knows, Vivy, that every back is made for its burden, and the hand that put thee here has fashioned the weather to thy need."

"That is a fact," said I, more good humouredly; (for who could resist the placid smile that shone beneath her plain cap? she must have been a beauty in her day); and, revolving over sundry other things which might bring a little sunshine on my cloudy humour, I drew on the second boot, with a smile far more becoming to a youth of 19 (I shan't tell you my age), than that morbid discontent which wears out the good-nature of its owner without mending an unexpected hole, clearing an unexpected storm, or warming a cold breakfast.

Standing a while in front of the good orrel coal fire, in order that my clothes might inhale all the heat possible, I wrapped my espanol, drew down the "tabs" of my fur cap, spread my umbrella, and in a few seconds was on the pavé, braving with my best humour the headwind and the sleet.

Every one who ventures forth in a snow-storm knows the inconvenience when the wind is a head, of making way for windward passers: if he carry his umbrella above a certain line, he exposes

his face and breast to the storm; if he try to defend these sensitive parts from the hurricane, he is liable to butt the first comer, thereby causing a cracking of umbrella-bones, and an efflux of angry words on both sides. In this state of management or mismanagement, I was passing along street; tired at last of bobbing this way and that way, I found myself in the wake of a fellowpasser, who (to speak in Irish jig-blarney) "shewed a clean pair of heels;" lowering my umbrella, then, to the most defensive attitude, I kept on in his wake, having the hem of his cloak and his well-armed heels to philosophize upon. Now the knowledge of this modern world is so diffuse, and its sources so varied, that the trite themes of antique philosophy are absolutely hors du com bat; and we moderns, when we do take it into our heads to reverie, must come to something absolutely extraneous, or else so vulgar as to have been considered too low to think upon; ergo, "the philosophy of a pair of heels" would have as just a title to the admiration of all philo-philosophs, as an errant discourse upon the stars, or a metaphysical one admitted into the pages of the Westminster Review.

Mais au revoir. My antecedent traveller was walking an easy pace, and I trode in his steps thankful for such a guide; if he bobbed streetward, I bobbed streetward; if he bobbed wallward, I bobbed wallward; thus avoiding those concussions which give rise to more temper than comfort.

I philosophized. Judging from his heels, which were brightly polished and armed with brazen foundations; from the hem of his cloak also, which was nicely covered with braid; and also from his well-brushed pantaloons, which hung beneath his cloak, the person before me was a good husband with a good wife, a handsome estate, and every thing to make this life comfortable; he must be a happy man, who, attending to his profession during the day, retired to his wife, friends, books, and wine at evening. I thought him to be a middleaged man, for his step was firm, without the elasticity of youth; I thought him to be a happy man, he hem'd so goodhumouredly; I thought him to be a gentleman, he carried his head so knightly. After pursuing this dos-à-vis pace for a while, he appeared to be sensible that he was dogged, and first slackened, then quickened his tread; perceiving, at last, that I followed his motions, he turned.

He was a Scotchman; I swore it from his pleasant gray eye and sandy hair, not to say any thing of his neat vest of Maxwell plaid. I met his gaze, which was pleasant, though he meant it to be pettish, with one equally good-humoured; he smiled apologetically, observing,

"A deucedly comfortless day.'

"Not at all," said I, (for I felt original), "not at all; I love a stormy day; all my good feelings gather round my heart to keep it warm; and I can truly say, I never feel so well towards myself or my fellow-men as I do on a day like this."

"Weel, weel, young mon, I like muckle your kindly spirit; and I believe that when ye are sae comfortable yoursel' your heart yearns towards your fellow-creatures mair and mair.”

"'Tis very true," said I: "I never love mortals so well as when every thing around makes me feel desolate; it is then I turn even to a stranger, and could take him to my bosom with as ready a heart as if I had known and loved him for years; still more, if I guessed he had sorrows at his heart that my sympathy could assuage.

He seemed touched.

"Well, young mon, what think ye o' me? Hae I the look o' dolor or o' happiness ?"

"I should imagine you to be a fond father, a happy husband, a staid friend, and a rich citizen."

"Ah, young frien', (for I dinna ken what to call ye)—"

"Vivian," said I, interrupting him. "Vivian, it isna a' gowd as glisters; it isna a' sun that's sheen. I like ye muckle," he rejoined; "and I will tell ye that before ye stands ane who wears a cheerfu' face, but a cankered heart; wha might wi' his gowd trick himsel' out wi' gear and laces, but couldna buy a new heart, ne repair his wounded spirit. Ye hae more sympathy in your face than I have been blessit wi' the sight o' syne I touchit the shore o' America."

"I am young, sir, and uninitiated in the distresses of the world; my fate has been kindly cast, and I have never had reason to weep for real sorrows; you well know that all mortals have a surfeit of imaginary ones."

"It is very true, ilka douce maun hae its bitter, and our dainty palate will find it oot where there isna a drap. But, come alang, gin ye hae a bittock, to spare to an auld ane who is i' the search for consolement. If naethin' mair, it

would be kind to see where I hae pitchit my tent, that ye may drap in like a fellow-sodger i' this wearisome warfare o' the world. I will a'ways guaranty ye Hieland ale, warm slippers, and a warmer welcome."

I consented cheerfully, and we soon stopped before a small, neat house, where the outside shewed, to a casual glance, an air of thorough comfort, without the least attempt at display. On knocking, the door was opened by a well-clad urchin, whose broad face bespoke him a sprig of "the land o' cakes;" and we were ushered into an entry, well warmed and carpeted, provided with a large couch and stuffed chairs, for the ease of those whose destiny was to "groom the parlours." We entered the first door, and I found myself in the presence of a kind-faced matron, who was industriously forming stars, rhomboids, and pa rallelograms on a chintz counterpane; she rose at our entrance, and I was introduced to the "gude wife Judith."

"Who," my host added, "was my foster-mate in childhood, and has noo come to dream awa' the rental o' her days i' the keepin' and ganin' o' my crouse household."

Bowing to the curtesying housekeeper, who seemed to have acquired that accomplishment, so rare with females, silence, I followed my kind entertainer to an inner room, where a blazing fire invited us to sit. Mine host pointed to a wadded chair, which appeared to have been inhaling for an hour or two the delicious caloric of the three oaken logs, that were blazing and crackling so mer. rily in the chimney. I shewed my perfect willingness to make myself as much at home as possible, and thrusting my feet forward, exposed their damp soles to the cheering heat. A thump on the deal table with his fist brought to mine host the little Scotch Ganymede, who first greeted us with his chubby face.

"Comforts for twa, Geordie," was the concise request.

He disappeared, and soon returned with slippers, lined with linsey; an ominous-looking jug, of the species called "monkey," and a couple of solid tankards, on whose bright sides gleamed a tasteful crest. Crossing the room to a beaufet which filled one corner, he produced some clean pipes, with a small package of well-laid tobacco; handing then from a crypt near the fire-place a well-worn snuff-box, of the goodly size of Voltaire's géante tabutière, he retired, closing the door with the least possible noise.

While mine host was assiduously arranging the "comforts for twa," and after I had exchanged my boots for the linsey-slippers, I took a cursory survey of the room.

The first object which attracted my notice was a large oaken book-case; on whose ample shelves were piled large antiquated volumes, and a few of more modern dress; on the top were two busts of marble, much smoked, apparently the heads of maids and fawns; back of these, against the wall, was a brown, rusty gun, of an inch and a half calibre, curiously adorned with rough fret-work in silver; a large roquelaure of the Maxwell plaid hung on one side of the book-case. Some fishing-tackle and sporting accoutrements were dispersed around. In the corner was the forementioned beaufet, which, desecrated from the use of the costly china and ancient plate, was filled with pipes, tobacco, pamphlets, fishing-lines; and was, in fact, the depository for the odds and ends of mine host's boudoir. Over the mantel were suspended three portraits; one was a sturdy old smoke-faced veteran in stiff armour and drapery, evidently a production of the Holbein school; the second was the portrait of a pleasantfaced lady, in the coif and ruffle of the last century; near this hung a fresh painting of a young female, apparently twenty; a melancholy expression was thrown over the face, although the artist had evidently striven to force a smile on the pale visage of the damsel; her hands were folded, and there was a something peculiarly bewitching in the straight gaze of her mild eye. A framed sampler hung between the two windows of the apartment; a small cabinet of polished oak was under it. The windows were shaded with curtains of plaid cotton, and supported by a rough cornice, where the thistle was scored into a half-existence by some doughty Canova. My eye again returned to the pensive face over the mantel, and I fell into a reverie.

My thoughts were soon interrupted by a loud pop, and I saw a cork finding its way to the ceiling. The white froth streamed over the sides of the "monkey," and mine host offered me one of the silver tankards filled to the brim with ale, "the like of which" he said "had never found its way adown the Frith o' Solway," After having drank a willie-waugh of the best ale I ever tasted, and lighted our pipes (I am quite a pipester for a youth) the old man began the following discourse.

"Gin ye are wise o' the plaids, ye maun hae kenned afore this by the three black and twa green on this vest and that auld rokelo (whilk I call my coat o' arms) that I am a Max'ell; John Max'ell; I am noo fifty, and hae led a life as chequered as the chess-board; but amid a' the troubles wi' whilk a gude Providence has laden me, I hae preservit gude spirits and a light heart. My story, and I ken ye are too kind to be uninterested in it) is soon tauld; and gin I mak' ye gape, I will pay wi' a plate o' Aberdeen brose, and a round o' beef o' Judith's ain cookin' wha willna doff her peak to any French cuisinier.

"I was born at Braemar, whilk ye ken is at the head o' the bonnie Dee; my father was a'so John Max'ell of the auld and proud line wha made sic' a feck and fash because they drew their ruddy blude from twa dukes, three earls, and a score o' lairds and baronets: my father wasna a proud man; he was muckle smit wi' republican principles, and o' his ain gude will droppit the title o' Sir; because, said he, chantin a staff o' rantin' Robbie,

The rank is but the guinea stamp. The man's the gowd for a' that.' He was the anely son o' his father Sir Rob Max'ell, and received the last breath o' his father wi' his clear estate o' Max'ell holm at the age o' twenty-three. At twenty-five he married my blessit mother Mary, (peace to her banes!) who in my twelfth year gave up the ghaist, and socht the God she had always loved sae weet. That is her picture whilk ye see aboon the mantel; the day she died she laid her han's on my head wi' just the pure look you see there, and bade me loe my Maker and my father wi' a' my heart an' soul; after some more gentle words she closit her lips and went to her endless sleep." (Here I observed a tear start into the eye of Maxwell; he wiped it away with his finger, and continued :)

"I had the best education whilk could be procured at Braemar, for my father wouldna trust me in Edinbro', and my mither on her deathbed tauld him to keep me, aboon a', frae the chiels o' the town.

"Twa miles and a bittock adoun the Dee, (dinna laugh at an auld man's love tale), lived Esther M'Khay; I lo'ed her; she lo'ed me; we made mony and mony times i' the silent walks near M'Khay cottage, a tryst whilk baith keepit i' gude faith; her father's blude wasna gentle, he being the son of an

armourer at Aberdeen; by thrift he had saved a 'mansel or twa,' and lived on ane o' the prettiest spots in Scotland; we lo'ed in secret, for I kend my father; though nae sae proud as some folk, had still a winkin' to a body's tree o' pedigree. I keepit a little boat, and under the cloak of angling for some o' the little vipers o' the Dee, I drifted down a'ways to the quay in front o' M'Khay cottage; being social in my temper I could not bear to fish alane, and Ettie was sic a boon companion, and was sae handy in baitin' the angle, that I believit a mon couldna but be fou' to deny himself sic a bird to sit the bush wi' him.

"The mon my father lo'ed the maist, he wha wad eat his dinners, drink his wine, and use his bed and board as if they were his ain, was Mark Thorndyke; oh! that mon had a de'il in his e'e: his very speech was worms and adders; he wound himsel' around my father, shared his livin' and his secrets, and (to use an old saw of the dominie of Braemar school) he was amicus alter ipse to him. My mither feared him. She warned my father o' him. My father's breast was pure as the day, and he couldna and wouldna believe that the frien' o' his bosom was a treasonish mon. My mither said nae mair. Day after day, and night after night, they wad tak' their guns and dogs, and gang awa' frae hame in search o' buck and fowl. I' my natal month o my twelfth year, my mither died. Mark, and my father were mair thegither than ever. I said naething; I could do naething. For five years mair they were han' in glove. Ane day in July they were anglin' i' the Dee; about noon a storm arose; the little waves o' the Dee grew larger and fiercer; the winds roared and the water heaved like a kraken i̇ the North Sea; the boat capsized; my father was drownit; Thorndyke swam ashore. O God! I never shall forget the day when the body o' my father was draggit frae the bosom o' the Dee, gnawit and hauklit by the fishes! I think I see it noo as it lay sae manglit i' the shroud i' front o' the porch o' Max'ell holm. Many were the tears that were shed by our tenants and kin to the memory o' the kind soul wha had gane. He lies i' the Max'ell grave-yard wi' a' his forefathers, and close by the side o' my reverit mither. Noo comes the sairest part o' the tale. The will was openit. I was left to shirk for mysel'. The estate o Max'ell holm, its auld elms under whose shade I had studied my Liber Primus; its hounds, horses, shaw deer, mere, birds

and a', were left (my lips burn wi' the word)! to Mark Thorndyke. My blude boilit at the injustice. I ran gnashin' my teeth to the stead where this devil incarnate lived. I rated him, swore and callit on the blessit shades o' John and Mary Max'ell. 'Cool your blude, cool your blude, young mon,' said he wi' a sardonic grin, that wouldha hae shamit Moloch, your father has left a thing or twa mair here whilk mayna please ye as weel.' He handed me twa pieces o' paper on whilk was written i' my father's ain fair han'!

"Braemar, Maxwell Arms, May 17

"This is to certify that I, John Maxwell, bart., have at certain and sundry times, and at certain and sundry games at whist, drafts, palm and shovel-board, lost to Mark Thorndyke, gent., of Aberdeen 20,000l. in ready stocks and money; besides my whole estates of Maxwell Holme, manse, demesne, chattels, tenements, feoffs, and freeholds; also my dogs, cattle, horses, pictures, books, plate, and jewels.

God forgive me, "JOHN MAXWELL, of Maxwell Holm. "Signed and sworn before Alex. Thrackle, clerk, prothonotary, &c.'

"Had a waxen torch been held close upon my e'en, they couldna hae been mair dry and parchit than they were then; the sight o' the cursed parchment had searit and scalit my very tears. 'Oh!' I groaned in my bitterness o' spirit, 'the curses o' a' the Max'ells be upon ye; tak' my birthright, ye hellhound! Tak' from the orphan the very sod to sleep on; close your hatefu' e'en gin ye can, and rest quiet 'neath the roof o' my fathers; God forgive ye, I canna'. Flinging at him the hateful witnesses of my father's guilt, I rushit out wi' a burnin' brow, and sat me down aneath aine of those trees whilk had grown wi' my growth, and strengthenit wi' my strength. My sorrows soon found a way to run out in tears, and I weepit lang and bitterly. I gatherit my books, claies, and jewels thegither, whistled to my dog Bruce, my anely frien', (nae, nae, my anely frien'), seatit mysel' i' my little boat and paddlit wi' as light a heart as possible adown the Dee.

"I stoppit at the quay of M'Khay cottage; it was twilight. I stole to the little room aboon the dairy, whilk I reachit by creepin' up a bower of cinquefoil, until I steppit upon its little balcony. Ettie-John-her head was in my bosom. She gave me a sweet look; (here the bright tears ran races down

the cheeks of Maxwell); Why are your e'en sae red, John!' 'The warld has deserted me, Ettie'-' Nae, nae, John, dinna say that, for I will cling to ye when the warld and a' are gane.' A burst of grief easit my achin' heart. I sat down wi' my head restin' on the saft bosom o' Ettie, and tauld her my sorrows. In sic sweet communion passit the hours till the morn was hie i' the heavens, and I started frae the arms o' Ettie. We maun part,' said I, 'the warld is a' ane to me. I am young and healthy, puir and cantie; I loved you when I was rich, I winna marry when puir; but 'gin God prosper me, we will be ane.' The saut tears fell in abundance frae our e'en, and I canna tell the whilk wept the harder. I left wi' her my books and the few jewels; tied my bonnie boat in the boat-house; callit Bruce, and travellit a foot to Aberdeen. Frae there I took passage to the Frith of Forth, and in due time enterit Edinbro.'

"Born to affluence, I wasna taught i' the mystery o' ony useful occupation, but was intendit for the bar, and was therefore inexperiencit and unkenn'd i' the warld. I was fash wi' the pen, and had mair than an inklin' o' arithmetic. I enterit a compting-house. At twantyane I was i' the house as a partner. At twanty-five I married Ettie.

"When I returnit to the quay o' M'Khay cottage, I felt proud to think that I had showit mysel' worthy the blude o' the Max'ells; auld Nigel himsel' (that's he over the mantel wi' the straight armour on, and is the ooner o' the big blutherbuss over the bookis), wouldna blush for the spirit o' his great gran' child. Na, na, the blude he spillit at Both'ell Brig wasna mair worthy a king's favour than mine, Vivian.

"After Ettie and I were ane, I went to Braemar; my heart was full; I couldna breathe the air o' Max'ell holm wi'out my mither's sweet face risin' among a' the trees and o'er ilka hillock. Thorndyke was dead. A' the tenantry cam' wi' tears i' their 'e'en to greet the return of the lawfu' laird. Amang the rest cam' Sandie Broom, who tauld me anither horror.

"I were fishin' on the Dee,' said Sandie, 'not a bittock mair than ten ells frae your blessit father, when the storm cam' up, and the boat was overturnit. Thorndyke caught haud o' the keel; your father sank; he cam' up agin to the tap; I saw Thorndyke (and he lookit like a bogle o' hell when he did it)