Lucy declined, on the plea of having already had ample refreshment, and being much more inclined to sketch than to eat; but Lucy must have been made of stone and lime to have been able to withstand the importunities of Mr. M'Dow: he was as urgent as though his very existence had depended upon her partaking of his "slight refreshment," and she was at length compelled, much against her inclination, to return to the salle à manger.

During their absence a table had been covered; but the arrangements were not finally concluded, for a stout, ruddy, yellowhaired damsel was rattling away amongst knives and forks as though she had been turning over so many down feathers.

"I expected to have found everything ready by this time," said Mr. M'Dow: "what have you been about, Jess?" But Jess continued to stamp and clatter away without making any reply.

"I'll just show you the way to my study, till the refreshment's put upon the table," said Mr. M'Dow; and finding all remonstrance in vain, his guests submitted with a good grace, and were conducted to a very tolerable room up-stairs, where were a few shelves of books, a backgammon board, a fowling-piece, and a fishing-rod, with shot, lines, and flies scattered about. There was also a sofa with a dirty crumpled cover, where Mr. Dugald seemed to have been lounging with a flute and a music-book. In one corner stood a table with a pile of books, some of them in bindings very unlike the rest of the furniture.

"Allow me in the mean time to lead the way to something more substantial, Miss Lucy," cried Mr. M'Dow, seizing her hand, as Jess put her head in at the door; and having given a glare with her eyes, and wide opened her mouth, emitting a sort of guttural sound, importing that "aw's ready," galloped downstairs again as hard and fast as she could.

"Give me leave, Miss Lucy; but the stair's rather narrow for two; you know the way; turn to the left hand of my trance. It's very easy for these poets to preach; but it's not so easy always for us preachers to practice — hoch, ho!"

This sentiment uttered, a grace was hurried over; and the company seated themselves at table, which was literally covered with dishes, all close huddled together. In the middle was a tureen of leek soup, alias cocky-leeky, with prunes; at one end, a large dish of innumerable small, clammy, fresh-water trouts; at the other, two enormous fat ducks, stuffed to the throat with

onions, and decorated with onion rings round their legs and pinions. At the corners were minced collops and tripe, confronted with a dish of large old pease, drowned (for they could not swim) in butter; next, a mess of mashed potatoes, scored and rescored with the marks of the kitchen knife. -a weapon which is to be found in all kitchens, varying in length from one to three feet, and in uncivilized lands used indiscriminately to cut meat, fish, fowl, onions, bread, and butter. Saucers filled with ill-colored pickles filled up the interstices.

"I ordered merely a slight refreshment," said Mr. M'Dow, surveying his banquet with great complacency; "I think it preferable to a more solid mail in this weather. Of all good Scotch dishes, in my opinion, there's none equal to cocky-leeky; as a friend of mine said, it's both nectar and ambrosia. You'll find that uncommonly good, Miss Lucy, if you'll just try it; for it's made by a receipt of my mother's, and she was always famous for cocky-leeky: the prunes are a great improvement; they give a great delicacy to the flavor: my leeks are not come to their full strength yet, but they are extremely sweet; you may help me to a few more of the broth, captain, and don't spare the leeks. I never see cocky-leeky without thinking of the honest man who found a snail in his: Tak ye that snack, my man,' says he, 'for looking sae like a plum-damy;' hoch, hoch, ho! There's a roasted hare coming to remove the fish, and I believe you see your refreshment; there's merely a few trifles coming."

Lucy had accepted one of Mr. Dugald's little muddy trouts, as the least objectionable article of the repast; and while Mr. M'Dow's mouth was stuffed with prunes and leeks, silence ensued. But having dispatched a second plateful and taken a bumper of wine, he began again:-"I can answer for the ducks, Miss Lucy, if you'll do me the favor to try them. A clean knife and fork, Jess, to Mr. Dugald to cut them. I prefer ducks to a goose; a goose is an inconvenient sort of bird, for it's rather large for one person, and it's not big enough for two. But my stars, Jess! what is the meaning of this? the ducks are perfectly raw!" in an accent of utter despair. "What is the meaning of it? You must take it to the brander, and get it done as fast as you can. How came Eppy to go so far wrong, I wonder!"

Jess here emitted some of her guttural sounds, which being translated amounted to this: that the jack had run down and Eppy couldn't get it set going again.

"That's most ridiculous!" exclaimed Mr. M'Dow indignantly; "when I was at the pains to show her myself how to manage her. She's the Auchnagoil jack, which I bought, and a most famous goer. But you see how it is, Miss Lucy; you must make allowance for a bachelor's house: there's a roasted hare coming. Jess, take away the fish, and bring the hare to me." The hare was herewith introduced, and flung, rather than placed, before her master. "Oh, this is quite intolerable! There's really no bearing this! The hare's burnt to a perfect stick! The whole jise is out of its body!"

"Your cook's not a good hare-dresser; that's all that can be said," quoth Mr. Dugald.

"Very well said—extremely good," said Mr. M'Dow, trying to laugh off his indignation; "and after all, I believe, it's only a little scowthered. Do me the favor to try a morsel of it, Miss Lucy, with a little jeelly. Jess, put down the jeelly. Oh, have you nothing but a pig to put it in?" demanded he, in a most wrathful accent, as Jess clapped down a large native jelly-pot upon the table. "Where's the handsome cut-crystal jeelly-dish I bought at the Auchnagoil roup?"

Jess's face turned very red, and a downcast look of conscious guilt told that the "handsome cut-crystal jeelly-dish" was no

more.

"This is really most provoking! But if you'll not taste the hare, Miss Lucy, will you do me the kindness to try the minced collops? or a morsel of tripe? It's a sweet, simple dish-a great favorite of my mother's; both you and the captain are really poor eaters, so you and I, Mr. Dugald, must just keep each other in countenance."

And another pause ensued, till at last an order was given, to take everything away. "And bring the few trifles-but will you make less noise? there's no hearing ourselves speak for you;" but Jess rattled away, nevertheless, till she vanished, leaving the door wide open. A few minutes elapsed before she reappeared, with the greasy apparition of Eppy at her back, standing on the threshold with her hands full.

"Now take the pigeon pie to Mr. Dugald; bring the puddin' to me; put the puffs and cheesecakes at the sides, and the cream in the middle. I'm sorry I've no jeellies and blaw mangys for Miss Lucy. If you won't taste the pie, do me the favor to take a bit of this puddin'; it's quite a simple puddin', made from a recipe of my mother's."

Lucy accepted a bit of the "simple puddin'," which, as its name implied, was a sort of mawkish squash, flavored with peatreek whisky.

"I'm afraid the puddin's not to your taste, Miss Lucy; you're making no hand of it; will you try a jam puff? I'm sure you'll find them good; they come from Glasgow, sent by my good mother; I must really taste them, if it were only out of respect to her. Oh! Miss Lucy, will you not halve a puff with me?"

The minister and his friend having now ate and drank copiously of all that was upon the table, Captain Malcolm said: -" My daughter has not yet accomplished the object of her visit here, and we must soon be returning home; so you have no time to lose, my dear," to Lucy, who started up from the table like a bird from its cage; "if indeed it is not lost already," he added, as Lucy and he walked to the window. The bright blue sky had now changed to one of misty whiteness, showers were seen drifting along over the scattered isles, and even while they spoke, a sudden gust of wind and rain came sweeping along, and all the beauteous scenery was in an instant blotted from the sight.

Captain Malcolm was not a person to be disconcerted by

trifles; but on the present occasion he could not refrain from expressing his regret, as he every moment felt an increasing repugnance to the company of Mr. M'Dow and his friend, and still more on Lucy's account than his own,-it seemed like contamination for so fair and pure a creature to be seated between two such coarse barbarians. Mr. M'Dow affected to sympathize in the disappointment; but it was evident he was exulting in the delay.

Shower after shower followed in such quick succession that Lucy found the object of her visit completely defeated. At length the clouds rolled away, but the day was too far advanced to admit of further tarriance; and besides, both the father and daughter were impatient to extricate themselves from the overpowering hospitalities of Mr. M'Dow.

"I hope you will have many opportunities of taking drawings here," said he, with a significant tenderness of look and manner, as he assisted Lucy to mount her pony; and when the manse is harled, and I get my new offices, the view will be much improved."

Lucy bowed as she hastily took the bridle into her own hands, and gladly turned her back on the manse and the minister.

OCTAVE FEUILLET

(1821-1890)

CTAVE FEUILLET was the darling of the Second Empire. In the days when realistic fiction was beginning its struggle for a hearing, he treated court circles to romantic tales of the Faubourg Saint-Germain. To himself and to his audience, lovers of social elegance, the sordid commonplace world of tradespeople was uninteresting. He contributed to the aristocratic spirit which maintains that rich and well-born men and women have an exclusive possession of mental and moral refinement. His pleasure-seeking readers

were not interested in broad social problems, but the mental struggles of spoiled beauties and the sentimental hair-splitting of chivalric young noblemen supplied just the sugar-plums they craved. Perhaps a touch of effeminacy in his own nature especially fitted Feuillet to understand the women of his world, and to portray the vagaries of idle ardent girls, who have been his most admiring readers.

OCTAVE FEUILLET

Moreover, he was an avowed moralist of a conventional morality, such as is suitable for discussion in the salon. While scrupulously respecting prejudices, he managed, almost unobserved as it were, to offer stimulating expositions of unorthodox subjects. But unquestionably he always aims to inculcate respect for nobility of mind and action. Perhaps the reproach oftenest brought against him touches this evident didacticism. But he points his moral so delicately that the indirect sermonizing is never aggressive. Although severely criticized by Sainte-Beuve, George Sand, Lemaître, Zola, and other critics who sometimes treated him with contemptuous mockery, Feuillet was always a popular novelist. For more than forty years he pursued his own ideals with courage and success, meeting distinguished consideration, being made member of the Legion of Honor; and in 1862 accepted into the French Academy as the successor of Scribe.

Feuillet obtained his early education in his native town, Saint Lô, where his father was secretary of the prefecture. Then he was sent to Paris; where first at the Collège Louis le Grand, and later at the