e, it was flashing up
fitfully, and bit by bit falling in. He fell asleep watching it, and
when he slept, he dreamed. He was young; he was seventeen; he was
prowling about the head of North St. David Street, keeping his eye on a
certain door,--we call them common stairs in Scotland. He was waiting
for Mr. White's famous English class for girls coming out. Presently out
rushed four or five girls, wild and laughing; then came one, bounding
like a roe:

"Such eyes were in her head,
And so much grace and power!"

She was surrounded by the rest, and away they went laughing, she making
them always laugh the more. Seventeen followed at a safe distance,
studying her small, firm, downright heel. The girls dropped off one by
one, and she was away home by herself, swift and reserved. He, imposter
as he was, disappeared through Jamaica Street, to reappear and meet her,
walking as if on urgent business, and getting a cordial and careless
nod. This beautiful girl of thirteen was afterwards the mother of our
Mary, and died in giving her birth. She was Uncle Oldbuck's first and
only sweetheart; and here was he, the only help our young Horne Tooke,
and his mother and Mary had. Uncle awoke, the fire dead, and the room
cold. He found himself repeating Lady John Scott's lines--

"When thou art near me,
Sorrow seems to fly,
And then I think, as well I may,
That on this earth there is no one
More blest than I.

But when thou leav'st me,
Doubts and fears arise,
And darkness reigns,
Where all before was light.
The sunshine of my soul
Is in those eyes,
And when they leave me
All the world is night.

But when thou art near me,
Sorrow seems to fly,
And then I feel, as well I may,
That on this earth there dwells not one
So blest as I."[35]

[35] Can the gifted author of these lines and of their music not
be prevailed on to give them and others to the world, as
well as to her friends?

Then taking down _Chambers's Scottish Songs_, he read aloud:--

"O I'm wat, wat,
O I'm wat and weary;
Yet fain wad I rise and rin,
If I thocht I would meet my dearie.
Aye waukin', O!
Waukin' aye, and weary;
Sleep, I can get nane
For thinkin' o' my dearie.

Simmer's a pleasant time,
Flowers o' every color;
The winter rins ower the heugh,
And I long for my true lover.