poetry,
Miss Bradwardine?'

'I believe not,' she replied. 'This poor creature had a brother, and
Heaven, as if to compensate to the family Davie's deficiencies, had given
him what the hamlet thought uncommon talents. An uncle contrived to
educate him for the Scottish kirk, but he could not get preferment
because he came from our GROUND. He returned from college hopeless and
brokenhearted, and fell into a decline. My father supported him till his
death, which happened before he was nineteen. He played beautifully on
the flute, and was supposed to have a great turn for poetry. He was
affectionate and compassionate to his brother, who followed him like his
shadow, and we think that from him Davie gathered many fragments of songs
and music unlike those of this country. But if we ask him where he got
such a fragment as he is now singing, he either answers with wild and
long fits of laughter, or else breaks into tears of lamentation; but was
never heard to give any explanation, or to mention his brother's name
since his death.'

'Surely,' said Edward, who was readily interested by a tale bordering on
the romantic, 'surely more might be learned by more particular inquiry.'

'Perhaps so,' answered Rose; 'but my father will not permit any one to
practise on his feelings on this subject.'

By this time the Baron, with the help of Mr. Saunderson, had indued a
pair of jack-boots of large dimensions, and now invited our hero to
follow him as he stalked clattering down the ample stair-case, tapping
each huge balustrade as he passed with the butt of his massive
horse-whip, and humming, with the air of a chasseur of Louis Quatorze,--

Pour la chasse ordonnee il faut preparer tout.
Ho la ho! Vite! vite debout!

CHAPTER XIII

A MORE RATIONAL DAY THAN THE LAST

The Baron of Bradwardine, mounted on an active and well-managed horse,
and seated on a demi-pique saddle, with deep housings to agree with his
livery, was no bad representative of the old school. His light-coloured
embroidered coat, and superbly barred waistcoat, his brigadier wig,
surmounted by a small gold-laced cocked-hat, completed his personal
costume; but he was attended by two well-mounted servants on horseback,
armed with holster-pistols.

In this guise he ambled forth over hill and valley, the admiration of
every farm-yard which they passed in their progress, till, 'low down in a
grassy vale,' they found David Gellatley leading two very tall de