truth and nature. Robert has gained his end
already. Hurra for poor old Scotland!--these pieces must live for ever.
But do repeat to me the 'Farmer's Ingle' once more."

We read, one by one, all the poems in the magazine, dwelling on each
stanza, and expatiating on every recollection of home which the images
awakened. My companion was, like his brother, a kind, open-hearted man,
of superior intellect; much less prone to despondency, however, and of a
more equal temperament. Ere we parted, which was not until next morning,
he had communicated to me all his plans for the future, and all his
fondly cherished hopes of returning to Scotland with wealth enough to be
of use to his friends. He seemed to be one of those universal geniuses
who do a thousand things well, but want steadiness enough to turn any of
them to good account. He showed me a treatise on the use of the sword,
which he had just prepared for the press; and a series of letters on the
stamp act, which had appeared, from time to time, in one of the Boston
newspapers, and in which he had taken part with the Americans.

"I make a good many dollars in these stirring times," he said. "All the
Yankees seem to be of opinion that they will be best heard across the
water when they have got arms in their hands, and have learned how to
use them; and I know a little of both the sword and the musket. But the
warlike spirit is frightfully thirsty, somehow, and consumes a world of
rum; and so I have not yet begun to make rich."

He shared with me his supper and bed for the night; and, after rising in
the morning ere I awoke, and writing a long letter for Robert, which he
gave me in the hope I might soon meet with him, he accompanied me to the
vessel, then on the eve of sailing, and we parted, as it proved, for
ever. I know nothing of his after life, or how or where it terminated;
but I have learned that, shortly before the death of his gifted brother,
his circumstances enabled him to send his mother a small remittance for
the use of the family. He was evidently one of the kind-hearted,
improvident few, who can share a very little, and whose destiny it is to
have only a very little to share.

CHAPTER V.

"O Ferguson! thy glorious parts
Ill suited law's dry, musty arts!
My curse upon your whunstane hearts,
Ye Embrugh gentry!
The tithe o' what ye waste at cartes
Wad stow'd his pantry!"
BURNS.

I vis