_laid out_, and his mother sitting as calmly beside him as if
she were watching his sleep. "Sab not sae sair, Lawrie--God was gracious
to let him live to this day, that he micht dee in his brither's arms."

The sun has mounted high in heaven, while thus we have been dreaming
away the hours--a dozen miles at least have we slowly wandered over,
since morning, along pleasant by-paths, where never dust lay, or from
gate to gate of pathless enclosures, a trespasser fearless of those
threatening nonentities, spring-guns. There is the turnpike road--the
great north and south road--for it is either the one or the other,
according to the airt towards which you, choose to turn your face.
Behold a little WAYSIDE INN, neatly thatched, and with white-washed
front, and sign-board hanging from a tree, on which are painted the
figures of two jolly gentlemen, one in kilts and the other in breeches,
shaking hands cautiously across a running brook. The meal of all meals
is a paulopost-meridian breakfast. The rosiness of the combs of these
strapping hens is good augury;--hark, a cackle from the barn--another
egg is laid--and chanticleer, stretching himself up on claw-tip, and
clapping his wings of the bonny beaten gold, crows aloud to his sultana
till the welkin rings. "Turn to the left, sir, if you please," quoth a
comely matron; and we find ourselves snugly seated in an arm-chair, not
wearied, but to rest willing, while the clock ticks pleasantly, and we
take no note of time but by its gain; for here is our journal, in which
we shall put down a few jottings for MAY-DAY. Three boiled eggs--one to
each penny-roll--are sufficient, under any circumstances, along with the
same number fried with mutton ham, for the breakfast of a Gentleman and
a Tory. Nor do we remember--when tea-cups have been on a proper scale,
ever to have wished to go beyond the Golden Rule of Three. In politics,
we confess that we are rather ultra; but in all things else we love
moderation. "Come in, my bonny little lassie--ye needna keep keekin in
that gate fra ahint the door"--and in a few minutes the curly-pated
prattler is murmuring on our knee. The sonsy wife, well-pleased with
the sight, and knowing from our kindness to children, that we are on the
same side of politics with her gudeman--Ex-sergeant in the Black Watch,
and once Orderly to Garth himself--brings out her ain bottle from the
spence--a hollow square, and green as emerald. Bless the gurgle of its
honest m