re
it is. I think I can now prove to ye, that the gentleman's sweetheart
died abroad; and that, likely from her name--for it is here mentioned--she
must have been a Portugee or Spaniard."

"Ay, let us hear it," cried Nanse. "Do, like a man, let us hear it,
James; for I delight above a' things to hear about love-stories. Do ye
mind, Maister," she said, "when ye was so deep in love aince yoursell?"

"Foolish woman," I said, giving her a kind of severe look; "is that all
your manners to interrupt Mr Batter? If ye'll just keep a calm sough,
ye'll hear the long and the short o't, in good time."

By this, James, who did not relish interruption, and was a thought
fidgety in his natural temper, had laid down the paper on the table,
snuffed the candle, and raised his spectacles on his brow. But I said to
him, "Excuse freedoms, James, and be so good as resume your discourse."
Then wishing to smooth him down, I added, by way of compliment--"Do go
on; for you really are a prime reader. Nature surely intended ye for a
minister."

"Dinna flatter me," said James; looking, however, rather proudishly at
what I had said, and replacing his glasses on the brig of his nose, he
then read us a screed of metre to the following effect; part of which, I
am free to confess, is rather above my comprehension. But, never mind.

ELEGIAC STANZAS.

I.

'Tis midnight deep; the full round moon,
As 'twere a spectre, walks the sky;
The balmy breath of gentlest June
Just stirs the stream that murmurs by;
Above me frowns the solemn wood;
Nature, methinks, seems Solitude
Embodied to the eye.

II.

Yes, 'tis a season and a scene,
Inez, to think on thee; the day,
With stir and strife, may come between
Affection and thy beauty's ray,
But feeling here assumes control,
And mourns my desolated soul
That thou are rapt away!

III.

Thou wert a rainbow to my sight,
The storms of life before thee fled;
The glory and the guiding light,
That onward cheer'd and upward led;
From boyhood to this very hour,
For me, and only me, thy flower
Its fragrance seem'd to shed.

IV.

Dark though the world for me might show
Its sordid faith and selfish gloom,
Yet 'mid life's wilderness to know
For me that sweet flower shed its bloom,
Was joy, was solace:--thou art gone--
And hope forsook me, when the stone
Sank darkly o'er thy tomb.

V.

And art thou dead? I dare not think
That thus the solemn truth can be;
And broken is the only link
T