ughing with the exuberance of his buoyant spirits, on the eve of being
gratified by his darling fun--by the east end of the town. The moon threw a
faint beam on him as he passed, and exhibited him first to a company of
guysers who were chanting at the door of Will Pearson--

"O lusty Maye, with Flora queen."

The song was cut by a severed breath, and, uttering a loud scream, the
whole party darted off at full speed, and, as they flew, spread the
dreadful intelligence, that he of the red cravat was hurrying into the town
from the east. The news was just what was expected; hundreds were waiting
_aperto ore_ to receive it; and the moment they did receive it, they fled
to communicate the intelligence to others. Guysers, reekers, gossips, and
tosspots, laid down their songs, their horns, their scandal, and their
stoups, and acknowledged their Hogmanay occupation gone. The startling
words--"He's come, he's come!" passed from mouth to mouth. Some shut up
their houses, to prevent him from coming into them; and many who were
solitary, sought refuge in the houses of their neighbours. Some went out of
the town entirely, and sought protection from the abbot of the monastery;
and many stood about the corners of the passages and the ends of houses,
consulting what should be done in this emergency they had so long looked
for, and were so poorly provided against. In every quarter, fear reigned
with absolute sway; and if, in any instances, there was exhibited any
portion of courage, it was either derived from the protecting power of a
crucifix, or assumed in spite of the collapsing heart of real terror.

But all this did not prevent the stranger from going through his wonted
routine. His long strides, and extreme eagerness to get again into the
heart of his former extravagant jollity, brought him very soon to the
threshold of his old tosspot, Will Pearson, who, with his wife Betty, was
sitting at the fire, engaged in a low-toned conversation, on the very
subject of him of the red cravat. The door was burst open--the stranger
entered with a loud laugh and boisterous salutation.

"A good new year to thee," said he, "Will Pearson!" And he took, at the
same time, out of a side-pocket, the identical bottle, with a long neck,
and a thin waist, and containing the same red whisky he had been so lavish
of on former occasions, and set it upon the table with a loud knock that
rang throughout the small cottage.

Will Pearson and his wife Bet