fire, drew his chair close to it, and said:

"It's dooms cauld! Sit doon there, bantam. Pit on the kettle first.
It's an ac' o' the purest disinteresstitness, for deil a drap sall ye
drink! But I'll sing ye a sang, by way o' upmak'."

"I never heard ye sing, Mr Cupples. Ye can do a' thing, I think."

"I cudna gar a bonnie, high-born, white-handit leddy fa' in love wi' a
puir futteret (weasel) o' a crater--a shargar (scrag) like Cosmo
Cupples, bantam. But I can do twa or three things; an' ane o' them is,
I can mak' a sang; and anither is, I can mak' a tune till't; and a
third is, I can sing the tane to the tither, that is whan I haena had
either ower muckle or ower little o' the tappit hen. Noo, heark ye.
This ane's a' my ain:

GAEIN' AND COMIN'.

Whan Andrew frae Strathbogie gaed,
The lift was lowerin' dreary;
The sun he wadna lift his heid;
The win' blew laich and eerie.
In's pouch he had a plack or twa,
I vow he hadna mony;
Yet Andrew like a lintie sang,
For Lizzie was sae bonny!

O Lizzie, Lizzie, bonnie lassie!
Bonnie, saucy hizzie!
What richt had ye to luik at me,
And drive me daft and dizzy?

Whan Andrew to Strathbogie cam',
The sun was shinin' rarely;
He rade a horse that pranced and sprang--
I vow he sat him fairly.
And he had gowd to spend and spare,
And a heart as true as ony;
But's luik was doon, and his sigh was sair,
For Lizzie was sae bonny!

O Lizzie, Lizzie, bonny hizzie!
Ye've turned the daylicht dreary.
Ye're straucht and rare, ye're fause and fair--
Hech! auld John Armstrong's dearie!"

His voice was mellow, and ought to have been even. His expression was
perfect.

The kettle was boiling. Mr Cupples made his toddy, and resumed his
story.

"As sune's I was able, I left my mither greitin'--God bless her!--and
cam to this toon, for I wasna gaein' to be eaten up with idleset as
weel's wi' idolatry. The first thing I tuik till was teachin'. Noo
that's a braw thing, whan the laddies and lassies want to learn, and
hae questons o' their ain to speir. But whan they dinna care, it's the
verra deevil. Or lang, a'thing grew grey. I cared for naething and
naebody. My verra dreams gaed frae me, or cam only to torment me, wi'
the reid hert o' them changed to yallow and grey.

"Weel, ae nicht I had come hame worn oot wi' warstlin' to gar bairns
eat that had no hunger, I spied upo' the table a bottle o' whusky. A
frien' o