ed, would come
simpering downstairs with mamma's arm round her waist, and her pretty
artless happy smile for the gentlemen below. Besides the Scottish songs
without music, she sang ballads at the piano very sweetly. Mamma used to
cry at these ditties. "That child's voice brings tears into my eyes,
Mr. Newcome," she would say. "She has never known a moment's sorrow yet!
Heaven grant, heaven grant, she may be happy! But what shall I be when I
lose her?"

"Why, my dear, when ye lose Rosey, ye'll console yourself with Josey,"
says droll Mr. Binnie from the sofa, who perhaps saw the manoeuvre of
the widow.

The widow laughs heartily and really. She places a handkerchief over her
mouth. She glances at her brother with a pair of eyes full of knowing
mischief. "Ah, dear James," she says, "you don't know what it is to have
a mother's feelings."

"I can partly understand them," says James. "Rosey, sing me that pretty
little French song." Mrs. Mackenzie's attention to Clive was really
quite affecting. If any of his friends came to the house, she took them
aside and praised Clive to them. The Colonel she adored. She had never
met with such a man or seen such a manner. The manners of the Bishop
of Tobago were beautiful, and he certainly had one of the softest and
finest hands in the world; but not finer than Colonel Newcome's. "Look
at his foot!" (and she put out her own, which was uncommonly pretty,
and suddenly withdrew it, with an arch glance meant to represent a
blush)--"my shoe would fit it! When we were at Coventry Island, Sir
Peregrine Blandy, who succeeded poor dear Sir Rawdon Crawley--I saw
his dear boy was gazetted to a lieutenant-colonelcy in the Guards last
week--Sir Peregrine, who was one of the Prince of Wales's most intimate
friends, was always said to have the finest manner and presence of any
man of his day; and very grand and noble he was, but I don't think he
was equal to Colonel Newcome--I don't really think so. Do you think so,
Mr. Honeyman? What a charming discourse that was last Sunday! I know
there were two pair of eyes not dry in the church. I could not see the
other people just for crying myself. Oh, but I wish we could have you
at Musselburgh! I was bred a Presbyterian, of course; but in much
travelling through the world with my dear husband, I came to love his
church. At home we sit under Dr M'Craw, of course; but he is so awfully
long! Four hours every Sunday at least, morning and afternoon! It nearly