kindling the sparks of thought in the minds of mind, will contribute a support to the cause of our auditors. He who not only takes up passages truth, will present a barrier to the progress of to preach upon, but pursues, independently of that moral and intellectual error, which the present object, his examinations, inquiries, and thought- age will feel, and future ages will acknowledge. ful consideration of the Holy Scriptures, will find But, as in a former instance, I seem to have filled to a certainty his thoughts enriched, his views my paper, while a wide portion of my professed enlarged, and a sense both of the extension subject remains still untouched. Perhaps on and consolidation of his religious knowledge, in another occasion I may be allowed to address "a the highest degree satisfactory. As he searches few more words" to my brethren on the question into the spirit of the history, the intellectual which naturally succeeds that of the special studcharacter and circumstances of the writer, the ies of the clergyman, namely, that of his general line of argument, or the style of expression with reading. Discerning persons will have already which the revelation of the mind of God is inter- been led to expect a little tediousness, from the woven, that revelation will naturally itself grow title which stood at the head of my former paper clearer; as he who turns the precious stone to "A few words ;"-" Give me a few words with examine its cutting, or scrutinize its alleged de- you!" We all know what the word "few" fects, sees new coruscations of light and sudden means, and prepare ourselves for patience, and for combinations of prismatic colors flash from time a few more words, and, yet again, for a few more. to time upon his eye.

In what I have said on the study of the Bible, I would not be understood as confining that study

IEL WEBSTER.

T. D. B.

A correspondent of The Rochester American adds the following to the host of anecdotes of the great statesman, which his decease has called forth:

When Mr. Webster was Secretary of State, some years ago, under another administration than that of Mr. Fillmore, he wrote to one of the proprietors of the Astor House in New York, saying that he would reach that house on such a day, and begged that some of his friends should be invited to dine with him the same evening.

There were about twenty or so at the table, and Mr. Webster, who seemed wearied by his travel and speaking but little, if at all, plunged into a darksome sort of revery, not well calculated to enliven his friends. This at length became so apparent, and the situation upon a very distinguished man present, a warm friend of all so unpleasant, that one of the company urged of Mr. Webster, to get him into conversation. He only needed to be jogged to become as lively as they wished.

This friend consented, and spoke aloud to Mr. Webster, asking him some question, that in ordinary circumstances, and with ordinary men, would have led to conversation; but it failed in the present case. The dark Secretary of State merely raised his head and answered simply, and crept into his cave again.

to the man's own reflections on the sacred page; I THE MOST IMPORTANT THOUGHT OF DANwould include the abundant use of the labor of others, and the diligent handling of ancillary works, which may stimulate and assist the inquiries which he pursues. I distinguish that use of books which aids the exercise of our own minds, from that which is resorted to in order to dispense with that exercise. The latter use of them is, I apprehend, far more common than the former. believe that for one who reads, in the course of training and storing his mind with well-digested scriptural knowledge, there are fifty who turn to their libraries only to snatch the necessary materials for some imminent occasion, and who otherwise seldom go beyond those slighter and more popular kinds of religious literature, which, troubling the mind for only the faintest exertions, rewards it with scarcely perceptible accessions. In ordinary arts and sciences, the kind of reading and discipline of mind which may serve the purposes of those who have only to learn, is not felt to be sufficient for those who are to teach. Why should it be supposed that the case is different in regard to that highest art and science in which the minister of Christ is the teacher and guide? Some little measure of a more severe training and compulsory mental exercise he must indeed have passed through in the course of his preparatory education but surely even this has failed of its Again the gentleman, frightened by his failure, was main object, if it be regarded as sufficient in urged to renew the attempt to draw him out. He itself, and not rather as a foundation and com-Webster looked up out of his cave)" Mr. Webster, summoned courage and said, "Mr. Webster'-(Mr. mencement of the subsequent studies which are I want you to tell me what was the most important to strengthen and enrich the mind. There is a difference in the circumstances of the man who, thumper for you, and so everybody thought at table. thought that ever occupied your mind." Here was a having acquired a little fortune, lives for the rest Mr. Webster slowly passed his hand over his forehead, of his life upon the interest of it, with such small and in a low tone said to a friend near him, "Is there additions as may happen to drop in, and of the any one here who does not know me?" "No, sir, man who makes it the basis of further enterprises, they all know you are all your friends." Then he and the ever-multiplying material of industrious looked over the table, and you may well imagine how trading. Let our young clergymen who go down the tones of his voice would be upon such an occasion, into the country, carry with them this latter view giving answer to such a question. of the acquisitions they may have already made, portant thought that ever occupied my mind," said as the commencement of studies which they are he, "was that of my individual responsibility to bound to pursue for the benefit of the Church. God!"-upon which, for twenty minutes, he spoke For the benefit of the Church they will certainly from the table and retired to his room, and they to them there, and when he had finished he got up be pursued, though the humble congregation may without a word, went into an adjacent parlor, and know nothing of their pastor's attainments, and when they had gathered there some of them exclaimed, no book or pamphlet may advertise them to the world. A clergy habitually exercised in those studies which the Bible in their hands demands or suggests, will hold an influence over the public

"The most im

Who ever heard anything like that?" What Mr. Webster said in advocacy of his sublime thought I do not know-no one has ever repeated it, and I presume no one can.

KATIE STEWART.

PART III.-CHAPTER XIV.

THREE weeks! Three misty, enchanted weeks, with only words, and looks, and broken reveries in them, and all the common life diverted into another channel, like the mill-burn. True it is, that all day long Katie sits strangely dim and silent, spinning yarn for her mother, dreamily hearing, dreamily answering-her heart and her thoughts waging a perpetual warfare; for always there comes the mystic evening, the ruddy firelight, the attendant circle behind, and Katie's valor steals away, and Katie's thoughts whirl, and reel, and find no standing ground. Alas! for the poor little pride, which now tremblingly, with all its allies gone, has to fight its battles single-handed, and begins to feel like a culprit thus deserted; for the climax hour is near at hand.

that young breast of hers-a sadness which none must guess, which she herself denies to herself with angry blushes and bitter tears; for "she doesna care"-no, not if she should never see Willie Morison more-" she doesna care!"

Some one on the road behind pursues the little hurrying figure, with its fluttering crimson plaid and laced apron, with great impatient strides. She does not hear the foot, the road is so carpeted with wet leaves; but at every step he gains upon her.

And now, little Katie, pause. Now with a violent effort send back these tears to their fountain, and look once more with dignity-once more, if it were the last time, with haughty pride, into his face, and ask, with that constrained voice of yours, what brings him here.

"I'm to sail the morn," answered Willie Mori

son.

CHAPTER XV.

Lady Anne has returned to Kellie. Only two or three days longer can Katie have at the mill-only one day longer has Willie Morison; for the little Levant schooner has received her cargo, and lies in Leith Roads, waiting for a wind, and her lingering mate must join her to-morrow. The clouds have withdrawn from the kindly The last day! But Katie must go to Kilbrach-brow of Kellie Law. Over him this strange pale mont to see Isabell. The little imperious mother sky reveals itself, with only one floating streak of will perceive no reluctance; the little proud daugh- black gauzy vapor on it, like the stolen scarf of ter bites her lip, and with tears trembling in her some weird lady, for whom this forlorn wind pines eyes-indignant, burning tears for her own weak-in secret. And at the foot of the hill lie great ness-will not show it; so Katie again threw on fields of rich dark land, new ploughed; and, asthe black-laced mantle, again arranged her gloves cending by this pathway, by and by you will come under her cambric ruffles, and with her heart to a house sheltered in that cluster of trees. In beating loud and painfully, and the tears only re- the corner of the park, here, stands a round tower strained by force under her downcast eyelids, set-not very high, indeed, but massy and strong; out towards kindly Kellie Law yonder, to see her and just now a flock of timid inhabitants have sister. alighted upon it and entered by the narrow doors; for it is not anything warlike, but only the peaceful erection which marks an independent lairdship the dovecot of these lands of Kilbrachmont.

It is late in October now, and the skies are looking as they never look except at this time. Dark, pale, colorless, revealing everything that projects upon them, with a bold sharp outline, which scarcely those black rolling vapors can obscure. Overhead there is a great cloud, stooping upon the country as black as night; but lighter are those misty tissues sweeping down pendent from it upon the hills, which the melancholy wind curls and waves about like so many streamers upon the mystic threatening sky. There has been a great fall of rain, and the sandy country roads are damp, though not positively wet; but that great black cloud, say the rural sages, to whom the atmosphere is a much-studied philosophy, will not dissolve to-day.

Dark is the Firth, tossing yonder its whitefoam crest on the rocks; dark the far-away cone of North Berwick Law, over whose head you see a long retreating range of cloudy mountains, piled high and black into the heavens ;-and there before us, the little steeple of this church of Pittenweem thrusts itself carelessly into the sky; while under it cluster the low-roofed houses, looking like so many frightened fugitive children clinging to the knees of some brave boy, whose simplicity

66

High rises the grassy bank on the other side of the lane opposite the Doocot Park;" but just now you only see mosses and fallen leaves, where in early summer primroses are rife; and now these gray ash trees make themselves visible, a stately brotherhood, each with an individual character in its far-stretching boughs and mossy trunk; and under them is the house of Kilbrachmont.

Not a very great house, though the neighboring cotters think it so. A substantial square building, of two stories, built of rough gray stone, and thatched. Nor is there anything remarkable in its immediate vicinity, though, "to please `Isabell," the most effectual of arguments with the young laird, some pains, not very great, yet more than usual, have been bestowed upon this piece of ground in front of the house. Soft, closely-shorn turf, green and smooth as velvet, stretches from the door to the outer paling, warmly clothing with its rich verdure the roots of the great ash trees, and some few simple flowers are in the borders. At the door, a great luxuriant rosebush stands sentinel on either side; and the wall of the house And, drawing her mother's crimson plaid over is covered with the bare network of an immense her slight silken mantle, Katie Stewart turns her pear tree, in spring as white with blossoms as the face to Kellie Law, along this still and solitary grass is with crowding daisies. From the winroad, while the damp wind sighs among the trees dows you have a far-off glimpse of the Firth; and above her, and, detaching one by one these flutter-close at hand, a little humble church and schooling leaves, drops them in the path at her feet. house look out from among their trees; and the Never before has Katie known what it was to have green slopes of Kellie Law shelter the house be a "sair heart." Now there is a secret pang in hind.

knows no fear.

VOL. XXXVI. 11

The door is open, and you enter a low-roofed | And Leddy Kilbrachmont thought it no mesalliearthen-floored kitchen, with an immense fireplace, ance-did not feel that the little beauty had diswithin which, on those warm stone benches which graced herself. It dried the tears of Katie project round its ruddy cavern, sits a beggar-woman, Stewart.

with a couple of children, who are roasting their

But Ranger did not yet quite understand what poor little feet before the great fire in the standing was the matter, and became very solicitous and grate, till the heat becomes almost as painful as affectionate; helping by his over-anxiety, good the cold was an hour ago. The woman has a fellow, to remove the embarrassment of his young basin in her lap, half full of the comfortable broth favorite. which has been to-day, and is always, the principal dish at dinner in those homely, frugal, plentiful houses; and leisurely, with that great horn spoon, is taking the warm and grateful provision, and contemplating the children at her feet, who have already devoured their supply. It is the kindly fashion of charity, common at the time.

One stout woman-servant stands at a table baking, and the girdle, suspended on the crook, hangs over the bright fire; while near the fireside another is spinning wool on "the muckle wheel." In summer these wholesome ruddy country girls do not scorn to do "out work ;" in winter, one of them almost constantly spins.

Several doors open off this cosy kitchen. One of them is a little ajar, and from it now and then comes a fragment of song, and an accompanying hum as of another wheel. It is the south room, the sitting-room of the young" guidwife."

So Katie rose with a dawning smile upon her face, and stooping over Ranger, caressed and explained to him, while Isabell with kindly hands disembarrassed her of the crimson plaid which still hung over her shoulders. The well-preserved, precious crimson plaid-if Mrs. Stewart had only seen that faint print of Ranger's paw upon it! But it makes a sheen in the little glass, to which Katie turns to arrange the bright curls which the wind has cast into such disorder. The tears are all dried now, and as her little fingers, still red with cold, though now they are glowing hot, twist about the golden hair on her cheek, her face resumes its brightness; but it is not now the sunny, fearless light of the morning. Not any longer do these blue eyes of hers meet you bravely, frankly, with open, unembarrassed looks ;-drooping, glimmering under the downcast eyelashes, darting up now and then a shy, softened, almost deprecating glance, while themselves shine so, that you cannot but fancy there is always the bright medium of a tear to see them through.

And where is he, then, Katie? Did ye get owre coming up the road? Where is Willie now?" said Isabell.

And she sits there by her bright hearth, spinning fine yarn, and singing to herself as those sing whose hearts are at rest. Opposite the fire hangs a little round glass, which reflects the warm light, and the graceful figure prettily, making a minia-a' ture picture of them on the wall. A large, fine, sagacious dog sits on the other side of the hearth, looking up into her face, and listening with evident relish to her song. You can see that its sweet pathetic music even moves him a little, the good fellow, though the warm bright fire makes his eyes wink drowsily now and then, and overcomes him with temptation to stretch himself down before it for his afternoon's sleep.

Spinning and singing-at home, in this sweet, warm atmosphere, with no dread or evil near her -and so sits Isabell.

A hasty step becomes audible in the kitchen. Bell at the wheel by the hearth cries aloud, "Eh, Miss Katie, is this you?" And Ranger pricks up his ears; while Isabell's hand rests on her wheel for a moment, and she looks towards the door.

The door is hastily flung open-as hastily closed -and little Katie, with the crimson plaid over her bright hair, and traces of tears on her cheek, rushes in, and throwing herself at Isabell's feet, puts her arm round her waist, and buries her head in the lap of her astonished sister.

"We met Kilbrachmont at the Doocot Park," said Katie, seating herself by the fireside, and casting down her eyes as she twisted the long ears of Ranger through her fingers; "and I ran away, Isabell, for Kilbrachmont saw that something was wrang.'

"There's naething wrang, Katie. He's a wiselike lad, and a weel-doing lad-if you werens such a proud thing yoursel. But, woman, do you think you could ever have been so happy as ye will be, if Willie Morison was some grand lord or ither, instead of what he is?"

Ranger had laid his head in Katie's lap, and was fixing a serious look upon her face; only he could see the happy liquid light in her eyes, which testified her growing content with Willie Morison; but Isabell saw the pout with which Katie indulged the lingering remnants of her pride.

"Woman, Katie! suppose it had been a young lord now, or the like of Sir Robert-ye would never have daured to speak to ane of your kin."

"And wha would have hindered me?" said Katie, with a glance of defiance.

"Katie, what ails ye?" exclaimed Lady Kilbrachmont; and Ranger, alarmed and sympathetic, draws near to lick the little gloved hands, and fingers red with cold, which lie on his mis-man, nae doubt, that had the best right. Ye ken tress' knee.

"Katie, what ails ye? Speak to me, bairn." But Isabell is not so much alarmed as Ranger, for exceeding peace has made" her "bold."

66

"Oh, Isabell," sighed little Katie, lifting from her sister's lap a face which does not, after all, look so very sorrowful, and which Ranger would fain salute too-"oh, Isabell, it 's a' Willie Mori

son."

"Weel, weel, Katie, my woman, what needs ye greet about it?" said the matron sister, with kindly comprehension. "I saw it a' a week

since. I kent it would be so."

"Wha would have hindered ye? Just your ain

yoursel it bid to have ended that way, Katie. Suppose it had been e'en sae, as the bit proud heart of ye would have had it, would ye have come in your coach to the Milton, Katie Stewart ? would ye have ta'en my mother away in her red plaid, and set her down in your grand withdrawing room, like my lady's mother? Ye needna lift up your e'en that way. I ken ye have spirit enough to do a' that; but what would my lord have said?-and what would his friends? Na, na; my mother's gray hairs have honor on them in the Milton of Anster, and so have they here in Kilbrachmont, and so will they have in Willie

Morison's house, when it comes to pass; but, | As you go down this quiet road, you hear the tinkKatie, they would have nane in Kellie Castle."

"I would just like to hear either lord or lady lightlie my mother," exclaimed Katie, with such a sudden burst of energy, that Ranger lifted his head and shook his ears in astonishment; "and I dinna ken what reason ye have, Isabell, to say that I ever wanted a lord. I never wanted onybody in this world that didna want me first."

"It may be sue, it may be sae," said the Leddy of Kilbrachmont, kindly, shedding back the hair from Katie's flushed face as she rose ; "but whiles I get a glint into folks' hearts, for I mind mysel langsyne; and now be quiet, like a guid bairn, for there's the guidman and Willie, and I must see about their four-hours."

Little Katie thrust her chair back into the corner, with a sudden jerk, dislodging the head of the good, astonished Ranger. The "four-hours" was the afternoon refreshment, corresponding with our tea, just as the "eleven-hours" was the lun

ling of unseen waters-a burn somewhere, running with filled and freshened current, shining under the sun; and there is scarcely wind enough to impel the glistening leaves, as they fall, a yard from their parent tree.

With the crimson plaid upon her arm, and the lace of her black silk mantle softly fluttering over the renewed glory of the cambric ruffles, Katie Stewart goes lightly down the road on her way home. The sun has dried this sandy path, so that it does no injury to the little, handsome silverbuckled shoes, which twinkle over it, though their meditative mistress, looking down upon them, is all unaware of the course they take. Ranger, from whom she has just parted, stands at the corner of the Doocot Park, looking after her with friendly, admiring eyes, and only prevented by an urgent sense of duty from accompanying her through all the dangers of her homeward road; but little Katie, who never looks back-whose thoughts all travel before her, good Ranger, and who has not Philip Landale was not so forbearing as his one glance to spare for what is behind-thinks of wife. He could not refrain from jokes and innu- neither danger nor fatigue in the sunny four miles endoes, which made Katie's face burn more and of way which lie between her and the Milton of more painfully, and elicited many a trembling Anster. Very soon three of those miles-through whispered remonstrance-" Whisht, whisht, Kil-long sweeping quiet roads, disturbed only by an brachmont"-from Willie Morison; but the occasional sluggish cart, with its driver seated on whole evening was rather an uneasy one, for its front, or errant fisherwoman with a laden creel neither Isabell nor Katie was quite sure about penetrating on a commercial voyage into the intheir mother's reception of this somewhat startling terior-glide away under the little glancing feet, intelligence. and Katie has come in sight of the brief steeple of Pittenweem, and the broad Firth beyond.

cheon.

Katie was shy of going home-shrank from being the first to tell the events of the day; and the good elder sister arranged for her that Willie should take farewell of his betrothed now, and leave her at Kilbrachmont, himself hurrying down to be at the Milton before the hour of domestic worship should finally close the house against visitors, there to address his suit to the milles and the miller's wife.

"Ye'll see us gaun down the Firth the morn, Katie," said Willie Morison, as she stood with him at the door, to bid him farewell. "I'll gar them hoist a flag at the mainmast, to let you ken it's me; and dinna let down your heart, for we 'll only be six months away. We'll come in with the summer, Katie."

"And suppose ye didna come in with the summer, whatfor should I let down my heart?" asked the saucy Katie, sufficiently recovered to show some gleam of her ancient temper.

"If ane was to believe ye," murmured the departing mate. "Weel, it's your way; but ye'll mind us sometimes, Katie, when ye look at

Stray down past the fisher-houses, Katie Stewart-past the invalided boats-the caldrons of bark-the fisher girls at those open doors weaving nets-down to the shore of this calm sea. Now you are on " the braes," treading the thin-bladed sea-side grass; and when you see no schooner, lifting up snow-white sails in the west, your musing eyes glance downward-down those high, steep cliffs to the beautiful transparent water, with its manifold tints, through which you see the shelves of rock underneath, brilliant, softened, as yesterday your own eyes were, through tears unshed and sweet.

At your feet, but far below them, the water comes in with a continual ripple, which speaks to you like a voice; and for the first time-the first time, Katie Stewart, in all these eighteen years— there comes into your mind the reality of that great protecting care which fills the world. Between you and the Buss, the great Firth lies at rest; not calm enough to be insensible to that brisk breath of wind which flutters before you your black laced apron, but only sufficiently moved to show that it lives, and is no dead inland lake. But yonder, gleaming out of the universal blue, is the May, with the iron cradle almost visible on the top of its steep tower; the May-the lighthouse island-telling of dangers hidden under those beautiful waves, of storms which shall stir this merry wind into frenzy, and out of its smiling schoolboy pranks bring the tragic feats of a revengeful giant. Ah, Katie Stewart! look again with awe and gravity on this treacherous, glorious sea. To watch one's dearest go forth upon it; to trust one's heart and hope to the tender mercies of this slumbering Titan-there comes a shudder over the slight figure as it stoops forward, and one solitary child's sob relieves the laboring breast; and then little Katie lifts her head, and looks to the sky.

before the guidman comes in from the mill, and Merran's cheeks glow as red as the sturdy arm, enveloped in wreaths of steam from her pail, with which she polishes the substantial deal chairs.

The sky, which continually girdles in this grand | visible, is scrubbing chairs and tables with entumultuous element, and binds it, Titan as it is, thusiasm and zeal. All this work must be over as easily as a mother binds the garments of her child. Forth into God's care, Katie into the great waters which lie enclosed in the hollow of His hand. Away under His sky-away upon this sea, Iis mighty vassal, than whom your own fluttoring, fearful heart is less dutiful, less subordinate-fear not for your wanderer. Intermediate protection, secondary help, shall leave him, it is true; but safest of all is the Help over all, and he goes forth into the hand of God.

Mrs. Stewart herself sits by the fire in the easychair, knitting. There is some angry color on the little house-mother's face; and Katie, with penitent, humble steps, crossing the bridge, can hear the loud, indignant sound of her wires as she labors. Drooping her head, carrying the crimson But still there is no sail visible up the Firth, plaid reverently over her arm, as if she never could except here and there a fishing-boat, or passing have used it disrespectfully, and casting shy, depsmack, and Katie wanders on-on, till she has recating, appealing glances upward to her mothreached the Billy Ness, a low green headlander's face, Katie, downcast and humble, stands on slightly projecting into the Firth, and sees before the threshold of the Milton. her the black rocks, jutting far out into the clear water, and beyond them Anster harbor, with its one sloop loading at the pier.

Now look up, Katie Stewart! yonder it glides, newly emerged from the deep shadow of Largo Bay, bearing close onward by the coast, that the captain's wife in Elie, and here, on the Billy Ness, little Katie Stewart, may see it gliding by-gliding with all its sails full to the wind, and the flag floating from the mast. And yonder, on the end of the pier-but you do not see them-Alick Morison and a band of his comrades are waiting, ready to wave their caps, and hail her with a cheer as she goes by. There is some one on the yard; bend over by this brown rock, Katie Stewart, that he may see your crimson plaid, and, seeing it, may uncover that broad manly brow of his, and cheer you with his waving hand; but it will only feebly flutter that handkerchief in yours, and away and away glides the departing ship. Farewell.

It is out of sight, already touching the stronger currents of the German sea; and Alick Morison long ago is home, and the sun tells that it is full noon. But Katie's roused heart has spoken to the great Father; out of her sorrowful musings, and the tears of her first farewell, she has risen up to speak-not the vague forms of usual prayerbut some real words in the merciful ear which hears continually ;-real words-a true supplication-and so she turns her face homeward, and goes calmly on her way.

A single sympathetic glance from Janet tells her that she has at least one friend; but no one speaks a word to welcome her. Another stealthy, timid step, and she is fairly in; but still neither mother nor sister express themselves conscious of her presence.

Poor little Katie! her breast begins to heave with a sob, and thick tears gather to her eyes, as nervously her fingers play with the lace of her turned apron-the artless, innocent, ineffectual spell! She could have borne, as she thinks, any amount of "flyting;" but this cruel silence kills her.

Another apprehensive, trembling step, and now Katie stands between her mother and the window, stationary, in this same downcast, drooping attitude, like a pretty statue, the crimson plaid draped over her arin, her fingers busy with the lace, and nothing else moving about her but her eyelids, which now and then are hastily lifted in appeal.

Very well was Mrs. Stewart aware of Katie's entrance before, but now the shadow falls across her busy hands, and she can no longer restrainnot even by biting her lips-the eager flood of words which burn to discharge themselves upon the head of the culprit.

So Mrs. Stewart laid down her work in her lap, and, crossing her hands, looked sternly and steadily in the face of the offender. Tremblingly Katie's long eyelashes drooped under this gaze, and her lip began to quiver, and the tears to steal down on her cheek; while up again, up through the heaving breast, climbed the child's sob.

And she is still only a girl; her heart is comforted. In these seafaring places such partings are every-day matters; and as she leaves the shore, and crosses the high-road, Katie fancies she sees Wha's this braw lady, Janet? I'm sure it's him home again, and is almost glad. But it is an honor to our puir house I never lookit for. Get full noonday, Katie-look up to the skies, and a fine napkin out of the napery press, and dight a tremble; for who can tell how angry the house-chair-may be my lady will sit doun.' mother will be when you have reached home?

Yonder is the Milton already visible; ten brief minutes and the bridge will be crossed; hastily down upon this great stone Katie throws the crimson plaid the precious Sabbath-day's plaid, never deposited in receptacle less dignified than the oakpress-and solemnly, with nervous fingers, pauses on the burnside to "turn her apron.'

A grave and potent spell, sovereign for disarming the anger of mothers, when, at town-house ball, winter evening party, or summer evening tryst, the trembling daughter has stayed too long; but quite ineffectual the spell would be, Katie, if only Mrs. Stewart knew or could see how you have thrown down the crimson plaid.

Over the fire, hanging by the crook, the pot boils merrily, while Janet covers the table for dinner, and Merran, at the end of the room, half in

"Oh mother, mother!" sobbed little Katie. "So this is you, ye little cuttie!—and how daur ye look me in the face?"

Katie had not been looking in her mother's face, but now she lifted her eyes bravely, tearful though they were, and returned without flinching the gaze fixed upon her. "Mother! I've done naething wrong."

"Ye've done naething wrong!-haud me in patience, that I may not paik her wi' my twa hands! Do ye ca' staying out a' night, out o' my will and knowledge, nae wrang? Do ye say it was nae wrang to spend this precious morning on the Billy Ness, watching the ship out wi' that ne'erdoweel in 't? and sending him himsel, a puir penniless sailor chield, wi' no a creditable friend between this and him-"

"Willie Morison's a very decent lad, mother,