amphor, and they went their ways.

And the board that had the right of way went its way, too. And Sary Jane
folded up the shawl, which she could not afford to lose, and came home,
and made nankeen vests at sixteen and three quarters cents a dozen in
the window out of which the Lady of Shalott had never looked.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

MARJORIE FLEMING.

BY JOHN BROWN, M.D.

One November afternoon in 1810,--the year in which "Waverley" was
resumed and laid aside again, to be finished off, its last two volumes
in three weeks, and made immortal in 1814, and when its author, by the
death of Lord Melville, narrowly escaped getting a civil appointment in
India,--three men, evidently lawyers, might have been seen escaping like
school-boys from the Parliament House, and speeding arm in arm down Bank
Street and the Mound, in the teeth of a surly blast of sleet.

The three friends sought the _bield_ of the low wall old Edinburgh boys
remember well, and sometimes miss now, as they struggle with the stout
west-wind.

The three were curiously unlike each other. One, "a little man of feeble
make, who would be unhappy if his pony got beyond a foot pace," slight,
with "small, elegant features, hectic cheek, and soft hazel eyes, the
index of the quick, sensitive spirit within, as if he had the warm heart
of a woman, her genuine enthusiasm, and some of her weaknesses." Another,
as unlike a woman as a man can be; homely, almost common, in look and
figure; his hat and his coat, and indeed his entire covering, worn to
the quick, but all of the best material; what redeemed him from
vulgarity and meanness were his eyes, deep set, heavily thatched, keen,
hungry, shrewd, with a slumbering glow far in, as if they could be
dangerous; a man to care nothing for at first glance, but, somehow, to
give a second and not-forgetting look at. The third was the biggest of
the three, and though lame, nimble, and all rough and alive with power;
had you met him anywhere else, you would say he was a Liddesdale
store-farmer, come of gentle blood; "a stout, blunt carle," as he says
of himself, with the swing and stride and the eye of a man of the
hills,--a large, sunny, out-of-door air all about him. On his broad and
somewhat stooping shoulders was set that head which, with Shakespeare's
and Bonaparte's, is the best known in all the world.

He was in high spirits, keeping his companions and himself in roars o