ancing it on
his head--thus--ha! O'Bronte galloping along as umpire. The Fawn has it,
and by a neck has beat Camilla.

We shall lunch ere we go--and lunch well too--for this is a poor man's,
not a pauper's hut, and Heaven still grants his prayer--"give us this
day our daily bread." Sweeter--richer bannocks of barley-meal never met
the mouth of mortal man--nor more delicious butter. "We salt it, sir,
for a friend in Glasgow--but now and then we tak a bite of the fresh--do
oblige us a', sir, by eatin, and you'll maybe find the mutton-ham no
that bad, though I've kent it fatter--and, as you hae a lang walk afore
you, excuse me, sir, for being sae bauld as to suggeest a glass o'
speerit in your milk. The gudeman is temperate, and he's been sae a' his
life--but we keep it for a cordial--and that bottle--to be sure it's a
gey big ane--and would thole replenishing--has lasted us sin'
Whitsuntide."

So presseth us to take care of number one the gudewife, while the
gudeman, busy as ourselves, eyes her with a well-pleased face, but saith
nothing, and the bonny wee bit lassie sits on her stool at the wunnock
wi' her coggie ready to do any service at a look, and supping little or
nothing, out of bashfulness in presence of Christopher North, who she
believes is a good, and thinks may, perhaps, be some great man. Our
third bannock has had the gooseberry jam laid on it thick by "the
gudewife's ain hand,"--and we suspect at that last wide bite we have
smeared the corners of our mouth--but it will only be making matters
worse to attempt licking it off with our tongue. Pussie! thou hast a
cunning look--purring on our knees--and though those glass een o' thine
are blinking at the cream on the saucer--with which thou jalousest we
intend to let thee wet thy whiskers,--we fear thou mak'st no bones of
the poor birdies in the brake, and that many an unlucky leveret has lost
its wits at the spring of such a tiger. Cats are queer creatures, and
have an instinctive liking to Warlocks.

And these two old people have survived all their children--sons and
daughters! They have told us the story of their life--and as calmly as
if they had been telling of the trials of some other pair. Perhaps, in
our sympathy, though we say but little, they feel a strength that is not
always theirs--perhaps it is a relief from silent sorrow to speak to one
who is a stranger to them, and yet, as they may think, a brother in
affliction--but prayer like thanksgiving a