ird charm of this book--The sort of wood it was where the maiden
lived--Description of the Black Forest.

A story is told of a Scotchman who, loving a lassie, desired her for his
wife. But he possessed the prudence of his race. He had noticed in his
circle many an otherwise promising union result in disappointment and
dismay, purely in consequence of the false estimate formed by bride or
bridegroom concerning the imagined perfectability of the other. He
determined that in his own case no collapsed ideal should be possible.
Therefore, it was that his proposal took the following form:

"I'm but a puir lad, Jennie; I hae nae siller to offer ye, and nae land."

"Ah, but ye hae yoursel', Davie!"

"An' I'm wishfu' it wa' onything else, lassie. I'm nae but a puir ill-
seasoned loon, Jennie."

"Na, na; there's mony a lad mair ill-looking than yoursel', Davie."

"I hae na seen him, lass, and I'm just a-thinkin' I shouldna' care to."

"Better a plain man, Davie, that ye can depend a' than ane that would be
a speirin' at the lassies, a-bringin' trouble into the hame wi' his
flouting ways."

"Dinna ye reckon on that, Jennie; it's nae the bonniest Bubbly Jock that
mak's the most feathers to fly in the kailyard. I was ever a lad to run
after the petticoats, as is weel kent; an' it's a weary handfu' I'll be
to ye, I'm thinkin'."

"Ah, but ye hae a kind heart, Davie! an' ye love me weel. I'm sure
on't."

"I like ye weel enoo', Jennie, though I canna say how long the feeling
may bide wi' me; an' I'm kind enoo' when I hae my ain way, an' naethin'
happens to put me oot. But I hae the deevil's ain temper, as my mither
call tell ye, an' like my puir fayther, I'm a-thinkin', I'll grow nae
better as I grow mair auld."

"Ay, but ye're sair hard upon yersel', Davie. Ye're an honest lad. I
ken ye better than ye ken yersel', an' ye'll mak a guid hame for me."

"Maybe, Jennie! But I hae my doots. It's a sair thing for wife an'
bairns when the guid man canna keep awa' frae the glass; an' when the
scent of the whusky comes to me it's just as though I hae'd the throat o'
a Loch Tay salmon; it just gaes doon an' doon, an' there's nae filling o'
me."

"Ay, but ye're a guid man when ye're sober, Davie."

"Maybe I'll be that, Jennie, if I'm nae disturbed."

"An' ye'll bide wi' me, Davie, an' work for me?"

"I see nae reason why I shouldna bide wi' yet Jennie; but dinna ye clack
aboot work to me, for I just canna bear the tho