rough all the windings of his
discourse, varied though it certainly was, like the adventures of the
venerated Sinbad. Suffice it to say, that they were hardly out of sight
of the Cumbraes before Tom confided the whole tale of his sorrows to
the callous Anthony, who, as he expressed it, had come out for a lark,
and had no idea of the of rummaging the whole of the west coast and the
adjacent islands for a petticoat. Moved, however, by the pathetic
entreaties of Strachan, and, perhaps, somewhat reconciled to the quest
by the dim vision of an elopement, Anthony magnanimously waived his
objections, and the two kept cruising together, in a little shell of a
yacht, all round the western Archipelago. Besides themselves, there were
only a man and a boy on board.

"It was slow work," said Anthony,--"deucedly slow. I would not have
minded the thing so much if Strachan had been reasonably sociable; but
it was rather irksome, you will allow, when, after the boy had brought
in the kettle, and we had made every thing snug for the night, Master
Strachan began to maunder about the lady's eyes, and to tear his hair,
and to call himself the most miserable dog in existence. I had serious
thoughts, at one time, of leaving him ashore on Mull or Skye, and making
off direct to the Orkneys; but good-nature was always my foible, so I
went on, beating from one place to another, as though we had been
looking for the wreck of the Florida.

"I'll never take another cruise with a lover so long as I live. Tom led
me all manner of dances, and we were twice fired at from farm-houses
where he was caterwauling beneath the windows with a guitar. It seems he
had heard that flame of his sing a Spanish air at Jedburgh. Tom must
needs pick it up, and you have no idea how he pestered me. Go where we
would, he kept harping on that abominable ditty, in the hopes that his
mistress might hear him; and, when I remonstrated on the absurdity of
the proceeding, he quoted the case of Blondel, and some trash out of
Uhland's ballads. Serenading on the west coast is by no means a pleasant
pastime. The nights are as raw as an anchovy, and the midges
particularly plentiful.

"Well, sir, we could find no trace of the lady after all. Strachan got
into low spirits, and I confess that I was sometimes sulky--so we had an
occasional blow up, which by no means added to the conviviality of the
voyage. One evening, just at sundown, we entered the Sound of
Sneeshanish--an ugly plac