you, Jock; I couldna harm you! I never wull harm you. I'll feed ye noo; I'll gie ye shoon; I'll stan' yer frien"." Jock looked up, and in a calm tone said, "My head is spinnin' and my heart is sick! I havna eaten a bit since yesterday. Dinna flycht on me eenoo, I'm no mysel'; wait a wee, Mr. Mercer, and then ye can abuse me, or kick me." With still greater calm he added in a few seconds, and looking round like one waking up more and more into life," I hae been dreaming or raving! Man, Mercer, I think I tak' fits sometimesespecially when I'm lang wi'oot meat. What was I saying eenoo?" Jock, like a man worn out with some great exertion, sat with his head bent down between his hands—the veins of his forehead swollen. The Sergeant, after some private explanation with Katie, got tea and wholesome food ready for Jock; and that he might take it in peace, Adam said that he had to give Mary another lesson in the bed room. Hall was thus left alone with his food, of which he ate sparingly. When Adam again entered the kitchen, Jock was calm. The Sergeant soon engaged him in conversation after his own method, beginning by telling some of his soldier stories, and then bit by bit unfolding the Gospel of Peace to the poor man, and seeking to drop a few loving words from his own softened heart to soften the heart of the Prodigal. The only remark Jock made was, "I wish I'd been in a battle, and been shot, or dee'd wi' oor Jamie! But what for did I tell you a' this? I never spak' this way to mortal man! It's that bird, I tell ye. What's wrang wi't?" "Naething!" replied the Sergeant; "it's a' nonsense ye're talking. I'll let ye see the cratur, to convince ye that he is jist as natural and nice as a mavis or laverock." 66 cheerie, and mak' us a' cheerie." Jok took the bread and offered it to Charlie, who, seeing the gift, declared "A man's a man for a' that!' "Guid be aboot us!" said Hall, starting back; "Hear what he says to me! If that's no a witch, there's none on yirth! I said I was a deevil, he says I'm a man!" "And sae ye are a man for a' that, and no sic a bad ane as ye think. Cheer up, Jock!" said Adam, extending his hand to him. Jock took the proffered hand, and said, "I dinna understan' a' this-but-butI was gaun to say, God bless ye! But it's no for me to say that; for I never was in a decent hoose afore but only in jails, and amang tramps and ne'er-do-weels like mysel'. I'm no up tae mainers, Sergeant— ye maun excuse me." Jock rose to depart. Before doing so he looked again round the comfortable clean room - at the nice fire and polished grate at Charlie's bed with its small white curtains-and at the bird, so happy in its cage-then, as if struck by his own ragged clothes and old boots, he exclaimed, "It wasna for me to have been in a house like this." Passing the bed room door, he waved his hand, saying, "Fareweel, mistress; fareweel, Mary," and turning to the Sergeant, he added, "and as for you, Sergeant". There he stopped - but ending with a special farewell to the starling, he went to the door. "Come back soon and see me," said the Sergeant. "I'll be yer frien', Jock. I hae listed ye this day, and I'll mak' a sodger o' ye vet, an' a better ane, I hope, than mysel'." "Whisht, whisht!" said Jock. "I have mair respec' for ye than to let ye be my frien'. But for a' that, mind I'm no gaun to pay ye for my boots and ye'll hae them ready 'gin Friday nicht, for Saturday's fishin'-fareweel! "A' richt, Jock," said Adam. No sooner had Hail left the house than the Sergeant said to himself, “God have mercy on me! I to be unhappy after that! I wi' Katie and Mary! I wi' mercies tempoStop!" said Jock, "I dinna like him. ral and spiritual mair than can be numHe is ower guid for me! I tell ye I'm a bered! Waes me! what have I done? deevil! But bad as I am - and I'll never Starling, indeed! that's surely no the quesbe better, nor ever do ae haun's turn o'tion-but starvation, ignorance, cruelty, guid in this world. - never, never, nev er!" The Sergeant rose and took down the cage, placing it before Hall, saying, "Jist look at his speckled breest, and bonnie ee! Gie him this bit bread yersel', and he'll be hate, despair, hell at our verra doors! God help puir Jock Hall, and may He forgive Adam Mercer!" Jock got his boots on Friday night, well repaired. He said nothing but "Thank ye," and "Ye'll get naething frae me." But on Saturday evening a fine basket of trout was brought by him to the Sergeant's door. Jock said, "There's beauties! Never saw better trout! splendid day!" But when the Sergeant thanked him, and of fered him a sixpence, Jock looked with wonder, saying "Dinna insult a bodie!" she looked at Hall with an expression which said, "What do you think of that?" Then having been invited by Hall to tell him all about this theft, she did so, continuing her narrative up to the moment when she was ordered out of the house by Adam; saying now as on that occasion, "But I hae friens, and I'll pit Smellie to smash him yet! I'll get my revenge oot 'o him! the auld blackguard that he is. Smellie is my frien', and he has mair power, far, than Adam wi' the minister." So thought Mrs. Craigie. "Is Smellie your frien'?" asked Hall, without taking his pipe out of his mouth, "and does he hate Adam? and does he want Mary back to you? On the Sunday, when the Sergeant went to church, as we have already described, Jock Hall was quartered for the day with Mrs. Craigie. To do Smellie justice, he did not know how worthless this woman was, far less did the Kirk Session. She was cunning and plausible enough to deceive both. Her attendance at church was sufficient to keep up appearances. The custom of boarding out pauper children with widows, when respectable, has on the whole worked" well, and even now is infinitely superior to the workhouse system. Mrs. Craigie belonged to the exceptional cases. She in the meantime accommodated any lodger who might turn up. "That does he," replied Mrs. Craigie; and he wad gie onything to get Mary back to me." 66 "Then, my certes, Smellie has power! nae doot o' that," remarked Hall, with a grim smile; for he has helpit to pit me mony a time into the jail. Wad it obleege him muckle to get Mary back frae the Sergeant? Wad he befrien' me if I helped him?" asked Jock confidentially. 66 It wad be a real treat till him!" exclaimed Mrs. Craigie," and he wad befrien' ye a' yer life! An', Hall "Him!" exclaimed Mrs. Craigie; "Ise warrant he was - notorious!" Jock and Mrs. Craigie were at the win dow, a second story one, criticizing the passers-by to church, as one has seen the loungers at a club window do the ordinary passers-by on week days. The Sergeant and his wife, with Mary following them, suddenly attracted their attention. "But," asked Jock, interrupting her, "The auld hypocrite!" exclaimed Mrs."what did ye say aboot poachin'? Was Craigie; "there he gangs, as prood as a Adam in that line?" peacock, haddin' his head up when it should be bowed doon wi' shame to the dust! An' his wife, tae! eh! what a bannet! — sic a goon! Sirs me! Baith are the waur o' the wear. Ha ha ha! And Mary! as I declare, wi' new shoon, a new bannet, and new shawl! The impudent hizzy that she is! Its a' to spite me, for I see'd her keekin' up to the window. But stealt bairns can come to nae guid; confoond them a' though I shouldna say it on the Sabbath day." "Hoo d'ye ken?" inquired Jock. "Smellie telt me! but mind ye, he said I was to keep it quait till he gied me the wink, ye ken;" and Mrs. Craigie gave a knowing wink. She did not know that Smellie had already peached. "For hoo Smellie kent was this, that he had some sort o' business in the place whaur Mercer leeved that's north in Bennock parish, afore he was a sodger; and Smellie picked up a' the story o' his poachin',- for Smellie is awfu' sharp; but he would never tell it till he could pit it like a gag into the prood mouth o' Adam; and Smellie says he will pit it in noo, and let Adam gnaw his teeth on't," said Mrs. Craigie. was Hall manifested a singular inquisitiveness to know as much as possible about those poaching days, and their locality, until at last being satisfied, and having learned that the old keeper of Lord M still alive, though, as Mrs. Craigie said, "clean superannuat," and that he was, moreover, Adam's cousin, Jock said, "What an awfu' blackguard Adam maun be! If I had kent what I ken noo, I never wad hae gi'en him my boots to men'." "Yer boots to men'!" exclaimed Mrs. | as weel as I do, that if the Shirra― for, losh Craigie, with astonishment; "what for did ye do that? "He had nae wark." "Ser' him richt!" said Mrs. Craigie. "And I patroneesed him," continued Jock. "Ha! ha! It was far ower guid o' ye, Jock, tae patroneese him," said Mrs. Craigie. "Ye'll no pay him, I houp? But he is sic a greedy fellow, that he micht expect even a puir soul like you to pay." "Me pay him!" said Jock with a laugh, "maybe when I hae paid the debt o' natur'; no till then." "But, Jock," asked Mrs. Craigie, almost in a whisper, "did ye see Mary, the wee slut?" "I did that," replied Jock, "an' it wad hae broken yer feelin' heart, Lucky, had ye seen her!-no lying as a puir orphan paid for by the Session ocht to lie, on a shake-doon, wi' a blanket ower her, my certes, guid eneuch for the like o' her, and for the bawbees paid for her " - Mrs. Craigie, instead of accepting the advice of her "ne'er-do-weel" lodger, fell into a meditative mood. What could she be thinking about? Her Sabbath thoughts came to this, in their practical results a proposal to Jock Hall to seize Mary as she | was returning from church, and to bring her again under the protection of her dear old motherly friend. She could not, indeed, as yet take her from under the Sergeant's roof by force, but could the Sergeant retake her if once under her roof again? Jock, after some consideration, entertained the proposal, discussed it, and then came to terms. "What wull ye gie me?" he at last asked. "A glass o' whuskey and a saxpence !" said Mrs. Craigie. "Ba! ba!" said Jock; "I'm nae bairn, but gleg and canny. Saxpence! Ye ken me! I ken baith him and the law ower weel! if he heard ye were plottin' an' plannin' to grip a bairn that way on the Sabbath, and paying me for helpin' yemy word! you and me wad be pit in jail; and though this micht be a comfort to me — lodgings and vittals for naething, ye ken, and a visit to an auld hame—it wadna do for a Christian woman like you, Lucky! Eh, lass? it wad never do! What wad the minister and Smellie say? no' to speak' o' the Sergeant? - hoo he wad craw! Sae unless ye keep it as quait as death, an' gie me half-a-crown, I'll no pit my han' on the bairn." "The bargain's made!" said Mrs. Craigie. "But ye maun wait till I get a shilling mair frae Mrs. D'rymple, as I've nae change." "Tell her to come ben," said Jock. "Can ye trust her wi' the secret? Ye should get her to help ye, and to swear, if it comes to a trial, that the bairn cam' to ye o' her ain free consent. I'm ready, for half-a-crown mair, to gie my aith to the same effec'." "Ye're no far wrang!" said Mrs. Craigie. "I can trust Peggy like steel. And I'm sure Mary does want to come to me. That's the truth and nae lee. So you and Peggy D'rymple may sweer that wi' a guid conscience." "But my conscience," said Jock, "is no sae guid as yours or Peggy's, an' it'll be the better o' anither half-croon, in case I hae to swear, to keep it frae botherin' me. But I'll gie ye credit for the money, an' ye'll gie me credit for what I awe ye for my meat and lodgin' since Monday." "A' richt, a' richt, Jock; sae be't,” replied Mrs. Craigie, as she went to fetch her neighbour, who lived in the same flat. Mrs. Dalrymple was made a member of the privy council which met in a few minutes in Mrs. Craigie's room, the door being locked. "I'm nae hypocrite," confessed Jock. "I scorn to be ane, as ye do; for ye dinna preten' to be unco guid, and better than ither folk, like Adam Mercer, or that godly man Smellie. I tell ye, then, I'm up to onything for money or drink. I'll steal, I'll rob, I'll murder, I'll " was to be Mrs. Dalrymple's pay for her valued aid. Hall arranged that the moment they saw the Sergeant coming from church, they were to give a sign to him; and then they-leaving the window, and retiring behind the door- were to be ready to receive Mary when brought to the house. To enable Hall to execute the plot with more ease, Mrs. Craigie gave him, at his own suggestion, and in order to entice Mary, a few spring flowers she had got the evening before from a neighbour's garden, as a 66 posey "for the church-which she had not, however, attended, being deprived of the privilege, as she meant to assure Smellie, by illness. Jock had already accepted of a glass of whiskey. But as the exciting moment approached, and as the two women had helped themselves to a cheerer, as they called it, he got a second glass to strengthen his courage. His courage, however, did not seem to fail him, for he once or twice whistled and hummed some song to the great horror of his good friends; and, strange to say, he also fell into a fit of uncontrollable laughter at the thought, as he said, of how the old hypocrite and his wife would look when Mary was missed, and found to be with Mrs. Craigie! Much hearty sympathy was expressed with his strange hu mour. him, and rattling down-stairs, reached the : Mrs. Craigie, in her excitement and curiosity could not resist the temptation of going again to the window, and no sooner had she seen Mary enter the close than she ran behind the door and joined Mrs. Dalrymple, saying, " The wee deevil is catched, and coming!" In a moment Jock was at the door, and while he firmly held the key outside, he opened it so far as to let in his head. Then addressing the women, he said in an underbreath, or rather hiss: -"Whisht! dinna speak! I catched her! I gied her the posey for Mrs. Mercer! I gied her the halfThe service in the "auld kirk," as the croon to pay Mr. Mercer for my boots!parish church is called, being over, the con- and she's hame !-an' ye'll never get her! gregation were walking home. One or two You twa limmers are cheated! and if ye of its members had already passed the win-cheep I'll tell the Shirra. Jock Hall is nae dow where sat the eager and expectant con- hypocrite! Deil tak' ye baith, and Smellie spirators. Jock Hall, with a bunch of flow-likewise! I'm aff!" and before a word could ers, was ready to run down-stairs, to the be spoken by the astonished conspirators, close mouth, the moment the appointed sig- Jock locked the door upon them, and flingnal was given. Very soon the Sergeant and ing the key along the passage he sprang his wife made their appearance a little way down-stairs and fled no one knew whither! off, while Mary-how fortunate for the plot- Mary gave the bouquet of flowers to Mrs. ters!- followed at some distance. No Mercer, whose only remark was: sooner were they discovered, than the two wad hae thocht it!” and she gave the halfwomen retired from the window, and gave crown to Adam, who said: "I never was the signal to Hall to "be off!" Having sae thankfu' for a day's wage! done so, they ensconced themselves, as in the drawer, and keep it for Jock. I'm arranged, at the back of the door, with no feared but wi' God's help I'll mak' a sodeager and palpitating hearts. ger o' him yet! For, as Charlie's bairn weel remarks: A man's a man for a' that.'" Jock sprang out, shutting the door after "Wha Pit it From the Cornhill Magazine. A WEEK IN A FRENCH COUNTRY-HOUSE. PART I. "HERE'S a letter that concerns you, Bessy," said my mother one morning a week or two ago, as I came into our little breakfast-room at Linton. "And we say you're to go," said aunt Emily. "Oh, aunt Emily! go where?" I exclaimed in utter despair, and eeling ready to cry with fatigue at the bare idea of a move in any direction. "Olympe has written," began my mother, holding up a thin letter with a yellow stamp upon it. "Yes, and you are to go," once more broke in my impetuous old aunt Emily. The letter was from the Comtesse de Caradec, in answer to one from my poor dear mother, who it seems had been writing all her alarms about my health to her old friend and pupil; and now, as soon as I could get aunt Emily to promise silence, the letter was read out to me. It was cordial and affectionate, as all her letters are, and contained the kind proposal that I should go over to Marny-les-Monts, and try what a fortnight's entire change would do towards toning me up, and shaking me out of the languor, mental and physical, which had invaded me of late, and against which, for the first time in my life, I felt quite powerless to do battle. The fact is, that my dear mother's illness, coming as it did, after a most exhausting term of hard work, had quite knocked me down. I had had a good many pupils and one or two schools also to attend during the last season; and the confinement of the life, together with the painful strain upon the nerves, which I suppose teaching music will always be to me, to the end of time, had already left me feeble and in want of rest, when mother was seized, first with bronchitis, then with inflammation of the lungs; and the terrible anxiety about her, com bined with all those days spent in her hot room, and all these nights passed by her sick-bed, had prostrated me still farther. Then came our move down to aunt Emily's cottage in Devonshire, from which I had hoped wonders; but while it seemed to be bringing mother round beautifully, and making her quite fat and rosy again, I was dwindling away into an absolute shadow; I could not walk a step without violent palpitations; I fainted dead away after being out ten minutes in the sun, and when aunt Emily spoke a little louder or sharper to me than usual, if it was only to say good morning, I began to cry. It was such a new state of things for me, that my two dear old guardian angels were getting quite troubled about me, and so after a good long discussion and many useless efforts on my part to persuade them to let me stay where I was and be quiet, it was finally decided that Madame de Caradec's kind invitation was to be accepted, and that I was to go abroad for the first time in my life, and see what entire change of air and scene would do for me. Abroad everything has been brought so close to one of late years by the increased rapidity of travelling, and every one is so continually on the move in consequence, that nothing short of Australia, or the Himalayas, answers at all now to the important sound of the word "abroad." Italy, Germany, Switzerland, are become as familiar to everybody as Portman Square or Piccadilly, and my "abroad" meant even less than all this: a bit of France just off the high-road — no more and within ten hours of England; it would take me very little longer to get there than it had taken us to come down to aunt Emily's. Madame de Caradec's mother was an English woman, but she herself was born in France, and married there, and has always lived there, both before and since her widowhood. Her only brother, who came to her when her husband died, and has re |