Whether the wind set the wrong way, or the crackling of the flames drowned his voice, he was not certain, but he was certain of this, that no attention whatever was paid to it. That he was seen he was convinced, for the whole crowd shirked off to the further side of the fire and dispersed themselves about in all directions, leaving the guy to his fate.

"If you go down now, sir, you'll find the door unlocked, I prophesy," said Roger.

"Prophesy again! but why do you think so?"

"Becos while you was a holloring I see one of the boys cut across to the cloisters, and turn down towards the chapel-door-he know'd you was safe enough up here-and took the opportunity to unlock the door."

In this, his second prophecy, Roger was quite right, and Mr. Innovate proceeded in haste to the green, which he found deserted, and arrived at the fire just in time to see the gallows which had supported his representative fall into the midst of the flames.

THE HUNTERS' RETURN; AND A LITTLE LOVE-MAKING,*

LOVE-MAKING! Love-making! Ha! ha! Fair reader, does it not make thee laugh to see the weatherbeaten, sun-dried Old Forester thus deliberately announcing that he is about to attempt a love scene-to dash headlong into a description of that all-powerful passion which our quaint friend, Burton, describes, as "a fire in a fire; the quintessence of fire"-backing his assertion by the following fearful description of an unfortunate youth, who died for love, and was dissected in the presence of Empedocles, the philosopher: "His heart was combust, his liver smoakie, his lungs dried up, insomuch that he verily believed his soul was either sod or rosted, through the vehemency of love's fire." There, young ladies!-there's a pretty fiery subject for an old fellow of three score and ten to handle!" He'll burn his fingers," you will say. That, between you and ourselves, we think very probable; but, having followed our young friend, Charles, so far through the dangers of the wilderness, we are loath to desert him, now that he is in a fair way of having his soul either “sod or rosted," by the bright eyes of his pretty cousin. No, no; we must stand by him, even at the risk of burning our fingers. But, before we reintroduce the dangerous little beauty, we must see how it fares with our male friends, whom we left at the Falls of the Cauvary, and who are now on their way back to Ootacamund.

"So ends our jungle campaign for the present," said Mansfield, throwing the reins upon the neck of his smoking horse, and removing his heavy hunting-cap, to let the cool mountain-air fan his throbbing temples, as the hunters, after a hot and rapid ride, of some twenty miles, emerged from the dense jungle which encircles the Neilgherry Hills, and commenced the toilsome but beautiful ascent which leads to their summit. "Away with the spear and the rifle for a season; and now, Charley my boy, for ladies' eyes and love-ditties! Ha! have I guessed your thoughts?"

Charles, whose eyes had been riveted on the cloud-capped summits of the mountains ever since they became visible, and whose thoughts were, at that moment, many miles in advance of his body, felt the conscious blood mount into his cheeks.

"Nay, nay, never be ashamed to own it, boy. I have seen a little of the world in my day, and never yet have I met with a real good soldier, a forward rider, or a stanch deer-stalker, who had not a soft corner in his heart for Love. What say you, Doctor, is it not

so?"

"By my troth, Captain, ye never said a truer word," replied the Doctor. "I ken weel what it is to hae a soft heart, an o'er soft heart

Continued from No. ccxxx., page 256.

for the Lasses-bless their sweet faces-hech, sirs! hech, sirs! it's just a slavish passion, yon love," and the Doctor heaved a deep sigh, and turned up the whites of his eyes, as if overwhelmed by a torrent of tender recollections,

"What! Bully Doctor," exclaimed Mansfield, laughing, "art thou, too, a victim to the tender passion? By the darts of Cupid, I would as soon have expected to see a Brahmin priest turn rope-dancer, as to find our sapient leech acting the love-sick swain. Why, thou burly Scot, I fancied if thou hadst a soft corner in thy heart at all, thy weakness was for a haunch of venison, or a bottle of Glenlivat, rather than the Ladies. But come, Doctor, confess :-who is the enslaver of thy tender heart? Tell me, in sadness, whom she is you love? name her name, I pray."

Her

But you

"Whist, Captain," said the Doctor, with a look of mock gravity, "and dinna' be speakin about things ye dinna' understand. Ye hae nae mair idea o' what true love is, ye stony-hearted deevle, than that black pagan, Heels; and ye would just like to make sport o' Maister Charles and me, because we hae the feelings o' Christian men. needna' expect us to pleasure you that far; so ye may just quit wi' your daffin. And now, lads, that ye hae minded me o't, I maun beg o' you no' to crack nae mair o' your jokes about the Glenlivat. It's a' very weel in the jungles; but in civilized society, gentlemen, I beg to remind you that it's no' good manners. In fact, it's just enough to ruin a respectable man's character; and gar folk believe that he is nae better than a poor drunken body, like my auld grand uncle, the Laird o' Bonniemoon,-rest his soul, honest man;-and ye ken weel that's no' my case-for, although I like a glass o' het toddy as weel as my neighbours, and although we have had twa or three cantie nights thegether, yet ye maun baith allow that ye hae never seen me rightly fou yet-"

"Oh! oh! Doctor!"

"Ay! ye may cry 'oh! oh! But I'll uphaud it that ye hae never seen me right fou yet, although I'll no' deny but what I hae, anes or twice, been a wee thing hearty and chatty like."

"Well, Doctor," replied Mansfield, laughing, "we'll not dispute the point. You shall have the best possible character for sobriety, and we shall not crack any more jokes about the Glenlivat. But, in return, pray give us a definition of what you consider being fou, that we may know, in future, at what particular stage of obfuscation a cannie Scot may, with propriety, be termed drunk."

"Weel, gentlemen," said the Doctor, looking wise, and taking a pinch of snuff, that's rather a kittle question to answer, for ye maun ken there is a great diversity of opeenion on that subject. Some say that a man is sober as long as he can stand upon his legs. An Ireish friend o' mine-a fire-eating, hard-drinking captain of dragoons, anes declared to me, on his honour as a soldier and a jontleman, that he would never allow any friend of his to be called drunk, till he saw him trying to light his pipe at the pump. And others there be, men of learning and respectability too, who are of opinion that a man has every right to consider himself sober as long as he can lie flat on his back, without holding by the ground. For my own part, I am a moderate person, and would allow that a man was fou, without being just so

far through as ony o' these. But, with your leave, gentlemen, I'll tell you a story, about the Laird o' Bonniemoon, that will, maybe, gar you laugh, and will, at any rate, be a good illustration of what I ca' being fou."

"Do, do, Doctor," exclaimed both the young men, delighted at the prospect of having one of the Doctor's good stories to beguile the tedium of the long ascent.

"Weel then, gentlemen, ye maun ken that the Laird of Bonniemoon was gae fond o' his bottle, in short, just a poor drunken body, as I said afore. On one occasion the laird was asked to dine with Lord R—, a neighbour of his, and his lordship, being weel acquainted with the laird's dislike to sma' drinks, ordered a bottle o' cherry brandy to be set down afore him, after dinner, instead of port, which he always drank in preference to claret, when nothing better was to be got. The laird he thought this fine heartsome stuff, and on he went, filling his glass like the rest, and telling his cracks, and ever, the mair he drank, the mair he praised his lordship's port. It was fine, full-bodied wine, and lay weel upon the stamach, no' like that puisonsome stuff, claret, that gar't a body feel as if he had swallowed a nest of puddocks. Weel, gentlemen, the laird had finished ae bottle o' cherry brandy-or, as his lordship called it, his particular port-and had just tossed off a glass of the second bottle, which he declared to be even better than the first, when his old confidential servant, Watty, came stavin into the room, and making his best boo, announced that the laird's horse was at the door."

"Get out o' that, ye fause loon,' cried the laird, pooin aff his wig and flinging it at Watty's head. 'Div ye no' see, ye blethering brute, that I'm just beginning my seccond bottle?'

"But, maister,' said Watty, scartin his lug, it's amaist twall o'clock.'

"Weel! what though it be?' said the laird, turning up his glass with drunken gravity, while the rest of the company were like to split their sides with laughing at him and Watty. It canna' be ony later, my man, so just rax me my wig, and let the naig bide a wee.'

"Weel, gentlemen, it was a cauld frosty night, and Watty soon tired o' kicking his heels at the front door; so, in a wee while, back he comes, and says he,

"Maister, maister, it's amaist one o'clock !'

"Weel, Watty,' says the laird, wi' a hiccup, for he was far through by this time, it will no' be ony earlier, Watty, my man, and that's a comfort, so you may just rest yourself a wee while longer, till I finish my bottle. A fou wame makes a stiff back, ye ken.'

"Watty was by this time just dancing mad; so, after waiting another half-hour, back he comes, in an awfu' hurry, and says he,

“Laird, laird, as true as death, the sun's rising!'

"Weel, Watty,' says the laird, looking awfu' wise, and trying wi’ baith hands to fill his glass, let him rise, my man, let him rise-he has farther to gang the day than either you or me, Watty.'

"This answer fairly dumfoundered poor Watty, and he gave it up in despair. But at last the bottle was finished: the laird was lifted into the saddle, and off he rode in high glee, thinkin a' the time, the moon was the sun, and that he had fine daylight for his journey.

"Hech! Watty, my man,' says the laird, patting his stomach, and speaking awfu' thick, we waurna' the waur o' that second bottle this frasty marning.'

"Faith,' says Watty, blawing his fingers, and looking as blue as a partan, 'your honour is, maybe, no' the waur o't, but fient a hait is my wame the better; I wish it was.'

"Weel, on they rade, fou canily, the laird gripping hard at the horse's mare, and rolling about like a bow o' meal; for the cauld air was beginning to gar the speerits tell on him.

"At last they came to a wee bit burn that crossed the road; and the laird's horse being pretty well used to having his own way, stopped short, and put down his head to take a drink. This had the effect of making the poor laird lose his balance, and away he went over the horse's ears into the very middle o' the burn. The laird, honest man, had just sense enough to hear the splash, and to ken that something was wrong; but he was that fou, that deevle a bit did he ever suspect it was himsel.

"Watty,' says he, sitting up in the middle o' the burn, and stammering out the words with great difficulty, Watty, my man, there is surely something tumbled in the burn, Watty.'

"Faith, your honour may say that,' replied Watty, like to whamble off his horse with laughing, for it's just yoursel, laird.'

"Hout fie, no, Watty!' cried the laird, with a hiccup between every word; it surely canna be me, Watty, for I'm here!'

"Now, gentlemen," continued the Doctor, "here is a case in which I would allow a man to be fou, although he had neither lost his speech nor the use of his limbs."

Why, yes, Doctor," said Mansfield, laughing, "I think when a man is so far gone, that he tumbles into the water without being conscious of it, one may fairly be allowed to pronounce him fou. But proceed, proceed, I long to hear how Watty behaved on the occasion."

"Troth, sir, he just behaved as any other douce, sober, serving-man would have done on a like occasion. After having had his laugh out-for he wasna fit to get off his horse till he had done that he trailed his master out of the water, laid him on the bank to dry, and set off to look after the laird's hat and wig, which had been carried off by the burn; for Watty was valet as well as groom, and had a great respect for the Laird's best sabath-day wig. After some trouble he succeeded in cleeking them up with the crook of his umbrella, and restored them to his master.

"The laird being fou, as aforesaid, very naturally clapped on his wig wrong side foremost; but, fou though he was, he was aware that it didna' fit him; so he tore it off in a rage, and flung it at Watty's head, saying, with a look o' great disgust,

"That's no' my wig, Watty; that's no' my wig, ye fause loon; I'll no' wear that wig!'

"Troth, then,' said Watty, quietly picking up the wig, and wiping it with the sleeve of his coat, your honour maun just be doin wi't the night, for there's nae waul o' wigs in this burn.'

64

Ha, ha, ha! he was an awfu' droll chap that Watty."

• Waul-choice, selection.