of horror and despair, I would testify to him and to the world, the depth, the intensity of my affection, and the strength and constancy of its endurance.” She paused; and Mrs Edmonstone, who began to think she was deranged, took the baby into her arms, and began to fondle it, as people do with children. The young woman continued. "I can endure this suspense, this torture, no longer. For the last two hours every nerve has been strained, and stretched, and strung, to the very uttermost. Every noise I hear fills me with alarm. If he does not come to me, I shall go to him!” She paused again, and then somewhat suddenly addressed Mrs Edmonstone. 66 My good woman, might I request you to do me a favour ?" "Oh, ay!" was the answer, "ony thing in my power-ony thing in reason!" "Just to take charge of my baby," said the young woman, till my return. I am going down to the market to seek my husband: I'll be back very soon!" 66 Oh, willingly!" said Mrs Edmonstone, "if you'll promise no to abide lang, I've business to dae in the toon mysel'; besides, I've to seek my ain husband, and it 'll no be very easy to find him. He'll be in some public likely wi' his cronies beside him, and the gill-stoup before him: Tam likes his bead, especially on a market-day-and what for no?" The young woman hastily, but fondly, kissed her infant. Mrs Edmonstone inquired if it was like its father? "Heaven forbid it ever should!" said the mother with a shudder. "Eh! but it's a bonny baby-a sweet wee lamb-I'll just sit doon here, on the same stane ye war sittin' on, till ye come back, sae that ye canna miss me !" 66 Thankye! Thankye!" said the young woman; "and here, take my cloak about ye till I return; you will, perhaps, feel cold, and I will not require it!" She threw the cloak on Mrs Edmonstone's shoulders and departed. The child, finding itself in strange hands, soon became noisy and troublesome, and Mrs Edmonstone, therefore, set herself most assiduously to sing it asleep. Just as she had succeeded, and was making a comfortable bed for it on her knee, a tall, swarthy-complexioned man, walked quickly past her, threw a black pocket-book into her lap, and as quickly disappeared. "Eh! what's this?" said Mrs Edmonstone, too much astonished to observe in what direction the stranger had gone. "Whaur can this ha'e come frae? It's our Tam's pocketbook I declare! and what is better, fu' o' notes! Either it or me's bewitched, I think. But odd! there's something no right in that wind! I wish that limmer was back for her brat. I hope she doesna mean to leave the bairn wi' me a'thegither. Gude forgi'e me! I wonder how Tam wad look if I brought hame to him a wean that's no my ain. That wad be waur than losing his pocket-book! Ay, I thought there was something wrang about the wench, an' I think yet that she is demented. I'se wager that she's yane o' the Showfolk, ta'en to bad habits-greeting in yon gate, and makin' me greet tae; but I wonder what Tam will say to this kind o' wark-it's clean past my comprehension. There's ae thing clear, however, that he's lost his pocket-book, and I've fund it." Whatever might have been Mrs Edmonstone's suspicions of the young woman, they were dissipated by her return, and as soon as she saw her, she asked her if she had seen her husband. "Alas! no," replied the young woman; "I sought for him every where, but I could hear nothing of him." "Weel a weel," said Mrs Edmonstone, "there's your bairn, and there's your cloak, and now I've but ae advice to gi'e ye, and that is, mak' yourself scarce oot this place as soon as ye can, for we're a' honest folk here, and harbour neither robbers or gipsey folk." Mrs Edmonstone hastened to the market, where she found her husband nearly in a state of distraction. He had made inquiry at every body if they had seen ought of his pocket-book, but no one could give him any information on the subject. As soon as he perceived his wife, he poured into her sympathetic ear the full extent of his misfortune. "I canna haud up my head after this!" he exclaimed ; "I may as weel dee at ance at the back o' some auld dyke-I'm clean ruinedpocket-book and a' It's no sae bad's that, Tam;" replied his wife; "come awa frae the market, and I'll tell ye something that'll maybe astonish ye: oots, come awa!" she continued, dragging him by the coat. "Get awa, woman!" said Thomas, "is this a time for your jikes an' your astonishing stories. What ye ha'e to say, can ye na say't here. Odd, woman, ye'll pit me mad!" “Ou, ay, Tam, but it'll be wi' joy, lad. Come awa and hear my secret." "D-n yer secret!" said Thomas in a fury: "I tell ye, I've lost my pocket-book!" "And I tell you, I've fund it!" said his dearie, producing it, "and here it is!" "So it is the identical pocket-book!" cried Thomas. "Whaur did ye get it—but ye'll tell me a' that again. Let's see, though, if a's safe! ten-twenty-thretty-forty-and three twenties is a hundred-and five tens is fifty-ou, ay! a's here-a's safe-and I think, wife, ye deserve a new goun for yer luck. Come up to Herkes, the haberdasher, and I'll treat ye to a braw ane!" So saying, he clasped his black pocket-book with an air of triumph, and with no less satisfaction gave his wife a smack that was heard over the whole market. Ever afterwards, the story of the black pocket-book formed one of his most amusing stories, when he was disposed to treat his fireside circle with a hearty laugh at his own expense. EPIGRAM. Jack keeps his bed, and swears he's very ill, TO INA. BY WILLIAM KENNEDY, ESQ. THY Soul's most pensive beauty seems That he whose heart doth bless thee, deems Through life to journey on, A flower there is of modest hue, Lovest to soothe the troubled brow And turn the gloom to light. |