pected effervescence of female spirit; "wha' wants ye to gan gin ye like to stay

"What for do I gang on, ask ye," interrupted Girzy, determined to keep her vantage ground, "what for do I gang on at this gait?—rather tell me what for is a' this stramash? -What for do you come hame like a fury, wi' yer een on a low, and a voice louder than Bell Gordy's, and tell an auld servant to gang her gait, because she happened to be no just in the hoose when ye arrived at an unexpected and untimeous hour frae the country? Oh, Mr. Spreull, but ye're a doure and a hard man, and that a' the warld says o' ye. But fare ye weel; for a' that's come and gane," here she softened her voice, "I wadna part wi' ye in ill bluid; there, tak the keys," producing, at the same time, a large bunch, and extending her hand with them towards her master, "there, tak the keys, ye'll find a' things right; and fare ye weel, for beneath your roof-tree I shall nae sleep anither night."

Whether Girzy really intended to take her departure, or whether this was merely a rhetorical artifice, is beyond my fathom to determine. But the very idea of such an event, so utterly unlooked for, was evidently not a little appalling to my uncle. If artifice it was in Girzy, never was artifice better supported by external demonstrations of truth. She had assumed, in the course of her speech, a stately port and demeanour, to her unwonted. A look of high resolve sat throned on her brow, as she stretched forth her hands with the keys to her astonished master.

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'What, in God's name, Girzy, mak's ye speak such haevers as ye've been bletherin' for the last five minutes, and what for do ye keep raxin' the keys, as if I wanted them frae ye? Gie us nae mair o' your clishmaclavers, but gang ben the house, and gin ye dinna think better o't in the morning, I'se warrant you'll find nae objections cn my part to your seeking for another place."

Perceiving, now, that the contest was likely to terminate without any important results, and observing both parties to manifest an inclination for peace, on the footing of the status ante bellum, I took an early opportunity of withdrawing from the field, and returned to my quarters in the College.

IN youth, with all its gayety and excitements, "time passes o'er us with a noiseless lapse;" and his course is swift and trackless as that of a bird. Spring was now gone, and it was summer. The halls of the College were once more deserted, and I, too, made preparation for departure.

The first of May is the day fixed by immemorial usage in the University, for the distribution of the prizes: a day looked forward to with hopes, and fears that kindle hope," by many youthful and ardent spirits. The great hall of the College on that day certainly presents a very pleasing and animated spectacle. The academical distinctions are bestowed with much of ceremonial pomp, in presence of a vast concourse of spectators, and it is not uninteresting to mark the flush of bashful triumph on the cheek of the victor,-the sparkling of his downcast eye, as the hall is rent with loud applause, when he advances to receive the badge of honour assigned him by the voice of his fellow-students. It is altogether a sight to stir the spirit in the youthful bosom, and stimulate into healthy action faculties which, but for such excitement, might have conLatted in usbroler slumber. Of such distinctions, irregular as my lo its of wood, and Foon, I was a portaker. In some or my bassos ! 126 frste in all I card ct some the successful appleat on ted, taw w looking back on the which I spent in the College

a mot

to it, the acquisition of that love of literature, which has me, died within me, and in which I have found a relief and a resource, under circumstances when its place could not have been otherwise supplied.

Of my family I have of late said little, yet they were but seldom absent from my thoughts, and with the different members of it I kept up a constant intercourse by letter. My father seldom wrote to me, and when he did, his letters betrayed little of that affectionate feeling which might be ex

pected to breathe in the confidential intercourse of a parent, and an only son. His letters were indeed neither harsh nor unkind, but they were cold and stately, and in character those of a monitor rigid in the performance of a duty, more than of a father, whose hopes were garnered up in the object he addressed. From my mother I heard more frequently, but writing, was an exertion to which she was frequently unequal, and my principal correspondent was Jane. In the letters of that dear sister, nothing that interested me, was too insignificant to find a place. She gathered information from the grooms and keeper of my stud and kennel, which she faithfully embodied (bating a few technical mistakes,) in her epistles. She told me of Hecuba, my favourite old mare, and enlarged on the colour and beauty of her foal, which little Lucy fed daily in the paddock. She spoke, too, of Don and Ponto,—of Ariel, my little spaniel, petted and caressed by all, for the sake of her absent master. The accounts which I received from Jane of my mother's health, though unfavourable, did not excite in me any alarm. Nor did either Jane or my father appear to feel such. She had, I was told, become more feeble, but a trip to Brighton was meditated, and the sea-breezes would restore her strength. She suffered from a severe cough; but this the warmth of the approaching summer would remove. Her spirits, too, were good, and her letters betrayed no symp tom of the languor of disease. It is not the character of

youth to anticipate evil. Death is then regarded as a distant, though inevitable event, to whose dreaded approach we shut our eyes and stop our ears, till his chariot-wheels are at hand, and he already thunders at the gate.

In this situation did matters stand, when, at the conclusion of the College session, I wrote to my father to learn his wishes as to my motions. My friend Conyers was about to visit one of his guardians in Yorkshire, an old fox-hunting squire, where he was to remain till a cornetcy of dragoons had been ob tained for him. We proposed a tour by the Lakes, and he pressed me to accompany him on his visit, before returning to my own family. I mentioned this scheme to my father, and requested his consent. He gave it, but desired that I would take advantage of my being in Yorkshire to offer a visit to our relation the Earl of Amersham, with whom, from the seclusion ́in which my father had spent the latter years of his life, little intercourse, during my remembrance, had been maintained. To the advantages which might arise from keeping up this connexion, he was not insensible. The Earl was ministerial

in his politics, and had a borough or two at command; and therefore he was, at least, a person worth courting, by a young man just about to enter the world, with fewer friends and smaller fortune than was desirable. My mother wrote accordingly to the Countess, with whom she had at one period of her life been intimate, informing her that she could not hear of my being in Yorkshire without feeling anxious that I should become personally known to relations, for whom both she and my father entertained so perfect a regard.

one.

Preliminaries being at length settled for our departure, Conyers and myself set forth on our excursion, with light and joyous hearts. My parting with my uncle was to me an affecting Before I rose to say farewell, at our last interview, we had been conversing for about an hour. I had laid before him with perfect openness and sincerity my hopes and prospects, for I then regarded him only as a warm and faithful friend. He could scarcely be expected to approve of my partiality for a military life, but he had knowledge enough of character to perceive that my inclinations were not to be controlled on this matter, and he did not seriously attempt it.

"Weel, Cyril," said he, "since ye will be a sodger, and are fool enough to gang to be shot at for twa or three shillings a day, when ye might stay at hame and do far better, it's needless for me to try and reason you out o' what I see ye've set your heart on. But gang where ye like, ye'll hae the prayers o' an auld man for the blessings o' Providence on your head, May God's mercy be a fence and a buckler to you in the day of battle, and his grace ever guide you and protect you in the perilous course of life on which you are about to enter."

Here the old man was silent, the expression of his face was stern and unmoved as ever, but my own heart sympathetically told me of all that was working in his. Tears gushed from my eyes as I rose to bid him adieu. I endeavoured, but I could not speak. He grasped my hand in his, with a strong and yet somewhat tremulous pressure. For a minute there was silence, but the old man became gradually calmer, and thus spoke :Farewell, Cyril, farewell; it's like that on this side o' the grave we may never meet again. Yet I may live to hear o' your well-doing, and that will be to me the best and maist joyfu' tidings I can hear in this world. Gang, but mind while I live, gin ye want a friend to help you in time of need, ye hae yin in your auld uncle that will no forsake you in your trouble. Gang, and an auld man's blessing be on your head, and his prayers shall follow for your happiness and prosperity, wherever

As he spoke,

it may please God that your lot may be cast." he laid his hand solemnly on my head, then embracing me, he turned suddenly from me. I rushed, much moved, from the apartment, and in a moment found myself-in the arms of Girzy. Before I succeeded in extricating myself from this unpleasant predicament, I had undergone the penalty of several kind kisses, while I felt her arms clasping my neck with such a gripe, as that with which a vulture seizes a lamb. "Just promise to come back again," said the worthy creature with red eyes and in a choking voice-"Just promise to come back and see us again, and I'll let you gang.'

"Yes, yes," I answered, anxious to escape, and quite overcome by this unexpected prolongation of the scene-" Yes, and may God bless you;" and by a sudden effort I released myself from her grasp, and effected my escape.

No cure for mental depression is so efficacious as travelling. My heart was heavy when, seated in the Carlisle mail vis à vis to my friend Conyers, we whirled rapidly through the Gallowgate, and bade a long, probably an eternal farewell to Glasgow. With reverted eyes I gazed upon the lofty towers of the Cathedral, till, by the increasing distance, they could no longer be distinctly traced in the dense canopy of smoke which overhung the city. My attention, however, was soon engrossed by the new objects which were constantly presenting themselves as we advanced, and long before we reached Hamilton, "my bosom's lord sat lightly on its throne," and my spirits were light and buoyant as the air I breathed.

Never did I pass a more delightful week than that which we spent in the neighbourhood of the lakes, in exploring their transcendent scenery. Amidst such objects, and at such an age, was it possible for beings, with hearts young and unoppressed by the cares of the world, to be otherwise than happy? We required no artificial stimulus,- -no extraneous excitement, to goad on our fancy to enjoyment. "The common air, the earth, the skies," were in themselves all sufficient. They gave us then, what millions, did I possess them, could not purchase now. In youth happiness is cheap, but the enjoyments of a jaded spirit must be dearly bought, and when bought, are vapid.

On quitting the lakes, a day's journey brought us to the house of Squire Parkyns, who received both his ward and myself with a hearty welcome. He was a gentleman of a good estate, and a justice of the quorum, a warm-hearted and wellmeaning man; and marked by that devotion to field-sport