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shillings a week-payable on Monday and Thursday, by the minister of the parish; sae when he gets his siller he comes in for wholesome advice. Lack-a-day for Mall Moffatt; she'll soon come to a sair heart and a toom dish if she hearkens to him." "And will she be wiser," said her companion," if she hearkens to the others a lying lawyer, and a cursing horse couper? D'ye no ken black Ben Borthwick? Mony a day his mother and I have begged through the glens of Galloway together; and mony a queer splore we had when that chield that gallops sae gaily rode on her back. Od, lass, we ance came in at the butt end of a burial, when the wine and the brandy had been strong; I could gang to the place yet-the auld kirkyard of Dunscore. I never saw such a sight -here lay one, and there lay twothree yonder, and four beyond them -lairds and loons. Oh! sirs, but drink makes the strong feeble: ye might have bound the strongest with a straw-- some lost coats, and some lost plaids, and some lost siller; we had mair than we could weel carry. I have kenned the world some sevenand-fifty years, and never had such a windfall. But see, lass; there's lights in the hall-sae let us hasten the first seat at the hearth-the first cog at supper time, and the choice of straw beds, mayna be mocked at." And away they hastened up the brae to Bodenton.

The account which one of the young gallants gave of the attractions of this far-famed and noted place-three roods of arable land, to seventeen hundred acres of moor and moss, seemed more the result of an actual survey, than a satirical depreciation of a territory which even in the eye of one anxious of clothing the nakedness of the land in the ready-made garments of romance, seemed not a domain abounding in milk and honey. And yet, bleak and barren as it might seem to one acquainted with the fruits which follow the plough and the harrow, it was a rich and an opulent land, after its kind, and rewarded the care of the shepherd with many a fat ewe, and many a fair fleece. The blooming heather which supplied innumerable swarms of bees with the richest of all honey, sheltered a close and savoury sward of natural grass, on

which the sheep of all kinds loved to feed-the flesh and the fleece were a proverb for excellence among all the neighbouring towns; and the opulence of the late proprietor was a proof that the moor and the moss were as productive in their way as more favoured lands. Overlooking this heathery waste, and with a few greensward knolls scattered prettily about it, the house stood with all the accommodations for storing away the pastoral riches of the land, forming a square behind.

It would seem this was a busy day with the heiress of Bodenton-a day which she had set apart, and consecrated to the purposes of true love, or rustic coquetry; and she had spared no pains or expense to decorate her person, and adorn her natural charms, for the eyes of her numerous admirers. "Jenny," said the heiress to a dark-haired girl, some seventeen years old, with a nimble foot, and a merry glance, and her prime minister and chief confidante; " how mony's come-the day's near done—and nae man shall lift the latch of my door after the sheep are in the fauld.” “I know not how mony ye expect," said Jenny; "but there's sax behind the ha' door, and three before the fire. Willie Hauselock's o'er the moor an hour since, counting the ewes, and walking the marches, and every step he takes he cries, Three thousand of the Cheviot breed!-she's a rich quean; five thousand of black faced ewes!-she's a perfect princess; fifteen hundred of the old stock of Tinwald! a noble brood-the lassie's richer than the queen of Sheba; and all this fat pasturage as free to her as the wind to the hill. I wonder she can keep out of a chariot and sax; and then all her uncle's bills and money at work-if she gets nae a man she'll go mad-a man that can give her good counsel-a sensible man, no o'er far stricken in years -a considerate man, whose wisdom will cast cold water on the heat of her

temper; but I maun go warily to work; for bating that she's lightheaded, the lassie's well enough for a woman, and no very much of a fool. And now I will go and give a bode for Bodenton.""

"For the love of laughter, have done," said the heiress; "we have other folk to oblige with our mirth--and here comes auld Willie Hause

lock himself as fast as his cough will permit, and his legs may carry him-rin down, Jenny, and show him up to me; let me settle matters with him first-age should be honouredage should be reverenced-we mauna dally with thirty, nor threescore." And away flew Jenny-Jenny Jardine was her name, a full cousin sundry times removed to the laird of Cusserland. Steps were heard in the passage, a whisper and a cough, and the voice of Jenny, saying, "Hout, haud off, laird Hauselock; haud ye're smearing thumb off my bare neck-ye were nae half sae rash when my mother was a wanter." The door flew open, and in staggered the laird, panting and gasping for breath; for his treacherous conductor had fairly exhausted his breath and strength in a fruitless effort of gallantry.

If he entered confused and flushed with this unusual exertion, he saw nothing in the room to allay his agitation, but much to increase it. Instead of a meek and demure maiden, with a simple snood fastening her hair, dressed in a homespun gown, and with all the visible tokens of laborious thrift around her, he saw a stately and a pacing madam flaunting in a flounced and flowered gown, and a white hat sitting somewhat on one side, surmounted by a crest of feathers, white, red, and blue, which filled all the space between her brow and the ceiling; and fanned him into an ague fit. "Ah! laird Hauselock," said the heiress, eyeing herself at the same time, towering crest and all, in a huge mirror; come and be seated-how's ye're rheumatism? and how's ye're shortness of breath? Jenny, lass, only see what sort of a gown these flirts in the Far Vennel have made me? crape they have the presumption to call it constitution crape. Ye might win now peas through it, laird—it's as open as a salmon net." "It's a bonnie garment, lass," said the laird; "it's a braw garment, and would cost a braw penny-it's no there for twal punds. "Ye ought to be burnt for a warlock laird; only it would be a pity to lose so venerable a man-ye have guessed it--it was twelve pounds or was't the hat and feathers and the new pelisse that were twelve pounds, Jenny; or, stop, it was the new side saddle-I cannot

be quite sure." "It was none of them all," said Jenny, looking demurely on laird Hauselock, who sat in wonder and amazement, listening to this hasty summary of extravagance-" it was the pearl necklace." "The pearl necklace," said the heiress; "d'ye think men dived in the Solway for the pearls, that I could have it for such an erlepenny as twelve pounds?" "Hinnie, hinnie," said the laird; "ye speak of punds Scots, surely-and twal pund Scots for a gown would have frightened ye're grandmother into her grave.' "Punds Scots," echoed the confidante, and "punds Scots," echoed the heiress; tossing her head with such a sudden disdain, that the feathers alarmed some swarms of spiders, and sent them running to all corners of the room; "laird Hauselock, ye but joke-think you that I pay my draper, my mantua-maker, my saddler, my bookseller, my "- my winemerchant," whispered Jenny Jardine; "my wine-merchant, and my lawyer, in such vulgar money as that?" The laird leaped to his feet; "wine-merchant, Mary Moffatt, and lawyer," cried he; that's warse than the moorill and original sin seven times told. Hark ye, lass, I had a thought; but far away has that thought flown now-to have put smooth words in my mouth, and made a bode for bonnie Bodenton; but the back of my hand be to'tthere's that petticoated she-fiend, Extravagance I name nae namessitting on the marchdyke, and squandering it foot and furrow, foot and furrow. And yet," said he, as he hastened out of the house, " I have, perhaps, been hasty—a wise word and a sharp curb hand-a bite on the bridle a-bit it would have killed her, or cured her-and either way I would have been a gainer-I have been rash-I have been rash."

"O! my bonnie petticoated shefiend, lady Extravagance!" cried Jenny Jardine; "lord, but ye madamed it rarely; where are your side-saddles, and your necklace of pearls-and shall men go dive in the Solway for them? Now this is what I call acting-men and women stand on the stage and make mouths at one another; but this is what I call acting." "I think we have delivered the laird," said the heiress," of his last folly-that of making love. I have

often wondered what made him shave once a fortnight, and wash once a week, and go to the kirk before me, with his skin-wool hose on, and look at me all the time of the sermon. O! the folly of marrowless bones. I'll like myself the worse for a fortnight at least, for moving such an imperfect piece of humanity as him. Now Jenny, woman, I wish we had that poor misguided lad-what's his name -him that hounds the dogs when there's nought astray, and dauners about the dykes looking at the moon -the moon has much to answer for about him. Can ye no help me to his name, woman? It's he who lies on his back, watching the plover coming through the cloud, and the morning lark, as it rises with its dewy wings, and perfumes heaven with the sweets of earth. Well, I think I'm growing mad myself, and making poetry." "Aha!" cried Jenny; "I'll wad ye mean nae wiser a man than honest Tam Carruders; and speak of fun, and Folly comes to your elbow, for yonder he comes only look at him, he steps like a gander in a deep snaw-he's run against the tether'd cow, and the cows up wi' a rowte-he's run midleg deep into the goose-pond, and all the goslings are quacking. See he shakes the mud from him, and makes for our door, as if our house was Bedlam, and we kept lunatics. But, stop; he's either run against the door cheek and chipt the free-stone, or he has met laird Hauselock emack i' the teeth-hear at the dunt and the tumble, they're both down for sixpence. Oh! folly at eighteen, and madness at threescore; spare one

another. The laird's away muttering, and here comes the ballad-maker

look what a raised look he has— he's about to recite verse; and I would rather he would bite me-the bite may be mended, but there's nae cure for rhyme, it will be the death of us a'."

The youth stood before them ere the satirical portrait of his person and pursuits was well finished. He was dressed in homely cloth-had a firm, well-made form, and a free step; an unembarrassed air, and a modest eye. Yet his keen blue eye was one that could seize on folly as readily as a hawk seizes its natural prey, and it seemed too, conversant with the soft, the gentle, and the moving. "A song, a song, Tam, my lad," cried the heiress, as the youth entered; "A song, a merry song, and the subject shall be the courtship of laird Hauselock and the heiress of Bodenton. There's a prime theme; come now, clean_off hand-extempore as folk say, when they think hard and consider long. Come, man, wooe the muse, or what call ye the dame who supplies ye with folly?" "My Muse must be the heiress of Bodenton," said the bard. "A fair mark's easily hit," said the heiress: "Tam, ye're improving; Jenny, the lad's wiser than we thought of; he has deviated into sense once to my knowledge; the lad mends, as the wife said, when her son fell from coughing to swearing. Come now, Tammie lad, since I maun say saft things, give us a slap at auld Hauselock." The bard sung, with more archness than melody, the following hasty rhymes.


A gallant auld carle a courting came,

And ask'd with a cough, was the heiress at hame;
He was shaven smooth, with love-knots in his shoon,
And his breath was as cauld as the Hallowmass moon:

He has twa top-coats on, and a gray plaid;

Be kind to him, maiden, he's weel arrayed;

His lairdship lies by the kirk-yard dyke,

For he'll be rotten ere I be ripe.

The carle came ben with a groan and a cough,
And I was sae wilful and wicked as laugh:
He spoke of his lands, and his horses, and kye,
They were worth nae mair than a blink of my eye;
He spake of his gold-his locks, as he spake,
From the gray did grow to the glossy black:
And I scarce could say to the carle's gripe,
I doubt ye'll be rotten ere I be ripe.

"Stay, stay, ye malicious rhymer," said the heiress of Bodenton. "I have done," said the rustic poet. "Done!" said Jenny," and left my mistress in such a dubious situation, sitting at the fag-end of a ridiculous verse in the foul grips of auld Hauselock! why, she'll be laughed at from Corehead to Caerlaverock." "It's as weel as it is, Jenny," said her mistress, "he'll make love to me himself in the third verse, and I'll be obliged to drown myself. But dinna let us be too hard on the poor ladthat sang seems the work of a reasonable creature. If he would walk on the road instead of the wild burn bank; if he would talk to men, and let the moon alone; if he would watch the lambs, and no the laverocks; and if he would smear sheep, and learn to ken a crock-ewe from a twa-year auld hogg, he might become a douce member of society, and hope to be buried in a more sanctified spot than a cross-road, or where three lairds' lands meet. But gae thy ways; we may hope to stay the snow from falling, the lamb from bleating, or the calf from baeing; but never hope to stay a measurer out of rhyme from pouring out his melodious folly. Jenny, I hear the clatter of horses' hoofs-some laird of an acre of peat-moss comes to give another bode for Bodenton-tell me who it is, my lass; I shall see this harmless lad out at the door myself;" and out of her chamber she led him. Jenny, who had an ear as accurate as her eye, heard a smothered whisper, and a secret kiss. "Aha," said she, "I maun be cannie how I speak of bonnie Thomas Carruders, he's come as far ben as young Gilchrist, of Gilchristland, or young Johnnie Brooch, of Burdockan, and has nae a penny in his pouch, nought but a fair face, and a dainty tongue with a pleasant sound."

ment of a maiden, prone to thrift, and averse to finery, sat down with a lapful of wool, and proceeded to prepare it for spinning. Jenny uttered a loud laugh, and came running to the heiress, "Losh, woman, who d'ye think's come, wha but young Boroland, up to the knees in leather, and up to the lugs in lace; he's scented too, as I'm a sinner; I feel the smell of him where I stand. Mistress, have a care of your heart; he's been in England, and learnt better English than ye find in the bible; I heard him speak when he returned from the south; all the dogs of the town barked, and auld Nanse Macmurdo took him for a Frenchman, and cried out,' Invasion.' Here he comes; listen to the creeking of his boots; it reminds me of the melody of Tam Carruders's sang."

Close and sly, with an eye like a cat, and an ear like a mouse, did little Jenny Jardine look and listen. She stood on tip-toe, she laid back the locks from her ear, she edged herself close to the window, and with lips asunder, and looks alert, sought to gather intelligence. Her young mistress, meantime, laid aside her gallant hat and plume, her gown with the many flounces, and reducing her garments to the moderate establish

"Jenny," said her mistress, with a voice meant to reach another ear than Jenny's," has the herd gathered all the teats of wool which we saw sticking on the fauld bars? Has the lass scalded the whey goans, and skimmed the crop of whey? Only look at this web of hauselock gray which I mean to make mantles of; the weaver has made remnant thrums as lang as my arm; I wish he were here to hang him in them; I shall give my weaving to the douce Macgees, they're Cameronians, and have a conscience. And see, Jenny, woman, I wish the man who tarred this fleece had been obliged to swallow the tar stick; he has laid it on as if tar grew on the heather top, and the butter that mingled it was dug from the ground. I wonder ever my uncle saved a sixpence." " And worse than all that," cried Jenny, "auld Mysie has heated the milk for the cheese with good dry peat instead of the heather birn. And she says beside, and vows, that hauselocks, and udderlocks, and the teats of wool that stick to brier and bush, besides the sheep that die of the moorill, or are worried by the fox, are all fees and shepherds' perquisites, and that auld Bodenton was as a summer sun, yielding light, and heat, compared to the new heiress." (c Heiress," cried her mistress, "I'll no be long an heiress amid such wastry as this. I am a dead lamb; and all these moor→ land crows come to have the picking of me. Oh that I had a man to help

me to hold my gear together. I'll be herried out of house and hall. And here I must sit, and learn to twine a coarse thread for the penny pay, and quote auld-world maxims of household rule, and domestic thrift, to careless and unprofiting ears.”

The door now opened, and the young wooer of Boroland, with a step east, a step west-a step straight forward, and a bow to the floor, made his appearance. He was far from the ridiculous figure which the satiric tongue of Jenny had painted him he was pert, and spruce, and ruddy-with a watch-chain and seals swinging to and fro, like the pendulum of an eight-day clock-a pair of long sharp spurs on his heels-a great display of cambric and lace about his neck, and a large whip in his hand. He was from a distant part of the county, and fame had made him acquainted with the heiress of Bodenton; but, as fame had been more particular in painting her possessions than in describing her looks, he knew her not by sight. He looked one way, and he looked another Jenny dropt one of her best curtsies, which he acknowledged by a bow, equivalent nearly to a Turkish prostration; he adjusted the cambric about his neck, slapped his boots thrice with his whip, and thus he addressed her: "My fair one," he said, "fame told me of your beauty, and I see fame has drawn an honest picture of you." "I should wish to see," said Jenny, setting out her breast and chin, and investing herself with all the consequence of imputed wealth, "I should like to see the picture, which so sensible and veracious a lady as Fame has drawn of me." "This is no place and fit presence to talk of such charms as I have to speak of," said the wooer; "that thrifty quean with wool in her lap listens like a pig hearkening the dropping of acorns." "Listen!" said the mischievous waiting maiden with a laugh; “long may she listen; she's as deaf as the knocking-stone; she lost her hearing with nursing me; God forgive me for screaming so loud."

doure and dull, as well as deaf. Are
ye sure now that she hears not what
I say?" "She hears ye no more,"
said the nymph, " than if she were
hewn of sandstone. But ware the
touch-she has an eye like a hawk,
and a tongue like the kirk-bell-ye
may heart over the parish." "I
would set her up on the moor to
scare the crows from the lambs,"
said young Boroland, glad to find
something to talk about, and desirous
of directing the stream of his speech
gradually into the suitable channel.
"But I suppose now she's a kind of
foil to set off another handsome face
-a kind of sooty ground, to make
the white and lucid marble of her
mistress show more lovely." "Ah,
flattering sir," said the maiden, with
a look of great humility," that's the
way you rich and witty young men
deal with poor and friendless crea-
tures like me.
Ye come in your
gayest dress, with fair looks, and far
fairer speeches, and ye say we are
lovely, as creatures new dropt from
the clouds, and find spring in our
eyes, and summer in our cheeks-and
so we look, and we listen, and we
sigh, and we fall in love, and we
know not what ails us-and some
one tells us, and we take to bed, and
there are coffins to measure in the
morning-and there's a tale of true
love for ye." And she turned her head
away and bit her lip, and put her
hand to her mouth, and refrained,
and only refrained from laughing out-

"Such tales," said the wooer, desirous of saying something decisive while love was the theme," such stories shall never be told of me. I have, it is true, had cruelties imputed to me, but death never followed. I have had offers-might have pleased as wise a man-chances that might the have won as handsome a fellow-a

"Ah, ye are witty as well as fair," said the wooer; "Fame said some thing of that too in her picture. But I wonder ye keep one near ye with such a tell-tale look. She's

three thousand pounder, dropt almost into my mouth like an over-ripe pear; but I gaped not; she keeps the man who got her, riding in his coach. There was another, a West Indian fortune-four thousand a-year plantation money; the meanest word was "Call my coach, I shall give five hundred pounds for't, and not another penny." I resisted all-I have had sore trials in my day; but my mind wandered ay to the moors: the heather and the ling for me-fate's

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