which were hastily and implicitly obeyed. The body was laid at length on a form, and the Doctor's dissecting tools were out in an instant, whilst a group of eight or ten individuals of the party, stimulated by curiosity, hung over him to see what he was going to do. The saw was actually applied to the unfortunate man's head, when, at the very first touch of it, Sparrowpipe suddenly screamed out, with a yell that might almost have been heard a mile off; and at the same time drew his head and feet together with a jerk so violent, as to render the recoil something like that of a twisted up piece of Indian rubber. The effect of it was like the explosion of a bomb, the circle was dispersed, and the persons forming it tumbled in all directions, and Partenclaw was laid on his back like a lobster, with his saw held up in the air. The Doctor, however, though with some difficulty, yet with undiminished sang froid, rose again to the charge.

"There is some life in the man yet," quoth he; "give me a spoon that I may remove his brains, and examine the fracture in his skull." Sparrowpipe, with whom the application of

the saw had in some degree served the purpose of the lancet, had begun to regain his senses, as the Doctor uttered these words. They acted upon him like the touching of the spring of an automaton. He started up to the sitting posture, and having clapped both his hands to his head, he exclaimed, in the most doleful voice,

“Oh, I'm a dead man!-I'm a dead man! -sure eneugh my skull is crackit, and my brains are a' out, and some o' them are scattered on the very floor."

The sudden relief the spectators experienced from all dread of the Bailie being killed outright upon the spot, coupled with the ludicrous effect produced by his dolorous accents, and highly ridiculous appearance, instantaneously changed their silent breathless anxiety into a burst of unextinguishable laughter, in the midst of which he sat in all the horrors and anguish of mind, inspired by a firm belief of immediate death.

"You may laugh, gentlemen," cried he, in yet more woeful strains, as soon as he could be heard-" ye may laugh, unchristian-like sinners as ye are!-but," said he, holding out a handful

ર

of the pulpy matter taken from his head, " an
ye
winna believe me, there's a pickle o' my
brains in my ain hand, and there's the rest o'
them lying on the floor." The roar of laughter
was renewed.

"Bailie," said the Baronet, at the first pause that occurred, "if you are resolved to insist upon being scatter-brained, it is not for any of us to gainsay you."

The renewed shout that followed this observation made Sparrowpipe angry.

"I have lost my brains, I tell ye," exclaimed he, in a pet," and gif ye winna believe me, there they are in your face," so saying, he threw the soft mass slap into Partenclaw's eyes, and almost blinded him.

The real state of the case was now discovered, much to the satisfaction of every body. A mass of herring milts, tinged with the streams of claret, had fallen into his hair, and this, added to his temporary stupor, had led to the Doctor's mistake. The drunken company had now leisure to note the figure of Sparrowpipe in detail. Never was mortal in such a pickle. His garments, and above all his yellow waistcoat, the

pride of his very heart, were covered with fish entrails, brine, and claret, and he stank so, that he would have made an excellent drag for a pack of hounds, to which purpose, indeed, any one who beheld him, without doing violence to probability, might have easily imagined that he had been actually applied. All this minor part of his misfortune had been overlooked by him in the dreadful idea of immediate death. But now that all his fears on that score had subsided, he began, in sad strains, to deplore the damage his drapery had sustained.

"Waes me! waes me! siccan a fusome sight as I am. My new kassimer vest is a'thegither ruined!-Fich, fich! it stinks like a fishwife's creel-it's an ill-fared tradin' voyage to me this. I may buy a bargain o' lace and silken hose, but my new stand o' claes, my gude coat and breeks, and aboon a' my vest, can never gang on again.-Ugh! I wish I had them aff !—my verra stamick scunners at my verra sell!”

"Then, Bailie," said the Baronet quietly, "I fancy it's the first time you were ever sickened with your own person, whatever effect it may have had upon others. But come, cheer

up, man!-let Mrs M'Claver do the best she can to cleanse you from the pickle you have been soused in, and then let us endeavour to get things into some sort of order again."