"Ask him" (nodding to Marchmont), "if they could hold the candle to Bessie, the sooner you get your artillery in order the better. See that your voice is clear and mellow that night of the introduction, for the first impression is all important. What a bewitching creature was Bonnie Bessie Lee wi her face fu' o' smiles!" "But not to be compared to Miss W.!" said Marchmont slyly. "Compared to Miss W. !" echoed Weathercock," not for a moment. I would as soon think of comparing a frisky Highland pony to a noble Derby racer!"

The mention of Miss W. startled Graham, he coloured, moved suddenly in his chair, and drank off a glass of toddy to cover his confusion.

"Miss W. must be a stunner," said Leadbetter, lifting the glass to his lips, and looking at the fresh holly sprigs adorning the gasalier. Is she fresh and blooming like that holly? is she ruddy

as the berries?" "A thousand times brighter than the berries-not much of the ruby in her complexion, however. But oh, she is far above rubies!" You dont say so," exclaimed Leadbetter with enthusiasm. must drink better health to the pale faced Miss W."

"We

"Oh no, gentlemen-the lady needs no cosmetic-her complexion is simply perfect. Let us toast her with brimming glasses as “The Golden Lily"!

"Yes, gentlemen, "The Golden Lily!" shouted Graham with sincere fervour, for in his mind's eye he saw his own Miss W. and he was transported at the bare probability of Weathercock's Miss W. and his being-to use an Irishism-one and the same lady. Their complexions were alike. Better still, they had both rare and wonderful voices.

"The Golden Lily" was drunk with all the honours, Leadbetter causing some laughter by singing gaily, For she's a jolly good fellow! For she's a jolly good fellow! which nobody can deny."

And nobody sought to deny it!

Apart from the curiosity which Graham had to meet Mr. Weathercock, he had, since his journey to Lochdale, as the reader is aware, another and very important reason for wishing to make that gentlemen's acquaintance, and that was, To ascertain, if possible, whether the "My dear Miss W." of the historical epistle had any connection. with his own Miss W., and whether indeed she might not be that

veritable lady herself, as some hints and circumstances would seem to render very probable. But nothing further could be elicited from Weathercock this evening, although the combined efforts of the whole three-Graham, Marchmont and Leadbetter-were exerted with the view of drawing from the poet-clerk such a confession about his ideal lady as would lead to the desired indentification.

Our hero would never despair. HE WOULD TRY OTHER WAYS AND MEANS TO DISCOVER HIS MISS W. Impossible for him to wait the chance-perhaps the far-off chance-of again meeting herher! the lady he so much admired, in the unromantic and crowded

The croaking of frogs
From mosses and bogs,
The bittern's boom
From the marshes gloom.
The screech of the owl
On its midnight prowl,
The wind's soft sigh

Through the pine trees high.
In dreaming chorus mingle,

With the throbbing voice of the wave,
That breaks on the distant shingle.

Merrily ringing,

Fairy Bells;
Joyously singing,

Music swells.

We dance to the pipe
In the Moonbeam's light,
Joyous and free,

Gladsome are we.

'Tis the Fairies' carnival.

JOHN YOUNG.

A DISSERTATION ON "THE FAIRIES,"

BY

AN OLD HIGHLAND SEER.

"Sure He who made majestic man,
And framed the world's stupendous plan;
Who placed on high the steady pole,
And sowed the stars that round it roll,

And made that sky so clear and blue,
Had power to make a Fairy too."-Hogg.

JATE in the fall of last year, when autumn had come and painted all nature in colours, "Sae pensive, in yellow and gray," a young literary friend and I took a holiday-a walking holiday-among the far-famed Grampian mountains.

It is my intention some day to print a history of this walking tour, so I will not dwell on the details thereof at present, suffice it to say, that the wild rugged romantic scenery we saw in our travels so excited our minds, that we were transported away far above this work-a-day world into the regions of fancy and

imagination. This being the case, it will not be wondered at that our conversation should be of :

"Many a quaint and curious volume

Of forgotten lore,"

the mysterious rites of the ancient Druids, of demonology, of magic and astrology, of divination and oracles, of signs, omens, and warnings, and many other things, "strange, sacred, secret and forgotten."

We had been a fortnight on our tour, and were thinking of retracing our steps homeward, but a little adventure delayed our getting home for another week. We had been wandering on the hills all day, and there being a little mist abroad, had lost our reckoning. After wandering about for many hours, we came suddenly upon a secluded little glen, some five acres or so in extent, surrounded by very high mountains, with only one approach to it and no outlet. This little glen contained only one cottage, which, though only of one story and thack roof, was of considerable extent, capable of containing four or five fair-sized rooms. It was very singular in shape, having a broad veranda all round it, somewhat resembling an eastern bungalow. As we came a little nearer we saw that in front of the cottage there was a neat, well kept garden, full of old-fashioned herbs and flowers. I observed among them the nightshade, yellow watercress, mountainparsley, wolves' bane, rosemary, rue, sage, Solomon's seal, meadowtrefoil, wormwood, and many simples whose name I did not know. We could see from where we stood a thin pillar of peat smoke issuing from the big straw lum of the cottage, and a bright ruddy light was shining from the front windows. We were met on the door-step by a tall man, whose age would be beyond the allotted span of three score years and ten. This man had a very striking personality; he was tall and thin-upwards of six feet—and, notwithstanding his age, as straight as an arrow; his snow-white locks hung in ringlets over his shoulders, but the most striking feature of his face were his eyes, which, when he looked at you, seemed to look you through and through. He welcomed us with the air and dignity of a king-a smile lighting up his fine countenance, and in language, courteous and well chosen, he asked us to enter his cottage to get rest and refreshment after our journey. Seeing that we hinkered a little, he said, "I want no introduction