With this assurance, therefore, that Lady Grace was an angel, and that Colonel Flashdagger might be killed, Frank shrugged his shoulders, and let the second misfortune pass. The Colonel went to the wars, and had his head shot off by a cannon-ball. "Now," quoth Frank, "my time is come; nobody shall anticipate me by having less scruple in wiping away a widow's tears!" So without losing a moment's time, he hurried to Lady Grace, and claimed the fulfilment of her promise.

Lady Grace received him in the most obliging manner possible, and Frank thought her a great deal handsomer than ever. "I beg ten thousand pardons, my dear Mr. Mildardour," said she, "but there is a circumstance which I cannot control; I would it were otherwise. You are the man of all the world that I most esteem; but the Colonel, poor man! has laid a solemn injunction upon me, by his will, to marry his second cousin, Tom Starling, on pain of forfeiting his whole estate. What can I do, my dear Mr. Frank, 'tis such an awkward affair? Do you know Tom? he is a queer creature sings a splendid song, they say-but I am sorry for you, with all my heart."

"Oh, Lady Grace! Lady Grace! "exclaimed Frank.

"Really, Mr. Mildardour, I feel quite as much grieved at it as you-I do, indeed; you are such an excellent man. But you won't deprive us of your company; we shall have such delightful concerts quite charming, I assure you."

"My dear Lady Grace," said Frank, wringing his hands, “what will become of me?

"Oh, Mr. Frank! you know I have the greatest regard for you; and if Tom, who is a fiery, choleric fellow, should ever be shot in a duel, why then, positively, Frank, nothing can prevent it, you must be my next husband."

Frank ran away from her in despair, and made another vow not to think any more of Lady Grace; but he only thought the more of her on that very account. She was such a sweet creature, indeed, that the hope of possessing her

think himself doomed irrevocably to disappointment, and fell into a desperate melancholy. He set off for the continent, traversed France and Italy, and got to Naples in a fit of the most doleful dumps that ever clouded the brains of a hapless lover. He was just about to throw himself into the crater of Vesuvius, when he received intelligence that Mr. Tom Starling had died suddenly of a surfeit, at a harmonic celebration of the Anniversary of the Sons of Thunder.

"There is still a chance left," said Frank, as he ordered post horses for his return. "Ye gods! annihilate both space and time!" But the gods refused to do any such thing, and Frank arrived too late. Lady Grace had given him up for lost, and was engaged to Mr. William James, late of the city, a rich banker, just retired from business.

Poor Mr. Frank Mildardour!-there seemed nothing wanting to overwhelm him. He did not wait upon Lady Grace to extort a renewal of her promise, but abandoned himself to his melancholy, conceiving his case to be utterly hopeless.

When things are at the worst, however, they are sure to mend. Passing along Oxford street one afternoon, he saw a great crowd collected before a new building, and, by dint of inquiries, soon learned the particulars of the accident that had assembled it. He flew, like lightning, to Lady Grace.

"Lady Grace," said he, "you are once more a widow!"

"It cannot be, Mr. Mildardour. How a widow? Mr. James walked out in perfect health not half an hour ago."

Exactly, my dear Lady Grace- I am sorry to be the bearer-ahem-of such ill news; but I will tell you just how it happened. Mr. James was walking along Oxford Street, arm-in-arm with Sir Harry Wildgoose."

"Ah! the very man; Sir Harry is always here. Sir Harry is quite a friend of mine-but go on, Mr. Frank, with your relation."

"Mr. James, I say, my dear Lady Grace, happened to pass near the scaffolding of a building just as the workmen were hoisting a huge stone, when a horse in the street taking fright, ran against the scaffolding; the stone fell-and oh, Lady

Grace-Mr. James was killed on the spot!

"Dear me! Mr. Mildardour! you don't say so!"

66

Positively true. I saw him with my own eyes."

Lady Grace put her handkerchief to her eyes, and there was a dead silence for some time; at last Frank thought it time to remind her of his purpose by saying: "Lady Grace, you know your promise?" "My dear Mr. Frank, there is only one obstacle in the way-I have a promise to Sir Harry Wildgoose-it was only last week; 'tis an unfortunate thing-but if Sir Harry dies, then, upon my honor, you shall, truly and positively, be my next husband."

"On your honor?" "On my honor."

"Then, my dear Lady Grace, I am the happiest man in the world, for the same stone has killed both of them!"

Lady Grace started with surprise; her feelings, I need not attempt to describe, for how few can guess what it is to lose two husbands at a single blow! "I am the happiest man in the world," repeated Frank. Lady Grace looked upon him in a manner that left it dubious whether a smile or a tear was to follow; but she was fairly caught. Frank loved her, and she -who can doubt it? had always loved him. They were married at St. George's, Hanover Square, but I am unable to say whether Lady Grace has made a further appointment of her next husband.

A SAILOR'S COMPLACENCY AND

BENEVOLENCE.

Two of the most genuine characteristics of a Jack, I consider to be his complacency and benevolence. This summer, at Plymouth, I witnessed a curious display of both. A crowd of people were surrounding and endeavoring to secure a bull which had escaped from its owner. The beast, exhausted with a chase about the streets in one of the hottest days of July, stood still and panted; but by his low growl and significant position of the horn, betokened he was not unprepared for his pursuers. After many ineffectual attempts to seize him by ropes, &c., an honest Jack came forward, and began to

swear at them lustily, for their manner of treating the national beast of Old England. "Avast, you lubbers!—a turn,' said he, "and see how I'll take him in tow! Here, Billy, Billy, Billy !—There, don't you see how he nods at me? Only treat him civilly, and like a gentleman, he'll come to directly." As he said this, Jack, sure enough, approached the brute, and, patting his forehead, threw one arm over his neck, leant carelessly against him, and, laughing at their fears, abused the mob for their violence.

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'See here!" said he; "here have I laid myself quietly alongside, and Billy's as gentle as a young marmselle. An't you a pretty set of swabs, to treat a dumb hanymal in this way?-Where's a noose? Splinter me, if I was his howner, I'd sarve you out.-Poor Billy!"

He had scarcely spoken these words, (making a sign that they should throw him a rope), before the bull, slipping his horns from under Jack's arms, thrust them between his legs, and in an instant elevated him five feet above his back. Jack lighted upon the hard pavement, amidst the roars of the multitude. Rising up, and rubbing the saluted part, he glanced his eye at the bull and exclaimed, with a mixture of indignation and regret -"Sheer off, you bl-y swab! you bears malice!"

THE BAPTEESEMENT O' THE BAIRN.

[ROBERT LEIGHTON has won a high place in the regard of British and American readers by his humorous poems in the Scottish dialect. These include "Scotch Words," "Our Ain Auld Toop," ""John and Tibbie's Dispute," and, chief of all, "The Bapteesement o' the

Bairn." Of the latter, one admirer has justly said,

that nothing in the form of Scottish satirical humor more genuinely graphic and characteristic has appeared since the days of Burns.]

OD, Andra, man! I doot ye may be wrang To keep the bairn's bapteesement aff sae lang.

Supposin' the fivver, or some quick mischance,

Or even the kinkhost, whup it aff at once
To fire and brimstane, in the black domains
Of unbelievers and unchristen'd weans-
I'm sure ye never could forgie yoursel',
Or cock your head in Heaven, wi' it in hell.

Weesht, Meggie, weesht! name not the wicked place,

I ken I'm wrang, but Heaven will grant us grace.

I havena been unmindfu' o' the bairn,
Na, thocht on't till my bowels begin to
yearn.

But, woman, to my sorrow, I have found
Our minister is anything but sound;
I'd sooner break the half o' the commands
Than trust a bairn's bapteesement in his
hands.

I wadna say our minister's depraved;
In fact, in all respects he's weel behaved:
He veesits the haill pairish, rich and puir;
A worthier man, in warldly ways, I'm sure
We couldna hae; but, och! wae's me, wae's
me!

In doctrine points his head is all agley.
Wi' him there's no Elect-all are the same;
An honest heart, and conduct free frae

Then on the Resurrection he 's clean wrang; "Wherefore," says he, "lie in your graves sae lang?

The speerit is the man, and it ascends
The very instant that your breathing ends;
The body's buried, and will rise nae mair,
Though a' the horns in Heaven should rowt
and rair."

Sometimes he'll glint at Robbie Burns's deil,

As if he were a decent kind o' chiel;
But to the doonricht Satan o' the Word,
Wae's me! he disna pay the least regard.
And Hell he treats sae brief and counts
sae sma'

That it amounts to nae sic place ava.
O dear, to think our prayers and holy
chaunts,

And all the self-denying of us saunts,
Are not to be repaid by the delight
Of hearing from that region black as night,
The yelling, gnashing, and despairing cry
Of wretches that in fire and brimstane lie!
'T will never do, guidwife; this daft divine
Shall ne'er lay hands on bairn o' yours and
mine.

Though they were fishers still, it was o'

men.

But this young Maister Whyte first got a call

To fish for men, and-oh, how sad his fall! The learned, pious, yet unworthy skoot Neglects his sacred trust to catch a troot! Now here comes Forgan manse amang the trees,

A cozie spot, weel skoogit frae the breeze. We'll just walk ane by ane up to the door, And knock and do the same 's we did before.

The doctor's been a bachelor a' his life; Ye'd almost tak the servant for his wife, She's such command ower a' that's said and dune

Hush this maun be the cheepin' o' her shune.

How do you do, mem? there's a bonnie day,

And like to keep sae.

way

We've come a' the

Frae Edenside to get this bairn bapteesed By Doctor Maule, if you and he be pleased.

We've no objections; but the Doctor's

guns, an' poother's never mentioned in't. They had their bows and arrows, and their And implements o' war-auld-fashioned things,

slings,

I reckon for the dingin' doon o' toons, And spears, and swords, and clubs for crackin' croons;

But as for guns and shot, puir hares to kill, There's nae authority, look whaur ye willLosh, see the sun's gaen red, and looks askance ;

The gloamin' fa's; but here's Kilmeny