»

>> It wad be frae the lieutenant then«, replied the mistress of the rolls, somewhat disappointed »I never thought he wad hae lookit ower his shouther after her«.

>> Odd, here's another«, quoth Mrs. Mailsetter, »a shipletter post-mark, Sunderland«. All rushed to seize it. »Na, na, leddies«<, said Mrs. Mailsetter, interfering, »I hae had eneugh o' that wark Ken ye that Mr. Mailsetter got an unco rebuke frae the secretary at Edinburgh, for a complaint that was made about the letter of Aily Bisset's that ye opened, Mrs. Shortcake?<«<

>>Me opened!<< answered the spouse of the chief baker of Fairport; »ye ken yoursell, Madam, it just cam open o' free will in my hand What could I help it? folk suld seal

wi' better wax«.

>> Weel I wot that 's true, too«, said Mrs. Mailsetter, who kept a shop of small wares, »and we have got some that I can honestly recommend, if ye ken ony body wanting it. But the short and the lang o't is, that we 'll lose the place gin there 's ony mair complaints o' the kind«.

>>Hout, lass; the provost will take care o' that«.

» Na, na; I'll neither trust to provost nor bailie«<, said the postmistress, >> but I wad aye be obliging and neighbourly, and I'm no again your looking at the outside of a letter neither See, the seal has an anchor on 't done 't wi' ane o' his buttons I 'm thinking «<.

he 's

>> Show me! show me!« quoth the wives of the chief butcher and chief baker; and threw themselves on the supposed love-letter, like the weird sisters in Macbeth upon the pilot's thumb, with curiosity as eager and scarcely less malignant. Mrs. Heukbane was a tall woman, she held the precious epistle up between her eyes and the window. Mrs. Shortcake, a little squat personage, strained and stood on tiptoe to have her share of the investigation.

» Ay, it 's frae him, sure eneugh«, said the butcher's lady, >>I can read Richard Taffril on the corner, and it 's written, like John Thomson's wallet, frae end to end«<.

>> Haud it lower down, Madam«<, exclaimed Mrs. Shortcake, in a tone above the prudential whisper which their occupation required >> haud it lower down Div ye think naebody

can read hand o' writ but yoursell?<«<

>> Whisht, whisht, Sirs, for God's sake!« said Mrs. Mailsetter, »there's somebody in the shop«, then aloud — >> Look to the customers, Baby!<< Baby answered from without in a shrill tone >> It 's naebody but Jenny Caxon, Ma'am, to see if there 's ony letters to her «<.

>> Tell her«, said the faithful postmistress, winking to her compeers, »to come back the morn at ten o'clock, and I'll let her ken we havena had time to sort the mail letters yet she 's aye in sic a hurry, as if her letters were o' mair consequence than the best merchant's o' the town«.

Poor Jenny, a girl of uncommon beauty and modesty, could only draw her cloak about her to hide the sigh of disappointment, and return meekly home to endure for another night the sickness of the heart, occasioned by hope delayed.

>>There's something about a needle and a pole«, said Mrs. Shortcake, to whom her taller rival in gossiping had at length yielded a peep at the subject of their curiosity.

>>Now, that 's downright shamefu'«, said Mrs. Heukbane, >>to scorn the poor silly gait of a lassie after he 's keepit company wi' her sae lang, and had his will o' her, as I make nae doubt he has«.

>> It 's but ower muckle to be doubted«, echoed Mrs. Shortcake; >>to cast up to her that her father 's a barber, and has a pole at his door, and that she 's but a mantymaker hersell! Hout! fy for shame!<<

>> Hout tout, leddies«, cried Mrs. Mailsetter, »ye 're clean wrang It's a line out o' ane o' his sailors' sangs that I have heard him sing, about being true like the needle to the pole<<.

»Weel, weel, I wish it may be sae«, said the charitable Dame Heukbane, >> but it disna look weel for a lassie like her to keep up a correspondence wi' ane o' the king's officers <.

»I 'm no denying that«, said Mrs. Mailsetter; »but it's a great advantage to the revenue of the post-office thae love letters See, here 's five or six letters to Sir Arthur Wardour maist o' them sealed wi' wafers, and no wi' wax there will be a downcome there, believe me«.

>> Ay; they will be business letters, and no frae ony o' his grand friends, that seals wi' their coats of arms, as they ca' them«, said Mrs. Heukbane; »pride will hae a fa' he hasna settled his account wi' my gudeman, the deacon, for this twalmonth he 's but slink, I doubt«.

>>Nor wi' huz for sax months«, echoed Mrs. Shortcake

» He's but a brunt crust <<.

>> There's a letter «, interrupted the trusty postmistress, »from his son, the captain, I'm thinking the seal has the same things wi' the Knockwinnock carriage. He'll be coming hame to see what he can save out o' the fire«.

The baronet thus dismissed, they took up the esquire >> Twa letters for Monkbarns they 're frae some o' his learned friends now See sae close as they 're written, down to the very seal and a to save sending a double letter that 's just like Monkbarns himsell. When he gets a frank he fills it up exact to the weight of an unce, that a carvy-seed would sink the scale - but he 's ne'er a grain abune it. Weel I wot I wad be broken if I were to gie sic weight to the folk that come to buy our pepper and brimstone, and such like sweetmeats<<.

>>He 's a shabby body the laird o' Monkbarns«<, said Mrs. Heukbane, »he 'll make as muckle about buying a forequarter o' lamb in August as about a back sey o' beef. Let's taste another drap o' the sinning (perhaps she meant cinnamon) waters, Mrs. Mailsetter, my dear Ah! lasses, an ye had kend his brother as I did mony a time he wad slip in to see me wi' a brace o' wild-deukes in his pouch, when my first gudeman was awa at the Falkirk tryst weel, weel, we'se no speak o' that e'enow <<.

»I winna say ony ill o' this Monkbarns«, said Mrs. Shortcake; >>his brother ne'er brought me ony wild-deukes, and this is a douce honest man we serve the family wi' bread, and he settles wi' huz ilka week only he was in an unco kippage when we sent him a book instead o' the nick-sticks, whilk, he said, were the true ancient way o' counting between tradesmen and customers; and sae they are, nae doubt«.

>> But look here, lasses «, interrupted Mrs. Mailsetter, »here 's a sight for sair e'en! What wad ye gie to ken what 's in the inside o' this letter? this is new corn I haena seen the like o' this For William Lovel, Esquire, at Mrs. Hadoway's, High-street, Fairport, by Edinburgh, N. B. This is just the second letter he has had since he was here«.

>> Lord's sake, let 's see, lass! Lord's sake, let's see! that 's him that the hale town kens naething about and a weelfa'ard lad he is let's see, let's see!« Thus ejaculated the two worthy representatives of mother Eve.

>> Na, na, Sirs«, exclaimed Mrs. Mailsetter; » haud awa-bide aff, I tell you this is nane o' your fourpenny cuts that we might make up the value to the post-office amang ourselves if ony mischance befell it the postage is fiveand-twenty shillings and here's an order frae the Secretary to forward it to the young gentleman by express, if he is no at hame. Na, na, Sirs, bide aff; this maunna be

roughly guided«.

>> But just let 's look at the outside o't, woman «.

Nothing could be gathered from the outside, except remarks on the various properties which philosophers ascribe to matter, — length, breadth, depth, and weight. The packet was composed of strong thick paper, imperviable by the curious eyes of the gossips, though they stared as if they would burst from their sockets. The seal was a deep and well-cut impression of arms, which defied all tampering.

»Odd, lass<, said Mrs. Shortcake, weighing it in her hand, and wishing, doubtless, that the too, too solid wax would melt and dissolve itself, »I wad like to ken what 's in the inside o' this, for that Lovel dings a' that ever set foot on the plainstanes o' Fairport naebody kens what to

make o' him «.

>> Weel, weel, leddies«, said the postmistress, »we'se sit down and crack about it Baby, bring ben the tea-water Muckle obliged to ye for your cookies, Mrs. Shortcake aad we'll steek the shop, and cry ben Baby, and take a hand at the cartes till the gudeman comes hame and then we'll try your braw veal sweetbread that ye were so kind as send me, Mrs. Heukbane«.

>> But winna ye first send awa Mr. Lovel's letter?<< said Mrs. Heukbane.

»Troth I kenna wha to send wi't till the gudeman comes hame, for auld Caxon tell'd me that Mr. Lovel stays a' the day at Monkbarns he 's in a high fever wi' pu'ing the laird and Sir Arthur out o' the sea«.

>> Silly auld doited carles«<, said Mrs. Shortcake; »>what gar'd them gang to the douking in a night like yestreen?« >>I was gi'en to understand it was auld Edie that saved them<«<, said Mrs. Heukbane; »Edie Ochiltree, the Blue-Gown, ye ken and that he pu'd the hale three out of the auld fish-pound; for Monkbarns had threepit on them to gang in till t to see the wark o' the monks lang syne«.

>> Hout, lass, nonsense«<, answered the postmistress; »I 'll tell ye a' about it, as Caxon tell'd it to me.

Ye see, Sir

Arthur, and Miss Wardour, and Mr. Lovel, suld hae dined at Monkbarns

«

>> But, Mrs. Mailsetter«, again interrupted Mrs. Heukbane, >> will ye no be for sending awa this letter by express? there 's our powny and our callant hae gane express for the office or now, and the powny hasna gane abune thirty mile the day Jock was sorting him up as I came ower by«.

>> Why, Mrs. Heukbane«, said the woman of letters, pursing up her mouth, »ye ken my gudeman likes to ride

the expresses himsell we maun gie our ain fish-guts to our ain sea-maws it's a red half-guinea to him every time he munts his mear and I dare say he 'll be in sune

or I dare to say, it's the same thing whether the gentleman gets the express this night or early next morning«.

>> Only that Mr. Lovel will be in town before the express gaes aff«<, said Mrs. Heukbane, »and whare are ye then, lass? but ken ye yer ain ways best«<.

>> Weel, weel, Mrs. Heukbane«, answered Mrs. Mailsetter, a little out of humour, and even out of countenance, »I am sure I am never against being neighbour-like, and living, and letting live, as they say; and since I hae been sic a fule as to show you the post-office order ou, nae doubt, it maun be obeyed but I'll no need your callant, mony thanks to ye I'll send little Davie on your powny, and that will be just five-and-threepence to ilka ane o' us, ye ken«.

>> Davie! the Lord help ye, the bairn 's no ten year auld; and, to be plain wi' ye, our powny reists a bit, and it 's dooms sweer to the road, and naebody can manage him but our Jock«.

>>I'm sorry for that, answered the postmistress gravely, >>it 's like we maun wait then till the gudeman comes hame, after a' for I wadna like to be responsible in trusting the letter to sic a callant as Jock our Davie belangs in a manner to the office«.

» Aweel, aweel, Mrs. Mailsetter, I see what ye wad be at but an ye like to risk the bairn, I 'll risk the beast«.

Orders were accordingly given. The unwilling pony was brought out of his bed of straw, and again equipped for service — Davie (a leathern post-bag strapped across his shoulders) was perched upon the saddle, with a tear in his eye, and a switch in his hand. Jock good-naturedly led the animal out of the town, and, by the crack of his whip, and the whoop and halloo of his too wellknown voice, compelled it to take the road towards Monkbarns.

2. The Antiquary.

>And the poor young fellow, Steenie Mucklebackit, is to be buried this morning«, said our old friend the Antiquary, as he exchanged his quilted night-gown for an old-fashioned black coat in lieu of the snuff-coloured vestment which he ordinarily wore, »and, I presume, it is expected that I should attend the funeral?«<