few moments afterwards to water the horses, and on resuming our route, a turn of the road brought us in sight of a neat country seat. I could just distinguish the forms. of a lady and two young girls in the portico, and I saw my little comrades, with Bantam, Carlo, and old John, trooping along the carriage road. I leaned out of the coach window, in hopes of witnessing the happy meeting, but a grove of trees shut it from my sight. In the evening we reached a village where I had determined to pass the night. As we drove into the great gateway of the inn, I saw on one side the light of a rousing kitchen fire beaming through a window. I entered, and admired, for the hundredth time, that picture of convenience, neatness, and broad honest enjoyment, the kitchen of an English inn. It was of spacious dimensions, hung round with copper and tin vessels highly polished, and decorated here and there with a Christmas green. Hams, tongues, and flitches of bacon, were suspended from the ceiling; a smoke-jack made its ceaseless clanking beside the fireplace, and a clock ticked in one A well-scoured deal table extended along one side of the kitchen, with a cold round of beef, and other hearty viands upon it, over which two foaming tankards of ale seemed mounting guard. Travellers of inferior order were preparing to attack this stout repast, while others sat smoking and gossiping over their ale on two high-backed oaken seats beside the fire. Trim housemaids were hurrying backwards and forwards under the directions of a fresh bustling landlady; but still seizing an occasional moment to exchange a flippant word, and have a rallying laugh, with the group around the fire. The scene completely realized Poor Robin's humble idea of the comforts of midwinter: corner. "Now trees their leafy hats do bare, Are things this season doth require." I had not been long at the inn when a post-chaise drove up to the door. A young gentleman stept out, and by the light of the lamps I caught a glimpse of a countenance which I thought I knew. I moved forward to get a nearer view, when his eye caught mine. I was not mistaken; it was Frank Bracebridge, a sprightly goodhumoured young fellow, with whom I had once travelled on the continent. Our meeting was extremely cordial, or the countenance of an old fellow traveller always brings up the recollection of a thousand pleasant scenes, odd adventures, and excellent jokes. To discuss all these in a transient interview at an inn was impossible, and finding that I was not pressed for time, and was merely making a tour of observation, he insisted that I should give him a day or two at his father's country seat, to which he was going to pass the holidays, and which lay a few miles distance. "It is better than eating a solitary Christmas dinner at an inn," said he, "and I can assure you of a hearty welcome in something of the old fashioned style." His reasoning was cogent, and I must confess the preparation I had seen for universal festivity and social enjoyment had made me feel a little impatient of my loneliness. I closed, therefore, at once, with his invitation; the chaise drove up to the door, and in a few moments I was on my way to the family mansion of the Bracebridges. Washington Irving. A SCENE IN THE GRASS MARKET, EDINBURGH. Here's a sight, fy haste ye, mither, Tweedle-drone, drone-tweedle, O! Sic a sight was never seen, O! Dirty some are, others clean, O! Tweedle-drone, drone-tweedle, O! The Grant Fencibles' March, with variations. THE Grassmarket, on a Wednesday, is a busy scene. Being the market for black-cattle and horses, a number of droves are weekly assembled there for sale. Though the amount of my agricultural knowledge might not qualify me to undertake a farm, yet I have occasionally peeped into the publications of our patriotic countryman Sir John Sinclair, and flatter myself that I am able at first sight to distinguish a bull from a cow, a horse from a mare, and a wether from a ram. I can tell an egg from a flour-dumpling; know that calves are not fed on field-mice, that geese are not quadrupeds,—and that 'butter and cheese are made, not of small beer, but of milk. Sauntering along one Wednesday morning, and stopping at every parcel of cattle exposed for sale, my attention was for a moment arrested by the appearance of six very handsome bullocks. I liked the physiognomy of the poor animals, and could not help feeling some regret that the purpose for which they were driven there was to put an end to their existence; that they had been brought from luxuriating in sunny pastures and daisied fields, merely with the view of filling the maw of that most carnivorous and rapacious animal, Man. My reverie was interrupted by a slap on the shoulder from a man in a great coat, with boot-hose, and a whip in his hand. "Weel, what think ye o' thae stots?" said he; "there is nae better beasts in the market the day." "They seem very handsome animals,” said I. "Ye may say that," replied my new friend; "they war fed in my ain yard at Wirlyknows, and de'il a bit o' oilcake ever crossed their craigs: only find them, man—tak haud o' them-dinna be feared." With that he half dragged me between two of the bullocks; and, not to show my ignorance, I felt the flanks of the animals, in the manner I saw him, raised their tails, and patted their necks, as if I had been born a grazier or a butcher. "What do ye think may be the weight o' thae now? gie a guess." "I have no idea, indeed," replied I. Toots, awa wi' your affectation, man,-ye ken fu' well,-ye haena been sae lang a flesher without kennan mair than ye wish to tell. But if they dinna stand out aught-and-forty stane, ye's get them for naething. I'm sure ye'll no grudge saxteen punds the 66 piece for them-ye canna in your conscience ca' that dear."- "I really do not know their value correctlythey may be worth that money, for aught I know." "Worth the money! Deacon Mitchell took twal siclike for five shillings mair a-head; but no to stand gibbling gabbling, they're yours at that price, and we'll say nae mair about it." "But really, sir, I know nothing about the matter, and". Say nae mair about it, Mr. Harrigals, it's a done bargain," said he, taking me by the hand; "I ken your father fu' weel, and he'll no be sorry ye've coft the beasts thrae me. If ye dinna double your money on them, I'll eat them a' mysell. We'll just stap into this house here, and tak half a mutchkin on the bargain, and ye can gie me your order on Sir William for the siller. Sandy, drive these beasts to Mr. Harrigals' parks at the Grange Toll, and then gang to Mrs. Twopenny's and get your breakfast, and see the powney get a feed, for I'll leave the market at twal. Come awa, Mr. Harrigals, and we'll settle the business," said he, taking me by the coat. Remonstrance was of no avail-I could not get in a single word. A feeling of the ridicule I should incur among my friends in the town council, and the figure I should make at home as the proprietor of twelve fat stots, kept me for the moment in a kind of stupor, and I followed, or rather was dragged along by my conductor, who was expatiating on the bargain he had sold me. Trusting to be able to explain matters when in the house, or failing of that, to disposing of the animals, though at some loss, to my friend Deacon Sparerib, the butcher, I resolved to make the best of my unfortunate situation. We were crossing the street to the fatal house, squeezing through a crowd of farmers, graziers, butchers, dogs, and cattle-drivers, when the attention of my friend was arrested by the calling of his name, in a loud voice, by a person at a little distance-" Andrew !-Andrew Cloverfield!-Mr. Cloverfield, I say!-Deil's in the man, is he deaf?"—" Wha's that crying on me? Stop VOL. IV. 1 a wee, Mr. Harrigals, till we see," said he, and turned in the direction from whence the voice proceeded. A young man, about my own size, was bustling through the crowd, dressed in a short white jacket, booted and spurred. "O, it's you! Preserve us a'-how like you are to your brither! I've been looking for you twa hours in the market the day, as I had half-promised to your father to put a gude article in your hands. Herd Sandy's awa' wi' the beasts to your park, and now we'll a' gang in, and we'll hae our breakfast thegither.""That's no my brither, Mr. Cloverfield; you must be mista'en; and if ye hae sell'd the beasts, there's nae mair about it; but my siller's as gude as anither's, and there's as gude fish in the sea as ever cam out o't.""For God's sake, sir, stop a moment," said I; "the bargain's yours, if you will take it. This honest gentleman has been under some sad mistake, which he would not allow me to clear up-do but take the animals at your own price."-" What!" said young Harrigals, has this chield been imposing upon you by calling himself me? Grip him, Andrew-he maun be a swindler-and I'll ca' for the police."- "Wha may ye be? tell honestly this moment," said Cloverfield, seizing me by the neck; "if ye offer to cheat me, by a' that's good I'll gie you a sarkfu' o' sair banes, even in the open market. He may have accomplices-there may be mair than ane o' them." It was in vain for me to tell him that he had forced the cattle on me, or to attempt to explain that I had only meant to satisfy my curiosity, by unwittingly look ́ing at his bullocks. "Tak him into the house, till we see wha he is that has ta'en up our name," said Harrigals; "if he has forged our name, we'll hae him ta'en afore the Shirra ;" and I was dragged across the pavement, in dread of being pelted by all the cattle dealers in the market, and of being perhaps walked in procession amidst a crowd of boys, to the nearest watch-house. A few moments conversation, however, served to make the necessary explanation; and when it was known that |