He fell enthusiastically in love with Lucy, whose beauty he raved about as ethereal, heavenly, unsophisticated: before I heard of her at all he was evidently far gone in the tender passion; and Lucy had listened so often, and with such a graceful interest, to his literary struggles, that he fancied he had every reason to believe that his affection was returned. One morning, however, all these sunny hopes were rudely dispelled. He had seen once or twice a young man of rustic appearance in the shop, he had also known him to take tea in the back parlour with Mrs. Lawley and her daughter, without attaching any significance to his visits. As Davie sat at breakfast on this particular day, this individual drove to the door in a gig, and was pleasantly received by the landlady. He wore quite a festal appearance, and for the first time a suspicion entered Davie’s mind which changed quickly to a certainty. After speaking to Mrs. Lawley for a minute or two, the young man ran out to stop the driver of a waggon loaded with sacks of grain, and, while holding him in talk, the poor poet from the up-stairs window took an inventory, as it were, of his rival’s personal graces. He was of a very tall, straight, and robust figure, with a broad, comely face, ruddy complexion, and curly brown hair. His voice was like the roll of an organ, and his laugh the very heartiest of guffaws--altogether, a very proper man, as Davie, but for his jealousy, must have acknowledged. The stranger’s rollicking air of gaiety added present insult to previous injury; and to get out of the hearing of his rich “ha ha,” which seemed to pervade the whole neighbourhood, Davie snatched up his hat, intending to walk off his spleen: he pushed halfway down the stairs, but there paused--just below, in the passage by the back-parlour door, was the obnoxious rustic, with his arm round bonny Lucy’s waist, and his lips seeking a kiss; while the damsel’s hand was put up to shield her cheek, and her tongue was saying, in that pretty accent which lovers never take as truth, “Don’t, Tom; please don’t!” Tom caught the uplifted fingers, and held them fast till he had taken a dozen kisses to indemnify himself for the delay. Davie, greatly discomfited, retreated to his room, and made cautious surveys before venturing to leave it again. He quite hated Tom, who was a fine, single-minded young fellow, guilty of no greater sin against him than having won blue-eyed Lucy’s heart.