Stukeley was right. The evening passed on, and the friends returned not. Infinite were the surmises which their absence occasioned, but the general conclusion was, that the interesting Mr Lilylipz had found himself worse, and had retired to his inn for the night, along with his faithful Achates. Morning came, but the friends did not make their appearance at the pumproom as usual. They were not at their inn; they were not in Potterwell. Whither they had wended, no one knew; but, like the characters in the ballad, which had been so oddly broken off, they were "away, away, away." They had come like shadows, and like shadows they had departed. Some months afterwards, Mrs Cheesham and her daughter Emily entered one of the extensive drapery warehouses of Edinburgh, to invest a portion o' their capital in the purchase of _mousseline de laine_. They had seen an advertisement which intimated that no lady ought, in justice to herself, to buy a dress of this description without first inspecting that company's stock of the article. They were determined to do themselves justice, and they went accordingly. "Eugene," said the superintendent of the place, "show these ladies that parcel of goods. A very superior article, indeed." Eugene! Eugene! the ladies had good reason to remember the name; and what was their surprise, on looking round, to see the exquisite of Potterwell bending under a load of dress pieces! If their surprise was great, infinitely greater was his dismay. His knees shook; his eyes grew dim; his head giddy. His hands lost their power, and, dropping the bundle, the unhappy Eugene stumbled over it in a manner painfully ignoble. Mrs and Miss Cheesham turned to quit the shop, when there, behind them, stood the dashing Adolph. "The enemy!" he exclaimed, and, ducking dexterously under the counter, disappeared among sundry bales that were piled beyond it. The lesson was not lost. Mrs Cheesham had had quite enough of quality-hunting to satisfy her; and Miss Emily found out that it was desirable to be wise as well as witty, and gave her hand to Frank Preston, who forgave her temporary apostacy, not only because it had been smartly punished by the result, but for the sake of the many estimable qualities which Miss Cheesham really possessed. Miss Fanny still roams, "in maiden meditation, fancy free;" but she cannot do so long, or there is no skill in man. At all events, when she does want a husband, she will not go in search of him to COUNTRY QUARTERS. THE MERCHANT'S DAUGHTER. BY ALEXANDER CAMPBELL. On the western skirts of the Torwood--famous in Scottish story for its association with the names of Wallace and Bruce--there stood, in the middle of the sixteenth century, a farm-house of rather superior appearance for the period. This house was occupied at the time of which we speak by a person of the name of Henderson, who farmed a pretty extensive tract of land in the neighbourhood.