Nanse, who was sitting by the table, knitting a pair of light-blue worsted stockings for Benjie, and myself, who was sewing on the buttons of a velveteen jacket for a country lad, were, I must say, not a little delighted, not only with the way in which the Welshman's late master had spoken of his school-fellows, but with the manner in which James Batter, with his specs on, had read it over to us. Upon my word--and that of an elder--I do not believe that even Mr Wiggie himself could have done the thing greater justice. It was just as if he had been a play-actor man, spouting Douglas's tragedy. Having folded up that paper, and turned over not a few others, the docketings of which he read out to us, James at last says, "Ou ay, here it is. I think I can now prove to ye, that the gentleman's sweetheart died abroad; and that, likely from her name--for it is here mentioned--she must have been a Portugee or Spaniard." "Ay, let us hear it," cried Nanse. "Do, like a man, let us hear it, James; for I delight above a' things to hear about love-stories. Do ye mind, Maister," she said, "when ye was so deep in love aince yoursell?" "Foolish woman," I said, giving her a kind of severe look; "is that all your manners to interrupt Mr Batter? If ye'll just keep a calm sough, ye'll hear the long and the short o't, in good time." By this, James, who did not relish interruption, and was a thought fidgety in his natural temper, had laid down the paper on the table, snuffed the candle, and raised his spectacles on his brow. But I said to him, "Excuse freedoms, James, and be so good as resume your discourse." Then wishing to smooth him down, I added, by way of compliment--"Do go on; for you really are a prime reader. Nature surely intended ye for a minister." "Dinna flatter me," said James; looking, however, rather proudishly at what I had said, and replacing his glasses on the brig of his nose, he then read us a screed of metre to the following effect; part of which, I am free to confess, is rather above my comprehension. But, never mind. ELEGIAC STANZAS. I. 'Tis midnight deep; the full round moon, As 'twere a spectre, walks the sky; The balmy breath of gentlest June Just stirs the stream that murmurs by; Above me frowns the solemn wood; Nature, methinks, seems Solitude Embodied to the eye. II. Yes, 'tis a season and a scene, Inez, to think on thee; the day, With stir and strife, may come between Affection and thy beauty's ray, But feeling here assumes control, And mourns my desolated soul That thou are rapt away! III. Thou wert a rainbow to my sight, The storms of life before thee fled; The glory and the guiding light, That onward cheer'd and upward led; From boyhood to this very hour, For me, and only me, thy flower Its fragrance seem'd to shed. IV.